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“Yes,” Alessandro replied absently, all his attention focused on the supine form in the bed. She was pale, so pale.
The physician rewrapped Alessandro’s arm with clean strips of cloth. “I shall give Lord Pelham instructions for her care and return in the morning to check the wound. If at any time it should begin bleeding again, or if she begins to grow feverish, send for me and I will come immediately, whatever the hour.” Packing up his instruments, he departed.
Alessandro sat beside the bed, his face bleak. Provided there is no infection... He’d endured the horrors of an infected wound twice, both times barely surviving the ordeal. His tired eyes roamed aimlessly about the room, coming to rest on a pile of scarlet-stained cloth in the corner. He blanched anew. She’d lost a great deal of blood. He began to pray. He’d not sought divine intervention this much since he was a child.
“Take some rest, I’ll keep watch,” Pelham promised.
Alessandro did not even flinch, though he’d not heard the man come in. “I will not leave her.”
“It could be days, even weeks,” Pelham objected. “You yourself must rest and recover.”
“I will not leave her,” Alessandro repeated.
“Will she truly recover?” Reggie asked, eyes dark with worry as he entered the room, Charlotte at his side.
“As long as there is no infection,” Alessandro echoed the physician’s words, unwilling to feel any sense of relief. The danger was still very real. If the wound festered, Melly would likely not survive. “He said the same of me.”
“Bittle told us what happened,” Reggie murmured, awkwardly patting his sister’s arm.
“You were right. He never loved me,” Charlotte said quietly, her red-rimm
ed eyes brimming with tears. “Sir Bittle told me what he said just after—after...” Her hands flew to her mouth as she turned into Reggie’s shoulder.
“Charlie, it’s not your fault,” he said gently.
“He lied to me,” she sobbed bitterly, “and I believed him rather than my own brother and m—my dearest friends! I’m sorry, sorry for the h-horrible things I said!”
“I’m sure she knows you didn’t mean it.”
She shook her head. “You tried to explain why His Grace challenged Herrington, but I didn’t believe you. I called you a liar, my own brother! Then I saw the bruises when they brought Melly in, and I heard Sir Bittle say to the doctor that she’d been shot, and”—she gulped air for a moment—“that he’d done it and—and what he said!”
Fresh tears flowed from Charlotte’s miserable eyes. “If I’d only listened to you and trusted you, she wouldn’t have confronted him, she wouldn’t be dying. None of this would have happened! I beg your forgiveness. I’ll ask hers, if I’m ever given the chance.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Alessandro told her. “You were deceived. You could not have known what would happen. Please don’t blame yourself. She wouldn’t want that.”
“I shall help care for her,” she announced, swiping at her eyes. “You have also been injured and cannot stay with her the entire time. You must let me,” she begged. “She’s my best friend, and after what has happened, it’s the least I can do. Please...”
“She will need your help as she recovers, certainly, but not tonight,” Alessandro said, looking at Bittle, who’d quietly come in behind the brother and sister. “We’ll see what the doctor says in the morning. In the meantime, let us all pray there is no infection and that she rests well.”
Bittle stood there, looking awkward. “I should be leaving.” He paused, shuffling his feet. “But first, I want to apologize,” he stammered, flushing. “Please believe me when I say I would never have agreed to second Herrington had I known the truth.”
“I hold no complaint against you, for you were also deceived,” Alessandro told him. “Indeed, you have only my gratitude for your assistance.”
Bittle nodded, clearly relieved. “It was the least I could do. I will also speak on your behalf when the time comes,” he promised. “You should not be condemned for what happened.”
“It will be greatly appreciated,” Alessandro answered, nodding at Pelham, who, taking the hint, proceeded to clear the room.
After a moment, quiet footsteps retreated and the door closed, leaving only the sound of Mélisande’s shallow breathing to break the silence.
Just before dawn, she began to burn with fever.
TO RUN THE GAUNTLET
ON LOOKING AT the patient, Burroughs shook his head.
“I’m afraid there is nothing more to be done except watch, wait, and use the laudanum to help make her ladyship comfortable.”
Refusing to accept this, Alessandro had Pelham dispatch a runner with an urgent message to His Majesty, begging assistance. Two hours after Burroughs pronounced doom, the runner returned with Sir Hans Sloane, the king’s own physician.
