The doctor gave her a small smile. “No, I fancy you won’t. Be still, Your Grace; there is little more you can do than you are doing now. Pray he sleeps, for his sleeping will be calmer than his waking moments.”
Nathanial’s eyes flew open. “Thirsty,” he said, his fingers tightening around Theo’s hand. “I must—”
“Shh, my darling,” she said, pushing at his shoulders when he looked like he would rise. He met her gaze, but there was no recognition in his eyes. “You will have water soon. Be calm, Nate, please.”
“The draught will soothe him,” the doctor said. “If not, the paregoric will make him sleep. It’s too early to fear.”
When would it benottoo early to fear? At which point could she give into the dread which crawled under her skin, begging release?
Lord Stapleton returned with barley water and an orange, and once he had consumed the barley water, Nathanial settled for a while. At dawn, as the sky paled in the promise of another fine day, the apothecary arrived with the two bottles the doctor had asked for.
“You may give him the saline draught when he is showing signs of distress,” the doctor said. “Not more than every four hours, but do keep giving it to him. He may have tea or barley water as refreshment, but no wine.”
“I understand,” Theo said.
“I shall give him a dose of the paregoric solution now, which will make him sleep, and you would do well to sleep, too, Your Grace.”
Theo attempted to protest, but Lord Stapleton added his entreaties, and she was forced to yield. Shewastired, but nothing would have convinced her to give up her position beside Nathanial if the doctor hadn’t pointed out she would be of little use tomorrow if she didn’t sleep now.
She lay on the truckle bed provided as Nathanial’s valet took his place once more, convinced she would not sleep. Yet the moment she closed her eyes, she was lost to the world.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Theo woke to full sunshine. Somehow, she’d slept until late morning, and she leapt from the bed, throwing a dressing gown over her nightgown, and hurried to Nathanial’s side. By some miracle, he seemed no worse than he had the previous evening.
“How is he?” she asked the valet anxiously.
“As well as can be expected, Your Grace. He has eaten the orange, as you can see, and I believe that did him good.”
“Did you give him his medicine?”
“I did,” he replied imperturbably, “and he is due another dose soon.”
Theo took the chair on Nathanial’s other side. Her gaze was not a practised one, and she did not know how a man this injured and ill was supposed to look, but she could not help noticing how pale he was, and how prominent his veins seemed to be under his skin.
“And the doctor?” she asked. “Has he returned?”
“He will return this evening unless we send for him sooner, Your Grace.”
Theo took Nathanial’s hand, finding his pulse just as the doctor had done, and found it erratic. “Oh Nate,” she murmured. Perhaps this was the moment she should give into hysterics; she had an inkling that hysterics were very much called for in these kinds of situations. Novels had taught her that, and so had the smelling salts left carefully on the nightstand for when she inevitably succumbed to that female temptation.
But the smelling salts alone made her resolve not to become in the least hysterical, no matterhowtempting it might be. Besides, she did not believe Nathanial had given in to tears when she had been ill, and if he could maintain his composure, so could she.
“Thank you,” she said to the valet. “I can take it from here.”
He inclined his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
The door closed behind him and although Theo had sent him away, she immediately wished she wasn’t alone with a man whose breathing seemed increasingly laboured.
“You shall not give in,” she told him fiercely, holding his hand against her chest. Someone had changed his bandages, she noticed, and there was no blood on them now. That was something, at least—and she needed something. She needed all the somethings she could get.
Nathanial, if anything, appeared to fall back asleep. Theo took refuge in being irritated, knowing that if she stopped allowing herself to be annoyed even for a moment, she might lose herself in the grief that beckoned ever closer.
“You stubborn, odious man,” she said, and for a moment she believed he might have heard her. “You bring me here for safety and wind up getting shot. Do you know how selfish that is? How inconsiderate?” She looked down into his face and the way his eyes darted under the blueish lids. In a quieter voice, she said, “Do you know how much I love you?”
The room was silent but for his wheezing breaths.
The days crawled by. Something of a routine emerged. Theo sat by his side all day, changing the cloths on his head, and sometimes rolling him over to place wet cloths on his back, although she could not do so alone. At night, she slept on the truckle bed in the corner for a scant few hours while a servant watched over him.
