“I did not tell you I was ready to leave, my lord,” the duchess said.
“I did not ask, Your Grace.” Elias held out his hand to help her rise, determined to get her out of the place before it did her ill.
The dowager took his hand, started to stand, then sagged like a windless sail.
Elias caught her as she fell forward and swept her up into his arms. “Clear a path,” he bellowed. “Now!” He paused only long enough for Celia to reach his side. The fear on her face made his heart ache. He prayed this wasn’t the end. Not now. Not with so many watching. “I said clear the way! Her Grace is not well.”
As he stepped into the far less crowded entry hall, Lady Whitfield hurried forward and opened a side door. “Here! In here. You may lay Her Grace in here.”
The duchess’s eyes fluttered as though she fought to keep them open. “Do not let me die here,” she rasped.
Celia gave him a teary-eyed nod and tugged him toward the front door. “Her Grace wishes to leave,” she called to Lady Whitfield.
“My carriage already awaits,” Monty said as he yanked open the front door. “Take it.”
“Your things, Lord Raines!” Lady Whitfield shrilled, revealing her panic.
“Give them to my brother,” Elias shouted without looking back. He bent as he stepped out into the rain, trying to shield the duchess as much as he could. He clambered up into the carriage and eased down into the seat with her, keeping her propped upright as much as possible.
The coachman helped Celia enter. She slid in next to Elias and draped her mother’s legs across her lap. “Mama,” she whispered with a soft cry. “Not yet. Please.”
His heart aching, Elias wished with all his soul that he could carry this burden for Celia. He wrapped an arm around her and hugged her so she might get closer to her mother.
“We shall have you home soon, Your Grace,” he reassured the dowager. “Stay with us.”
The duchess barely opened her eyes. She caught Celia’s hand and placed it on Elias’s chest. “I want you married to him, Celia. He is a good man, and good men are in such short supply.”
“Rest now, Mama. We can worry about that later.” Celia hiccupped a soft cry while trying to hold her mother’s hand, but the duchess placed it back on Elias’s chest.
“Swear to me you will marry him,” the dowager said. “I will not rest without knowing such a man cares for you.”
Elias held his breath, unsure whether or not he wanted Celia to take the oath. He wanted her to love him—not marry him out of guilt.
“Mama—”
“He will understand, Celia. Tell him everything. Give him the chance I never gave to my dearest Raymond. Do not marry your work and live out your days in loneliness and regret. Land and riches mean little in the end.” The duchess wheezed in a deep breath and weakly coughed it out. “Swear it, my dearest daughter. You are my precious treasure, and I cannot rest if you are not protected and happy.”
“I will marry him, Mama. I swear it.”
Elias closed his eyes and slowly exhaled, feeling both elated and sorrowful. This was not the way he wished for Celia to choose to be his wife, but he would deal with that later. For now, all he could do was support her in what was about to be a very difficult time. He tried to make the dowager more comfortable in his arms. “Rest, Your Grace. We will sort this all out once you regain your strength.”
The duchess closed her eyes and whispered, “I admire your optimism, dear boy.”
Celia gently shuddered against him with silent weeping. He tightened his arm around her and rested his cheek on her head, wishing he could take this terrible pain away.
The coach rolled to a stop in front of Hasterton House.
“We are here, Your Grace,” Elias said quietly as he carefully lifted her and climbed down from the coach.
“Good,” the duchess whispered.
Celia hurried ahead, ran up the steps, and pounded on the door. She stepped to one side and looked back at Elias, waving for him to hurry.
When Gransdon opened the door, open-mouthed shock registered on his face. “Berta!” he shouted in a very uncharacteristic bellow. “Friedrich! Fetch the physician! Now!”
Elias strode into the house and hurried up to the second floor. The frail duchess weighed nothing, and her limp silence concerned him. He feared she had already passed.
Berta rushed into the dowager’s room and turned down the covers of the bed.
