“He shot her by accident, did he not?” he whispered.
“Mother!” Helena cried, her voice thick with tears. “Stay with me.”
“I-I-I’m… so-sorry.” Lady Downfield whispered, struggling with every word.
“Mama!” Helena screamed as the Dowager Countess slumped in her arms, eyes falling closed.
Silas reached out and put a hand over her mouth to check if she was breathing. He sighed, shaking his head and sitting back.
The Dowager Countess was dead.
“Mama,” Helena whispered before collapsing in Silas’s arms.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you now.”
Helena startled awake, opening her eyes to a familiar canopy.
She was back in her bed at Highcliff. Somewhere close by, she could hear voices murmuring.
She felt woozy and disoriented, yet she still remembered clearly where she’d been when she was last awake, and what had happened.
If she was back in her bed, it meant she was safe.
She pricked her ears, to hear what the voices were saying.
“…not much physical damage except the bruises on her wrists. At some point, someone might have hit her over the head. I’ve bled her to make the swelling go down, and your housekeeper has the recipe for willow bark tea. I’ve asked her to put some to steep. The Duchess will want some as soon as she awakes. It will also help with the slight fever,” a slightly high male voice was saying.
Just as he said the words, Helena became aware that her headwasthrobbing. There was also a slight general ache everywhere on her body and of course, a painful bruise on her heart that she knew no amount of rubbing would soothe.
Her mother was dead.
Eyelids fluttering, she pried her eyes open just a bit, enough to realize that someone had considerately left the curtains closed even though she could see that it was daylight.
She did not think her eyes would be able to tolerate the full glare of the sun. She gave a small moan at the thought and suddenly there was a rustling of fabric followed by a warm touch on her hand.
“Helena?” Silas’s familiar voice was a balm to her anxious soul.
She moaned again because her mouth was dry and she did not think she could form words.
“Water!” Silas said in a too loud voice. “Bring water.”
Helena moaned again, clutching her head.
Silas ran a soft hand through her hair. “It’s going to be all right,” he soothed before pressing a glass to her lips.
She swallowed obediently, the cool liquid sliding down her throat and soothing the irritation that had settled therein.
The glass was pressed again to her lips and she took another sip, realizing right after that she was very thirsty. She reached her hand up, meaning to take the glass from Silas and drain it, but he kept a hold of it.
“Slowly now. No rush,” he cooed softly, tilting the glass so she could sip.
She drank slowly, even though she felt quite silly, being fed like a toddler still in leading strings.
“Very good. Feel better?” he asked once the glass was empty.
She nodded.
Her eyes fluttered closed and she felt him pull back. She made a sound of protest, reaching out for his cuff and holding onto it.
