“What should I do?” Dorothea’s voice was filled with a mixture of fear and determination. Joseph fought against the overbearing wave of exhaustion to open his eyes and look at her.
“Go to your room, Dorothea,” he murmured weakly. “You don’t need to see this.”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to give orders, Joseph,” Catriona muttered. Another pair of arms came around him,which he assumed was Maisie. Ava must have left, but Joseph hadn’t heard it. “Dorothea?”
“Yes, Stepmother?”
Joseph cracked an eye open.Stepmother?
“Go find one of the maids and ask them to bring a bowl of water and a clean cloth to your father’s bedchamber.”
“Yes, Madam!”
Joseph closed his eyes again to the sound of Dorothea’s footsteps racing away. “You’re overreacting,” he murmured.
“Again,” Catriona said, “you are in no position to be speaking.”
“Where is his bedchamber?” Maisie asked her.
Joseph sensed his wife’s hesitation without having to look. “It is next to yours.”
There was a beat of silence before Catriona said, “Let’s go, Maisie.”
They set off, shifting slowly along while holding Joseph between them. Had he been in his right mind, not addled by exhaustion, pain, and what he now understood was the onset of a terrible fever, he would have insisted that he could walk on his own.But trying to keep himself upright even with their assistance was a nearly impossible feat. By the time they made it to his bedchamber, Ava had already returned with the butler in tow. If Dorothea returned as well, Joseph didn’t know. He was just all too happy to finally lay down in his bed.
Catriona’s voice was the only one he could hear. She gave orders with sharp precision, and everyone fell in line. Her scent washed over him when she cooled his forehead with the wet cloth. She was there when the physician arrived, asking him questions about what could have caused his sudden illness and how to administer the medicine being prescribed. Ava and Maisie had surely left, and the butler went back to his duties. Dorothea was sent off to dinner and then to bed. But Catriona was always there. While he dipped in and out consciousness, she was both in his dreams and in reality, a soothing presence. This was risky territory. After what happened to Hannah, after all he’d been through, this was the last place Catriona should be.
He didn’t know how many times he fell asleep, but every time he woke up to find her sitting by his bed, all Joseph could think was that he could think of no one else he wanted by his side.
Joseph didn’t wake up until well into the night. He truly woke up this time and not the brief moments of consciousness before he slipped back under. This time, he opened his eyes and looked directly at Catriona.
She put the book she had been reading by candlelight aside and leaned closer to him. “Good night,” she murmured.
His face was impassive. He only stared at her, saying nothing.
Catriona leaned back and sighed dramatically. It was easy to pretend she was nonchalant—as if she hadn’t spent the last few hours fretting over Joseph’s still and sweating body. Every time he twitched in his sleep, she jolted as if it were her. Every labored breath he took felt as if it was coming from her own lungs. She hadn’t left his side once, praying that the next time he woke up, he would not be as disoriented as the other times.
It seemed her prayers had come true. He did seem more present this time, but his eyes were boring into her with such intensity that she was beginning to get nervous.
So, she reached for the cloth sitting on the bedside table, dipping it into the fresh bowl of water the maid had brought less than ten minutes ago. She wrung the cloth out and patted his forehead.
“How do you feel?” she asked softly, not daring to look into his eyes. Her heart was pounding so hard, she was almost convinced that he could hear it.
“Better,” he murmured. “All thanks to you.”
“I did not do anything. It was the physician who diagnosed you and told me what to do.”
She kept patting his forehead even though there was no more sweat, needing something to do so she wouldn’t focus on how hot he was making her. Joseph shifted, slowly reaching a hand up. He caught her wrist, stopping her from putting the cloth on his skin.
Catriona couldn’t breathe properly all of a sudden. She was far too aware of how late it was, of the fact that the entire manor must be asleep except for them. She was aware of the single flickering candlelight on the bedside table that cast deep shadows into the grooves of his face, making him appear far more untouchable, like a marble statue that belonged in a museum. And his gentle touch, the pad of his thumb swiping carelessly across her wrist as he lowered her hand.
She should have gone to bed a long time ago, but she worried what might have happened to him during the night. Now, she wondered what would happen to her. What damage would be done to her heart by the end of this.
He released her hand and attempted to sit up.
“Don’t overexert yourself,” she urged even as he ignored her. “The physician said you need to stay rested.”
“I think I’ve gotten plenty of rest already,” he said. He finally managed to sit up, looking a bit winded by the time he was finished. He rested his head against the bed frame, lowering his lashes to look at her. Still, he said nothing.
