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She and Marina exchanged a glance, and at Idalia’s nod, both of them stepped outside and closed the door. Just as they did, Tilly came bounding around the corner. She’d evidently dressed in a hurry—her slippers were mismatched—and was panting with exertion. If Idalia had to guess, she’d probably raced out the door of her chamber before Leana could correct the mistake.
“What did the doctor say? Is he in there now? Why are you out here?”
“He’s said nothing yet,” Idalia told her, taking her hand. “I believe he is examining her now. Father refused to leave the chamber.”
Marina forced a smile. “I’ll be back shortly,” she said. “Your mother needs fresh water.”
Idalia knew she was likely just as nervous as they were and likely the reason she carried a bowl with her now, as if the task could not wait.
With nothing to do, Tilly began to pace back and forth, and Idalia silently joined her. Every so often they exchanged a glance, but otherwise they did nothing more than pace the corridor. Finally, the door opened.
Idalia ran to the bed where her father sat weeping.
Her father, the Earl of Stanton. He was actually crying, something she’d never seen him do before. Her mother was awake, one hand clasped around her father’s while the other rested on his shoulder.
Idalia’s chest felt as if it would collapse in on itself. She could not breathe. She could not think. She sunk down onto the other side of the bed, tears welling in her eyes. The sight of her mother, so frail, and her father . . .
This could only mean their worst fears had come to fruition.
She didn’t even realize Tilly had sat next to her until she felt the small fingers weave through her own.
“No, no”—her mother placed her hand on Idalia’s arm—“I can see you fear the worst, but it is not bad, my sweet. Please, tell them.”
Idalia followed her mother’s gaze to the physician. The tall, thin man whose eyes had the wizened look of someone who’d witnessed a thousand deaths. And yet, he smiled at them.
It was not at all what Idalia had been expecting.
“’Tis a simple matter, really.”
Idalia’s heart raced.
“She has been consuming large quantities of skullcap for some time, to relieve her headaches. Her body is rejecting the herb.”
“What . . . what are you saying?”
The creases around his eyes deepened, as did his smile.
“The skullcap was killing her.”
Silence.
“Killing her,” Tilly repeated, unable to process the revelation.
“She risks her head pains returning, of course, but I have alternative ways to treat that.”
Could it be? She looked at her father more closely. He was composed now, his expression once again inscrutable, but his eyes weren’t sad.
Not at all.
Her father had been shedding tears of joy, a fact that caused her own eyes to brim with emotion. She laid her head on her mother’s chest, needing to hear the steady beating of her heart. Needing to reassure herself that she was, indeed, okay.
“She should recover fully as the effects of the skullcap abate,” she heard the physician say behind her.
Her mother stroked the back of her head. Although Tilly and her father spoke of something, Idalia could focus on nothing beyond the sound of her mother’s heart and the feeling of the hand smoothing her hair.
“Will you give us a moment?”
At first, Idalia thought her mother had been speaking to the physician, asking for a moment alone with her family, but when she finally lifted her head, everyone was gone.
