He remembered Rose's face the last time he had seen her—tear-stained, terrified, her hands clutching at his coat in desperation.
"Your betrothed has threatened to destroy us," she had sobbed. "Her ladyship came to our house herself. Said if I did not leave London, she would ruin Father's business, destroy our family. She would tell everyone that I… that we…" Rose's voice had broken. "She said she would claim I compromised myself with you. That I was a scheming servant trying to trap a viscount. No one would believe my word against hers, and I’ll never find a post again."
He had held her while she cried on his shoulder, while she tried to get the words out. “It’s so unfair because she was the one who’s kept a lover since finishing school—a man named Steven, a friend close to her family. She said if I exposed her, she would expose me, and we both knew I’d lose."
Aubrey had been stunned and horrified that his gentle betrothed was capable of such calculated cruelty and of keeping a lover.
"I have no choice," Rose had wept. "I must go. Your family is offering money for my silence, and Lady Eleanor is offering threats. Between the two, I cannot… I cannot stay. Forgive me. Please forgive me."
He had not believed it at first. Had gone to his father, demanded answers. And his father had confirmed that yes, money had changed hands. That Rose's family was relocating to Lancashire. That the marriage to Eleanor would proceed as planned.
But his father had denied Eleanor's threats. He had never acknowledged her involvement, but he must have been lying. There was no other explanation.
No. He would not feel sorry for her. Would not let a few sleepless nights and competent nursing erase what she had done. She had been cruel to his helpless Rose. She was still the unwanted wife he had been forced to take. Still the reason Rose was gone.
A good nurse did not erase years of resentment, did not undo the fundamental wrong of their marriage.
He would not let it.
Hecouldnot let it.
Even as her words echoed in the darkness.
Even as he wondered, for the first time, what those years of neglect had truly cost her.
The sky was still dark when Aubrey reached for the bell pull beside his bed. He'd been awake for hours—pain made sleep elusive at best—but more than that, he'd been thinking.
Thinking about how she never complained. Never showed frustration when he couldn't help, when his body was dead weight in her arms. She simply did what needed to be done and left, her face carefully blank.
But he'd seen the shadows under her eyes deepening. Had noticed the way her hands trembled more with each passing day. Had heard the catch in her breath when she thought he wasn't listening, the sound of someone running on fumes and determination alone.
She was destroying herself caring for him.
The least he could do was spare her the night turnings.
Morrison would learn. He'd have to learn. Aubrey would make him learn.
He rang the bell twice—the signal for urgency—and waited.
And waited.
After what felt like an eternity, his bedroom door creaked open. Morrison shuffled in wearing a nightshirt and cap, one eye still firmly closed, moving with all the urgency of a man walking through treacle.
"M'lord?" Morrison's voice was thick with sleep. "Wha' time is it?"
"Almostfour," Aubrey said. "I need you to learn how to turn me. Lady Madeley has been doing it through the night, and she needs rest."
Morrison's other eye opened slightly. "Turn you?"
"Yes. Dr Fielding said I must be turned every four hours. You're going to do the night turnings from now on."
"The night... turnings..." Morrison repeated slowly, as though the words were in a foreign language. "My lord, I'm not certain I'm qualified—"
"You're going to become qualified. Now. Pay attention."
Aubrey explained the process as best he could from memory—how Eleanor positioned her hands, where she braced herself, the angle at which she rolled him. Morrison nodded along, though his eyes had a glazed quality that suggested he was still at least partially asleep.
"Do you understand?" Aubrey asked.
