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“You were such a swot, I’m surprised you remember me.”
Antonia stifled an impatient sigh. What did social niceties matter when Nicholas lay dying?
“Antonia, allow me to introduce Lord Thorpe.” Henry turned to her. “My lord, this is my sister, Lady Antonia Hilliard.”
Manners forced her to curtsy and extend her hand. Thorpe bowed over it and peered into her face. She watched him struggle to force a wisp of memory to the fore. She hardly cared whether he recognized her, but for Henry’s sake, she kept her expression neutral as though she met a stranger.
“What can I help you with?” Thorpe asked once courtesies were complete.
“I want—” Antonia began impetuously but Henry spoke over her.
“My sister is an old friend of Lord Ranelaw’s. She’s heard about the shooting, of course. We come to inquire after his health.”
Antonia stared into Thorpe’s face, her heart racing with sudden hope. Perhaps he’d say Nicholas made a miraculous recovery, that the rumors of his precarious grip on life were exaggerated. Her chest clenched painfully tight as sorrow settled on the man’s pleasant features.
“They’ve removed the bullet but he hasn’t regained consciousness. The doctors, I regret to say, aren’t optimistic.”
No! Dear God, no!
Antonia staggered and the light faded. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. When she returned to awareness, she clutched Henry’s arm. She sucked in a shuddering breath as the room slowed from its whirl. Both men stared at her in consternation.
“I’m sorry, Lady Antonia. I had no idea—” Thorpe stopped.
Even through her distress, she saw his dilemma. Any woman who had dealings with Ranelaw couldn’t be respectable. Yet she bore an illustrious name and she arrived with her brother as if paying a social call.
“I have to go to him,” she said in a low voice to Henry. She managed to stand without support. She couldn’t weaken now. Not when the worst lay ahead.
“The doctors insist on no visitors.” Thorpe stepped toward her with a regretful expression. “If you leave your direction, I’ll make sure you receive word.”
When he dies.
The sentence’s ending rang clearly, for all that it remained unspoken. With a choked sob, Antonia pushed past Thorpe and darted onto the stairs.
“Lady Antonia! You can’t—” Thorpe cried out behind her.
“Let her go,” Henry said.
Quickly she glanced behind to see her brother grab the other man’s arm. Heaven knew why Henry helped her. She could only be thankful.
Her mind closed to every concern but the blazing need to see Nicholas. She picked up her skirts and dashed to the landing. Knowing her familiarity with the house’s layout told its own tale, she turned toward the master’s bedroom.
Panting with panic more than exertion, she edged open the door to Nicholas’s bedchamber. Outside, it was bright day. Inside this room, it was deepest night. The heavy brocade curtains were drawn so close, not a chink of sunlight invaded. On the sideboard, a lamp was turned down low, the dull light gleaming on a frightening array of bottles and vials. A fire burned in the grate. The air was thick and still, and held the rusty taint of fresh blood.
Cautiously, as though sudden movement might initiate untold catastrophe, she crept inside. A balding, middle-aged man sat at Nicholas’s bedside. At her entrance, his head turned toward Antonia and his face filled with dismay.
“Your pardon, madam, but His Lordship’s physicians forbid visitors.” He rose to his feet.
The man must be a butler or a valet. Easier to banish than a self-important doctor. “You may leave us,” she said frostily. “I will watch him.”
The man looked flustered. “Madam, I . . .”
She read genuine concern for Nicholas in his face. Her voice softened. “I promise to look after Lord Ranelaw. I’ll call the moment there’s any change in his condition.”
The servant glanced from her to the man lying so still, then back again. She read a dawning understanding in his expression. Fleetingly she wondered just what it was he understood. Then she dismissed her curiosity. All her focus was on Nicholas.
The man bowed. “I’ll sit outside the door.”
She’d seen off Nicholas’s last guardian. Dizzying relief shuddered through her, making her knees wobble. She reached out to grab the back of a chair.
