She was no closer to discovering the culprit.
After a few more moments of idle conversation, she excused herself. Lady Stapleton seemed all too eager to send her away again, and although Lord Brockenhurst pleaded with his eyes, begging her to stay, she was resolute on returning to Nathanial’s side.
“I have been away too long,” she said as she stood. “Give my apologies to Lady Tabitha when you next speak with her. I’m sure she will be sorry to miss me.”
Or at least sorry to miss the excuse of gossiping with her about Nathanial’s accident and his chances of survival. That was just the sort of thing Tabitha would enter into with gusto.
“Duchess,” Lord Stapleton said as she reached the door. “Are you leaving us already?”
“I’m sorry for being such poor company,” Theo said, putting her hand in his as she held it out. He was a kindly man, really, and reminded her of the father she might have had, if her father had taken any real interest in her.
“That’s not what I wanted to say,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I have a daughter a trifle older than you, you know. Married, of course. Every time I look at you, I see her, and . . . I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”
“Nor I.”
“But worrying yourself over him will not change his condition. And I would not want you to suffer over it. Allow my men to keep watch, and get some sleep, Duchess.”
“You are very kind,” she said with a small, genuine smile. “But I would not rest if I were not with him.”
“Even a few hours—”
“Even a few hours,” she repeated. “I know my limits, my lord, and I would beg you to trust them as I do.”
He nodded and released her hand. “Then I can only hope you will sleep tonight, my dear.”
She nodded and went upstairs, dismissing Nathanial’s valet and taking her place beside him again. A truckle bed had been placed in the corner of the room, but she preferred to sit beside him, listening to the way he breathed. At first, it was slow and steady, but as the hours passed, he became increasingly disturbed. He tossed his head, murmuring incomprehensible things under his breath.
“You must not,” he muttered as she placed a hand on his forehead. “Do not touch her.”
“I am here, Nathanial,” she said, but no matter how often she tried to soothe him, his worries seemed to remain. She tipped some water down his throat, and when that did little to calm him, rang for a maid.
“Send for the doctor and wake Lord Stapleton,” she commanded, feigning a calmness she didn’t feel. “His Grace is feverish.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The maid bobbed a curtsy and she was left alone again. With Nathanial, who barely seemed a companion in his delirious state.
Lord Stapleton came almost immediately and clapped a hand on her shoulder. “How is he?”
“Not well, I fear.” Theo was not often conscious of a wish to scream or sob, but today she wished she could do both. Nathanial lay prone on the bed beside them, blood leaking through the bandage as his movements disturbed his wound, and nothing she said could touch him.
“Dr Follett will arrive soon,” Lord Stapleton said. “He will see us through.”
Theo lay cloths soaked with lavender water over Nathanial’s forehead, although he often tossed them off, and held his burning hand. Lord Stapleton, kindly yet impatient, paced the room and passed her instructions to the servants.
Thankfully, there was less than an hour of this before Dr Follett arrived, the same briefcase by his side.
“So he has contracted fever, has he?” he asked briskly. “Yes, I can see he has. I was afraid this would happen, but it is no matter. We aren’t in too much danger yet.”
“What can we do?” Theo asked, her voice a trifle unsteady.
“I’ve already contacted the apothecary and requested a saline draught and a paregoric solution, which he will send here directly. In the meantime, you may give him some barley water. And an orange, perhaps, if you have one.”
“At once,” Lord Stapleton said. “That is, I cannot be certain we have an orange, but we can acquire one, and the cook—I shall ask directly.”
Theo fixed her gaze on Nathanial’s face, which he seemed to be moving with increasing distress. “Don’t touch her,” he muttered. “I won’t allow it.”
The doctor seemed unfazed by Nathanial’s murmurings; he merely took his wrist and felt for his pulse. “A little elevated,” he said, “but not dangerous yet.”
“What should I do?” Theo asked. “Tell me, sir. What do I do? If you order me from this room, I won’t go.”
