“Both of them?”
Walter nodded. “Frances said she was taking tea with your wife. James said he had some… business to attend to on the way.” His face fell, his eyes suddenly wide to the whites. “Oh… oh, no.”
“I was looking at the wrong heir,” Henry snarled, jumping to his feet. In his rush to keep his wife safe from further harm, he had left her to the wolves… and they would soon be at her door, if they were not there already.
CHAPTER 31
Sweat beaded on Thalia’s brow as she fanned herself furiously, her heart beating wildly in her chest, adding jolting beats that she was certain should not have been there. Her hands were clammy as she picked up her teacup and sipped, hoping it might be the refreshment she needed to help soothe her body.
If anything, it made her stomach lurch more violently. Ordinarily, she loved mint tea, but this was… too much, the flavor too intense.
“Are you well? You look very pale, dearest Thalia,” Frances said with a deep frown of concern.
Thalia tried to take a deep breath, but it was as if her lungs were filled with wool. “I think it is… the heat in here. Are you warm? I… feel so very warm.”
“Shall I ask the servants to put out the fire?” Frances asked, rising.
Shaking her head, Thalia pushed off from the settee and paused for a moment as the world wobbled around her. Her legs were as heavy as lead, her heart pounding so hard now that she could feel it in her skull, hear it in her ears.
“I just… need some… fresh air,” she wheezed, using the last strength she possessed to shuffle toward the garden doors.
Her clammy hands fumbled with the latch, and as it lifted, she barged her shoulder against the door. Cool, fresh air swept in like a mother’s caress, anxiously touching the feverish heat of her face. She tried to drink down mouthfuls of that sweet air, but her lungs would not cooperate, each breath shallow and painful.
“Frances, I do… not think I am well,” she croaked. “I think I need… a phys?—”
Her legs gave way, her head swimming as she collapsed right there on the threshold between the stuffy drawing room and the beauty of the outside world. Through blurred eyes, she was briefly aware of the greenery and the sound of birds tweeting, before there was nothing at all.
Henry and Walter rode side-by-side, charging along the country roads between Weverton and Holdridge as if they were beingchased by the devil Himself. Yet, the devil was ahead of them, doing who knew what to Henry’s beloved wife.
He doubted he had ever ridden so ferociously before, his heart matching the pounding drum of the hoofbeats against the road. Even so, it was not nearly fast enough. All he could do was keep going and hope that he was somehow mistaken.
If you have harmed my wife, James, I shall not hesitate; I shall kill you. I do not care what it costs me.
That thought repeated over and over in his head, all the way to the gates of Holdridge Court.
However, he slowed long before he reached the manor, bringing his horse to a halt as he noticed movement at the garden doors of the drawing room. A swarm of servants, all staring down at something.
Walter slowed with him. “I will look for James. I see no carriage, and we passed none, but they cannot have gone far.”
“Thank you,” Henry managed to rasp, as he urged his horse into a lope, leaping down as he came to the gathering of servants.
Startled gasps and teary eyes greeted him, the group parting to allow him to see what they were staring at. Baxter kneeled in the middle of them with Thalia in his arms, tears running down his ordinarily stoic face. Mrs. Fisher was weeping, Rowena held against her, shoulders shaking with grief.
“I did not want to move her, Your Grace,” Baxter choked.
Henry could not move, his eyes fixed on his wife’s pale face, her bloodless lips, the strangeness of her body, so limp and lifeless.
“What happened?” he growled, his heart cracking.
“Frances raised the alarm. She came running out, saying that Her Grace had collapsed,” Mrs. Fisher mumbled in reply. “She took the carriage to fetch a physician at once.”
Baxter nodded. “I have tried to rouse her, but it is no good. Her pulse is very weak, and she is breathing, but not much. I fear the physician will arrive too late.”
If one has been sent for at all.
“Baxter, ride to the village,” Henry commanded, as he crouched down to take his wife from the butler’s arms. “Fetch Mr. Lichfield here at once.”
“Mr. Lichfield?” Baxter smeared the tears from his cheeks.
