“Yes,”Mamananswered thoughtfully. “Perhaps his rescue of her, coupled with the blow to the head, has affected her emotions for the moment. I’m sure it will change.”
What the devil did that mean?
Everett frowned, thinking again of how King had claimed to be riding in the vicinity of the Children’s Foundling Hospital when the fire had broken out and how he had not known that Verity was even within until he had stopped by the throng of spectators and Sybil had told him.
It had seemed rather unlikely at the time, but Everett hadn’t been in the mood to question anything his friend had said. He’d been too caught up in the fear that Verity wouldn’t survive her injuries.
“I’m sure it will change, indeed,” he agreed mildly, not wanting to cause his mother further distress, even if he did find it odd.
King had assured him that he would never dally with his sister.
“I believe I shall find myself a restorative cup of tea,”Mamansaid.
His mother took her leave, and Everett and Sybil turned toward Verity’s bedroom. Quietly turning the latch, they walked inside. The curtains were closed, and the gas lamps were turned low. Verity was a silent, still figure on the bed, a bandage wrapped around her head and another on one hand, her eyes closed, lashes fanned over her cheeks.
The soot had been cleaned from her, her partially destroyed gown replaced by a dressing gown. A strong scent of smoke still lingered in the air. No doubt from her hair; given the nature of the wound, Everett doubted very much that the doctor had cleaned her hair before stitching her up.
Still holding hands with Sybil, he moved to his sister’s bedside. Her chest moved steadily up and down with breaths that were sometimes labored and wheezing. She had been in the smoke the longest, and it stood to reason she would have suffered the most damage to her lungs. He could only hope she would recover, given time.
“Ah, sister,” he said, hating seeing her thus.
Verity was always motion, determination, boldness. Although she had sworn off falling in love again and steadfastly wore her mourning weeds for Lord Leopold, she was perpetually bright and cheerful.
“She looks well,” Sybil said, hope in her voice. “After what she has been through, it’s nothing short of a miracle that she is here with us at all.”
“You are correct, of course,” he agreed. “We must be thankful for all mercies, large and small.”
He could have lost so much today. But he hadn’t lost Sybil. He hadn’t lost Verity. And he had somehow been granted a second chance to love his wife. To prove himself worthy of her.
He wasn’t sure that such a feat was possible. Everett was willing to spend the rest of his life trying, however.
They settled side by side in a pair of chairs that had been pulled beside Verity’s bed, their hands still linked. For a time, neither of them spoke. They simply sat there in silence. Everett was weary to his marrow. Every part of his body ached from the exertion he had spent in rescuing Sybil, Verity, and little Emma. Sitting felt wonderful.
He only wished that it wasn’t at his sister’s sickbed vigil.
“She was so incredibly brave today,” Sybil said. “You should have seen her, Everett. She was determined to find Emma. If not for Verity, the girl would have been lost. No one else was going to the attic to look for her. Not with the building burning around them.”
He gave her fingers a squeeze. “You were both brave. Everyone was praising the two of you for the way you remained within at great peril to yourselves, doing your best to see that every child was able to escape the fire alive.”
“We did what we had to do,” Sybil said. “What anyone else would have done in our places.”
“Not what everyone would have done, I don’t think.”
How he admired her for it, even if part of him longed to shake her for putting herself in such danger. She had been selfless to the last, doing everything she could to help those orphans when others had already fled, more concerned with saving their own hides. That was Sybil, he realized. She was kindhearted and generous to a fault, always caring for others instead of herself. Her mother, her half brother, the orphans at the Children’s Foundling Hospital, himself.
“It matters not,” Sybil demurred. “What does matter is that the children are safe and Verity shall heal.”
He kissed her hand again. “What a treasure you are, my love.”
“Did you truly love me so much that you were chasing after me even though you believed I was in love with a footman at Eastlake Hall?” she asked quietly.
“I didn’t love you enough. I realized it too late. But I shall make up for it, darling.”
His throat closed over again at the thought of what could have been, how thoroughly he could have been devastated that afternoon in those flames.
Before Sybil could answer, Verity shifted on the bed, making a small sound that turned into a body-racking cough as she awoke.
“Verity,” they said in unison, relief mirrored in their voices.
