Another wave of birds took to the sky and Nathanial readied his gun with the help of the servant to his side. The moment Theo had recovered and his inquiries in London returned, giving him an indication of the type of poison and its source, they could leave Caddington Hall and return. Or even, perhaps, visit Havercroft. The Season was nearly over, after all, and he was more than ready to return to a quieter way of life.
Perhaps there—
Shots rang out from the assembled gentlemen, and impact thudded into Nathanial, earlier than expected. He always braced himself against the knock from his gun, but he hadn’t pulled the trigger yet.
In the distance, he heard shouting. The gun fell from his hand. He staggered. He looked down, frowning. There was something on his chest, growing with every second.
The world rolled around him, and as he hit the ground, he stared at the sky, wondering how such a bright day could be so faint, and why it hurt to breathe.
Theo was in the drawing room when they brought Nathanial’s body in. Sheknewshe was in the drawing room because she distinctly remembered the way her teacup cracked against the carpet as she dropped it.
That sound echoed in her head as she followed the shouting into the main hall. She remembered each moment distinctly,edged like those broken china pieces. There was Nathanial lying on a makeshift stretcher, blood staining his brown coat, his eyes closed. Someone had attempted to bandage the wound on his shoulder, but blood soaked through, and there was so much shouting, so much panic.
Theo didn’t know where to look.
All she knew was that this was her husband, and her place was beside him. When they took him upstairs, she followed, the banister smooth against her fingers as she trailed her hand along it. Habit—that’s what her life was made up of now. Habit that kept her breathing, kept her moving, kept her upright.
“Duchess,” Lord Stapleton said upon seeing her in the bedroom. “Duchess you ought not to be here. My dear!” His call, abrupt as it was, summoned his wife like a haunting wraith. “Please could you escort the Duchess downstairs?”
“Certainly,” Lady Stapleton said, reaching for Theo’s wrist with long, pale fingers. “Come with me, sweet thing, and we shall give you a hot cup of tea.”
“He is my husband,” Theo said. Of all the things in this world rocked with colour and too much noise, that was the only one of which she was certain. “He is my husband and I shall remain with him.”
By now, the men had placed Nathanial on the bed. Some shouted for water. Others demanded a physician. The panic was tangible, like the tang of an extinguished candle.
He could not be dying. It didn’t seem possible. Not after everything they’d been through.
Footmen hurried into the room with a bucket and fresh linen, and Theo approached the bed. Nathanial was barely breathing. The veins in his eyelids were blue, but his pulse throbbed in his neck. She watched it to ensure it wouldn’t stop.
“When will the physician arrive?” she asked, her voice cool and clear.
“In minutes, Duchess,” a man said. She didn’t look to see which one.
“Then until he arrives, clear the room of this noise.”
At a gesture from Lord Stapleton, almost all the men filed out. “You do not need to do this,” he said, but she flicked her gaze to him, and whatever he saw there caused him to stop.
“He is my husband,” Theo repeated. “And I shall tend to him.”
Even the strongest stomach could not have felt nothing when Theo removed the makeshift bandage from Nathanial’s chest. Blood oozed from a wound so jagged she thought she might be sick from the horror of it all.
But his heart was beating, she told herself. There was hope as long as his heart continued to beat.
“Tell me,” she said to Lord Stapleton, who hovered by the door like a particularly troublesome fly. “How did this happen?”
“I don’t know,” he confessed, mopping his forehead with his handkerchief. “One minute everything’s going smoothly, the next he’s on the floor with a hole punched in him. Begging your pardon, ma’am.”
Theo’s hands trembled as she pressed linen against the wound and the blood—so much blood. “From which direction did this shot come?”
“It’s hard to say, Duchess. We were so concerned with getting him back to the house as soon as possible, we hardly knew.”
Theo stared at the red stain on the white cloth. There was blood on her hands and dress, too, but that hardly seemed to matter. All that mattered was that Nathanial survived.
The iron in her spine threatened to melt, and she pinned her lips together. Here, there was no one to rely on—no parent or older brother or husband who might take the burden away. Nathanial had thought them to be safe here, and he had notthought himself in danger at all, but that had been a mistake, and one he was paying for.
She could trust no one.
Her calm in danger of unravelling, she sat beside his bed and watched the movement of his chest, refusing to acknowledge the grey tinge to his skin or the shallowness of his breaths.
