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“Give her some space for pity's sake.” Even Mrs. Simmons, who was rarely seen outside the kitchen, was there to greet her and shoo the others away. “The doctor’s already on his way, dearie. I have a nice soup that’s nearly done. I’ll send up a bowl as soon as he sees to you.” Mrs Simmons’s gaze lingered on the torn fabric and bloodstained bandage for a moment, then she brushed a curl away from Sofia’s face. It was more tenderness than Sofia’s heart could take when she deserved none at all.

“I’m not hungry, but thank you,” she said through chattering teeth. Mrs Simmons’s affectionate but insistent mutters for a proper meal followed her until the imposing mahogany door slid closed behind them.

Oliver carried her up the stairs, set her onto the bed, and lowered himself to sit beside her. “Can I remove the bandage and have a look?” Sofia nodded, anticipating the pain as a welcome distraction to her equally damaged heart.

“Nice and easy now. Tell me if it hurts.” She nodded and looked away while he unwound the bandage. Oliver released a tormented sound when faced with the damage that was hidden beneath. “Good Lord, Sofia, there’s no exit wound. The bullet is still in there. You could have been killed. I promised you I would go. I told you I would handle this!”

“I’m filthy and exhausted and there is a bullet in my shoulder. Could you pick another time to lecture me? And you told me you would try. That’s not the same as handling. I’ve seen enough of trying to know the difference.”

“I won’t lecture.” He sighed, then returned to his delicate work. “You scared the life out of me, little flea. I’ve never been so terrified.” A hollow silence crept over the room. There was both too much and nothing at all to say. He stood when it was done, tucking a blanket over her. “Who can I call to help you get out of these clothes? Should I ring for a servant?”

She didn’t want anyone. Who could she ask? Violet, whose world they had just turned inside out? Polly or Annie, both who adored the Ansons? Christopher, who she knew would not come? She would just wait as she was.

“I’ll manage.”

“You will absolutely not manage.” Violet walked through the door without preamble. “You’d swoon and topple to the floor, then wake a quarter-hour later with a carpet imprint on your cheek. Run along, Oliver. I will see to your sister. Grab yourself a biscuit or six from the kitchens and then return here when Dr Higgins arrives.”

Violet poured water into the basin and dipped a clean cloth inside. “It’s warm. I had them heat water when Christopher returned.” Violet’s gaze flicked up to meet Sofia’s eyes, then dropped back to the basin. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask. We don’t have to discuss anything more complicated than the temperature of the water and which night rail you would like.”

Sofia relaxed into the bed as Violet stroked the warm rag down her cheek and throat, then lifted her mass of curls to dab it along her nape. There was so much compassion, so much care in Violet’s touch as she silently attempted to wash every trace of the horrible day from Sofia’s skin.

“I only have one night rail so it should make for a succinct conversation.”

Violet loosened the fastenings of Sofia’s dress. As it was already mangled beyond repair, removing the rest was easy. Unfortunately, no matter how gentle Violet’s handling, any movement of Sofia’s shoulder or arm resulted in unendurable pain. Sofia tried to remain stoic through the task, but tormented whimpers kept slipping out until neither woman could bear to try again.

Violet dropped the night rail. “This isn’t going to work. I have an idea. Stay here.”

As if Sofia could do anything but. Now that she was safe and back at Northam Hall, both her physical discomfort and her inability to focus had increased exponentially. Violet gently laid the blanket across Sofia’s undamaged side, tucking it snuggly beneath her as if she were a child, before slipping out the door.

Sofia must have fallen asleep, because it felt as if no time had passed between Violet’s exit and her return. She had a man’s loose-fitting shirt folded across her arm.

When she handed it to Sofia, her heart gave an extra thump of recognition at the tantalising aroma of crisp lemons and starch. Sofia brought the shirt to her nose and closed her eyes.

“I had one of my husband’s, but Christopher took it and replaced it with one of his own. He muttered something about the expense of Gabriel’s tailoring, but I doubt very much his insistence had anything to do with the cost of fine linen.”

Sofia wanted to hear his name again, wanted to know where he was now and how he was. She wanted to be sure he wasn’t alone. She looked up at Violet beseechingly, who shook her head in response. “He’ll come around. Christopher isn’t like Gabriel or me. Or you, for that matter. There isn’t a pragmatic bone in his body, and his divided loyalties are tearing him to shreds. He doesn’t hold any of himself back, so there’s so much more of him to hurt. Be patient with him. He just needs time."

Violet helped Sofia slip the shirt over her shoulder and began fastening the buttons. “He’s angry at me as well. Well, no, not angry,” she corrected herself. “Hurt. Because Gabriel and I kept something important from him. The night Oliver returned me to the estate with the caterpillars, Gabriel noticed the family similarity and began looking into Oliver’s past. It’s my fault he didn’t tell Christopher right away. I thought it would be better to wait and tell him when we knew more. Gabriel didn’t want to wait.” She sighed. “He shouldn’t have listened to me.”

Violet smoothed her palm down Sofia’s arm. “But he’ll forgive me, and he’ll forgive you as well. I’m sorry for all you’ve been through. Is there anything …” She swallowed, then lowered her gaze and started again. “Is there anything you wish to talk about. Anything that may be easier to discuss with me, a woman … a friend … rather than your brother?”

Sofia’s lower lip wobbled and she caught it between her teeth to halt its movement. She shook her head. “No. Nothing like that. Why are you being so nice to me? Oliver and I, we’ve wrecked everything.”

Violet reached for Sofia’s hand. She seemed to consider the question for a moment before responding. “No, Sofia. I married a man, not a duke. And it’s not within your power to wreck that.”

Both women looked to the doorway at the sound of Gabriel clearing his throat. He looked more fatigued than Sofia had ever seen him. She had put that exhaustion there, she and Oliver. He was a man accustomed to bearing unfathomable strain and her betrayal had made those sturdy shoulders stoop. “I’m sorry to interrupt, ladies. Dr Higgins has arrived.”

Sofia’s muscles tensed in anticipation of what was to come, and Violet tightened her grip. “I’ll stay.”

Shifting in place, Gabriel pinned his wife with a look of concern, then nodded. “Of course.”

But the day had taken its toll on Violet. Sofia released her hand and immediately felt chilled without her steady support. “No, it’s late. You need your rest, Violet, and I suspect Gabriel needs to see you resting. I’ll be all right. If the doctor needs assistance”—she swallowed, willing herself to accept that the name she would speak was not the person she wanted—“Oliver will stay with me.”

Gabriel’s brows furrowed. “I will see to my wife and then return.”

Behind Gabriel, Oliver stepped into the room, then silently took his place in the chair beside her.

The last to enter, Doctor Higgins stood at the bedside across from Oliver. “All right, Miss Lioni, let’s see what we have here.”