Sophie closed her eyes and covered them again with the fresh, damp cloth Marie provided. “Merde,” she muttered, then flinched and peeped out from under the cloth to see if anyone had heard.
Dr. MacMaddenly chuckled as he closed his satchel and tipped her a nod. “Merdeindeed, m’lady.” He offered Nash a polite dip of his chin as well. “Good evening to ye, sir. Send for me if her condition worsens, and the vomiting does not cease.”
“I will. Thank you, Dr. MacMaddenly.”
Sophie covered her eyes again, wishing all of them would leave along with the good doctor. But then the bed shifted and confirmed that her wish was not to be granted.
“Here, Sophie,” Nash said, his tone soft and coaxing. “Down this. It will get you through what we need to do before you can rest.”
She cracked open an eye and glared at him. “You have filled that vial entirely too full of that bitter stuff.”
“There is no need to be overly brave. That stone cut you deeply in three places that will require a generous dousing with whiskey to ensure the punctures are properly cleaned. It will not be pleasant.” He leaned closer and held the vial to her lips. “Please, Sophie. Your suffering is pure torture for me.”
Then get out, she wanted to scream, but not only would it take too much effort, it would also hurt. Instead, she relented and forced down the bitter concoction that had not been sweetened with nearly enough honey. She held her breath to keep from gagging.
“Perfect.” He turned and set the vial and the bottle on the bedside table. “Marie has gone to fetch everything we need, and soon you can rest.” He gently brushed her hair back from her face. “Shall I remove your hairpins so they don’t prick you?”
“Whatever you wish,” she whispered, her heart already aching in anticipation of the day when he would consider his challenge of winning her heart achieved and then would no longer want her.
He worked his fingers through her hair, plucking out the hairpins and setting them aside. “I shall tell Marie to forgo brushing out your hair this evening. Is the laudanum taking hold yet?”
“I am sad.” She frowned. Had she said that aloud? “I mean…the pain does not seem as bad.”
“Why are you sad, my swan?” he asked so softly that she wasn’t sure he had really said it.
“Because I will always love you, and you will never love me.” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, then scrubbed the dampcloth all over her face. Her nose itched something terrible. “Ants are crawling all over my face and making it itch.” She pawed at herself. “Get them off me.”
“Easy now, Sophie.” He stopped her from batting at herself. “The ants are gone now.” He rubbed her nose with a dry cloth that did, in fact, rid her of all those terrible, tickling bugs.
“I hate ants. Be sure they don’t get into the bed.” She tried to focus on Nash’s face to read his expression, but he kept swimming around the room. “Sit still. How can I tell what you are thinking if I cannot see you?”
He moved closer.
“Why do you look sad too? Do you also love someone who will never love you?” Noises behind her and something touching her back made her try to turn. “Who is there?”
“Look at me, Sophie,” Nash said. “Marie is getting you ready for bed. Talk to me while she works. We were talking about my being sad, remember?”
She didn’t remember, but if he said so, she supposed it must be true. “I am sorry you are sad. There are kittens in the stable. Mr. Wallace showed them to me, and I told him to be sure and see that they are made quite comfortable. You could go see them. They always make me happier.” Her eyelids drooped no matter how hard she tried to keep them open. They felt so heavy. Almost as if they were weighted. “Kittens and babies,” she mumbled.
“What about kittens and babies?” His deep voice floated around her like a beautiful song. “Sophie?”
“Kittens and babies make me happy,” she said without bothering to open her eyes. “Babies sometimes make me sad too, though, because I know I will never have one.”
“We are married now, remember? We promised the queen to name our first daughter Charlotte.”
“We cannot have a daughter. Or a son. We can only have kittens.” At least, she thought so. Although, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember why.
“If you would let yourself love me, Sophie, we could have as many babies as you wish.”
“Who are you?” The voice sounded like Nash, but it couldn’t be. Nash didn’t like her.
“Your husband. Nash.”
“I married Nash?” She huffed a snort and batted at him but kept missing. “You cannot be Nash. He was a cruel toad who wouldn’t even give me the time of day ten years ago, even if I begged him for it. Who are you really, sir? And what are you doing here? I believe I am in a bed somewhere. Why are you here in a bed with me?”
“We can cut her chemise the rest of the way off, sir,” a woman said from behind her. “I have her a fresh one right here.”
Something shifted around her, then slipped over her head, making her nose tickle again, but she couldn’t scratch it because they kept trying to guide her hands into some sort of cloth opening. “Let me go. The ants are back.”
