After a time, a servant brought a chair to her bedside, which Edward moved close enough that he could continue to hold her hand and occasionally stroke back her hair. It was intimate—far more than their relationship might have welcomed were she not so ill, but his heart pleaded for the contact and for the reminder that she lived despite her condition. He drew a finger across her palm, curving it up with her ring finger. She wore her wedding ring still. The same ring his mother wore when she’d died.
Eventually, her breathing became more even, and the light in the room grew dark enough that servants entered with lamps. His stomach, which hadn’t been filled since the night before, protested his continued disregard of it.
“My lord?”
He hadn’t even noticed Mrs. Huckabee’s entrance.
“I have set a small repast in the dining room. Lady Norwich’s maid has come to sit with her if you would like.”
Edward glanced behind his housekeeper to see a young woman hovering near the door. He hesitated. He had no wish to leave Amelia—he had been gone far too long already—but he had to eat and sleep, surely.
Reluctantly, he gave a nod, then came to a stand. The motion felt foreign—his entire being ached from his travels and his stationary location over the last hours.
“Thank you,” he offered to both women.
They each curtsied, and Mrs. Huckabee followed him out as Amelia’s maid settled herself in Edward’s chair.
“Tell me all, Mrs. Huckabee,” Edward asked once the door had closed and they were in the lit hallway. “How did this happen?”
Mrs. Huckabee clasped her hands before her, meeting his eyes. Her own had bags below them, and she appeared far less polished than he had ever seen her. As had all the other maids who had come to bring Lady Norwich this or that during his time with her. He felt sudden gratitude for his servants and their obvious care for his wife.
“We do not rightly know, my lord. Lady Norwich attended a dinner party at her father’s home on Saturday but returned earlier than anticipated. Lady Cromwell arrived to visit with her less than ten minutes after her return and did not accept that Lady Norwich was not at home to visitors. They met in the study, and it was not long before Jenny—she is a downstairs maid, my lord—heard a commotion within the room. And then, suddenly, Lady Cromwell was bursting from the study and calling for Coombs and myself to help tend Lady Norwich who had, apparently, swooned in the midst of their conversation.” Mrs. Huckabee fanned herself with her hand as she spoke.
“I told you the rest in my letter, Lord Norwich, and there is not much more to recount. A physician came and determined that bloodletting would help her, but it only made matters worse. Poor Lady Norwich awoke during the procedure, despite the administration of laudanum, and was in a terrible state until myself and Lady Norwich’s maid insisted the physician quit the house. A second physician was called, who determined our lady had a terrible infection, and he prescribed some tinctures to help her comfort until her body regained the strength to fight whatever was causing the illness. Lady Norwich has been in and out of consciousness since and quite incapable of keeping more than a bit of broth down each day.”
Edward rubbed his jaw. “And did you know about...” His throat closed up. The scars were clearly a secret Amelia held close. If Mrs. Huckabee had not learned of them, it was not his place to say anything. “What of the physician? When was he last here?”
“Just this afternoon, my lord. Only an hour before you.”
“And what does he say now? Surely this cannot be standard, that Amelia would be in such a state even four days after her initial sickness. Four days! What else is being done for my wife?”
“Everything, my lord. Everything we can possibly manage. The physician has said that her fever is improved. He hopes it will break entirely within the day.”
Edward paced from Amelia’s door, agitation coloring his movements. Mrs. Huckabee followed, concern etched on her face.
His steps took him down the stairs and to the dining room. But even though the sight of food tempted him, he stopped in the doorway and turned. “Lady Cromwell,” he said suddenly. “I must speak with her.”
Mrs. Huckabee offered a wan smile. “I am certain she would be amenable, but I do not believe now is the time for such a call.” She glanced out the window, where darkness blanketed the earth.
Edward groaned. “You are right, of course. I simply cannot sit by and be so useless!”
Mrs. Huckabee nodded. “We are, all of us, sympathetic, my lord. Any one of us would willingly do near about anything to help Lady Norwich. But the physician says there is naught to do but wait. Lady Cromwell comes each morning to inquire after Lady Norwich. So you may speak with her tomorrow, perhaps. For now, I think keeping up your own strength, through food and rest, is the best you can manage.” Subtly, she nudged him farther into the room until he sat at the table.
She left him then, with a curtsy and murmured words of comfort.
Edward ate in silence, then he returned to his room in silence and lay atop his bed, fully clothed, in silence. The world felt dampened—emotions and actions and even the people muted. The entire house seemed to sorrow over its lady’s illness. Edward could not stand the uncertainty of it all, the inability he had to do anything to improve his own wife’s condition. Just as it had been when his mother had fallen ill.
He sat for a brief space of time, pulling off his cravat, coat, and boots. Then he fell back, and prayed sleep would come.
Chapter Thirty-Two
At times the blankets weresuffocating, and at times Amelia wished for ten more to curb her shivering. Moving her head the slightest bit sent waves of pain across her jaw and neck. Her limbs ached, begging her to move them, then crying out when she did. A fog surrounded all her thoughts, pierced only by the occasional soft touch to her fiery temple or a whispered word that still managed to hurt her ears. She imagined her mother was near, coaxing warm soup and teas down her throat as she did when Amelia was a child. Even more unbelievable, she imagined Edward had taken up a vigil at her bedside.
The very idea was comforting if delusional.
Someone spoke. The words were soft, caring. She turned to the side, fighting the pain and heavy weight on her mind. It was useless.
She gave up the fight and surrendered to sleep.
