Her fingers were cracked with blood.
Time passed in fits and starts, and she could not have said how long she sat beside her husband, willing him with every fibre of her being to keep breathing, to stay with her, but eventually there was a call of “the physician”, and the door opened to admit a portly man with a briefcase.
“So this is my patient,” he said. “And his lady wife? My name is Dr Follett.”
Theo stepped back to allow him room to examine Nathanial. “I am the Duchess of Norfolk, and this is my husband, the Duke of Norfolk.”
“You stopped the bleeding,” he said with a trace of approval in his voice. “Well done.”
“Will he survive?”
The doctor removed the cloth from Nathanial’s wound. The wound was not neat, but at least it was in his shoulder. If it had been further down—
Theo did not let herself think that.
“I believe we will require a surgeon,” the doctor said, raising Nathanial’s head and listening to his breath. “We must remove the shot as far as we can.”
“Yes. Of course.” Theo bowed her head, her breath shaky as she released it. “I will fetch Lord Stapleton.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Outside the room, Lord Stapleton paced, his ruddy face pale. “Well?” he demanded when he saw her. “Is there news?”
“The doctor would like to see you. I believe he wishes to summon a surgeon.”
“A surgeon?” Lord Stapleton’s jaw dropped before he recovered himself. “That is to say—of course. I will send for one right away.” He rubbed a large hand over his head as a maid approached. “Ah, Miss Finch. Show Her Grace to her room.” His voice lowered as he looked at her. “I thought you may wish to clean up, Your Grace.”
Theo did not have the energy to do so much as smile as she followed the sharp-faced maid down the hall and to a new room. She took in none of the furnishings as she clasped her hands tightly, interlacing her fingers until they ached. “Thank you,” she said. “I will ring when I require Betsy.”
“Very good, ma’am.” The maid curtsied and left the room with a click of finality, and Theo was alone.
Alone.
Merely a few rooms away, the physician was doing all he could to save Nathanial’s life, and she wasn’t there. She was here, in this room, alone, with no way of knowing if he lived or died, with nothing to aid her but prayers that had never yet been answered.
Her hands shook, and she pressed them to her chest, above her heart. It seemed impossible that anyone could have survived something like this. He had beenshot.
A moan burst from her lips, and her trembling knees refused to hold her upright any longer. She sank to the floor, covering her face with her hands.
Nathanial couldn’t die. Hecouldn’t. Not when they had only just reconciled.
Not when she had only just realised she loved him.
Life would lose its sweetness if she was forced to go through it alone. And no matter how many people she surrounded herself with, if she didn’t have Nate, shewouldbe alone. He was her sun, and she kept orbit around him in breathless circles.
She needed him.
He couldn’t die.
The last of her control snapped, and she dug her nails into her skin as she wept. Grief surged through her with unrestrained clamour, and her prayers were disjointed, a mixture of pleading and bargaining. If pledging her eternal soul would guarantee he would survive, she would do it. She would do anything to keep him alive, even if that meant she couldn’t be with him.
The world could not stand to lose him. And neither could she.
When at last she rose, she was hollow. Ribbons of pain wrapped around her chest; they were the things that held her together and broke her apart all at once. She still had Nathanial’s blood on her hands, so she made that her first task. Wash, scrubbing with soap until every last hint of red had been dug from under her nails.
Splash cold water on her face, soothing her swollen eyes and tight skin.
Ring the bell pull and summon Betsy to her, to release her from a gown that felt as though it was constricting her. Let it pool around her feet as she stepped out. Allow Betsy to pick out a new dress, and stand mute, like a doll as she was dressed.
