“I want to look at you all,” she whispered, voice rough from the long night. “Just for a little while. My family.”
Adeline didn’t trust herself to speak. She nodded, laid her head back, and closed her eyes to keep the tears where they were. The pulse of Louisa’s breathing steadied her. Winston’s hand opened and closed once as if grasping for, then wrapping around the hilt of a sword, then he slept again. After a time, Cordelia dozed, thesoft rattle in her chest smoothing to a faint snore. Louisa stirred and blinked up at Adeline.
“Is Grandmama better?”
“Yes,” Adeline whispered. “Much better.”
“Good.” Louisa wriggled closer. “You’re warm.”
“So are you.”
A rustle from the hearth, a louder tick from the clock, and then Winston rolled to his back with a wince. He reached, found the leg of the chaise with his fingers, and paused when his hand brushed the fabric near Adeline’s hair.
“You’re both awake,” he said, keeping his voice low.
Adeline turned her head. “We didn’t want to leave her.”
“Nor I.” He pushed himself up, careful not to scrape the floorboards. “How do you feel?”
“Rested enough,” she said. “You?”
“As if I slept on a floor,” he said quietly, drawing a small smile from her despite the ache in her chest.
The door opened, and a maid carried in a tray of coffee and broth. She curtsied at once when she saw who lay where. “Beg pardon, Your Grace. I’ll fetch another cup.”
“Leave it,” Winston said. “We’ll make do.”
They managed the breakfast between themselves. Adeline coaxed a little broth into Louisa, then crossed to the bed to help Cordelia take a few careful sips. Winston took coffee black and stood at the window, looking out at the pale sweep of St. James’s Place.
Cordelia’s eyes were clearer when she set the cup aside. “If you two fuss anymore,” she murmured, “I’ll never recover. I can’t have my son worn to threads.”
“You will not rise today,” Winston said, turning from the window. “We’ll have Dr. Hadley back at noon.”
“I am improved,” Cordelia said, making it sound like a point of pride. “I’ll not die before luncheon if I can help it.”
Louisa slid off the chaise and put both hands on the bed. “Don’t die at all.”
“I’ll do my best,” Cordelia said, brushing a hand over the child’s curls. Her gaze slid to Adeline and stayed there. “Thank you.”
Adeline shook her head. “There’s no need.”
“There is,” Cordelia said, voice quiet. “Allow a selfish old woman to say it.”
Winston watched the exchange without comment. The doctor’s word from the night before lay between his shoulder blades like a knot he couldn’t reach. It had not been an accident. Someone had meant to harm his mother. The idea made his jaw ache. Louisa soon lost the thread of adult voices and curled again on the chaise, falling asleep with her mouth open. Once she slept, the room slipped back into its hush.
Hours later, with Dr. Hadley satisfied and Cordelia insisting she would live to scold them all, Winston drew Adeline aside.
“She’ll sleep now. Louisa as well,” he said. “I have some letters to write.”
Adeline nodded. Her own words were scarce. She’d been quieter with each hour. If she kept her mouth closed, she could keep everything inside it. She thought of leaving and had to lower her eyes to steady herself. Winston looked at her a fraction too long.
“You needn’t stand watch like a sentinel. I’ll set a footman at the door and send for you if she stirs.”
“Yes, of course. I will see to Louisa,” Adeline said.
He left for the library and wrote quickly, the strong black line of his hand eating the page. He paused once, stared at the ink’s shine, and began again with a fresh sheet.
My dear friend Oswald,
