Sophia’s heart pounded. Lady Strathmore leaned back in her chair, pressing a hand to her chest in dismay.
“What did he eat?” Stepfather asked in an astonished voice.
“This one.” Sophia’s hand shook as she pointed at the tray.
“I believe that is what the natives call a cashew.” Stepfather’s brow furrowed. “The raw shell contains a rather tricky substance known for its potential adverse effects on the body, but I wastold they would arrive properly processed. I have tried them once before and the effects were mild.” His smile faded as he observed Isaac.
Sophia’s heart fell. “Something is wrong. Look at him!”
Isaac leaned over, a hoarse sound coming from his throat as he breathed. His eyes watered.
Stepfather’s wiry grey eyebrows furrowed in deep concern, but he seemed frozen in his chair.
Sophia couldn’t hold still any longer. She pushed her chair out behind her, nearly stumbling over it as she rushed around to the other side of the table. Her movement triggered the response of Aunt Hester, who set down her spoon and followed Sophia to Isaac’s side.
The plates and silver trays rattled as Stepfather finally sprung to his feet.
Sophia froze beside Isaac, her heart in her throat. What could she do? He appeared to be struggling to breathe, his skin growing redder beneath his chin and spreading up his face. Standing there would not be helpful at all, but her arms were pinned to her sides.
She was afraid to touch him.
Don’t be a coward, Sophia.She ordered herself to move—to do something. She took his face in her hands, his skin hot under her palms. “Mr. Ellington? Can you hear me?” His eyes fluttered closed. Could he breathe at all?
His cravat appeared to be too tight, so she tugged it loose.
Lady Strathmore gasped.
Sophia couldn’t worry about propriety at the moment. Beneath the cravat, his neck was red and swollen. “Call for the doctor!” she directed the order at Aunt Hester, but one of the footmen ran from the room. The others stepped closer to observe Isaac’s condition.
Removing the cravat seemed to have helped, but he still breathed in a shallow rhythm. With a firm hold on his face, Sophia tipped his head back. It seemed to help him breathe with less effort.
Stepfather held Isaac’s arm, keeping him upright in his chair, while Percy stabilized his other side. Sophia watched Isaac’s chest rising and falling quickly, her fingers shaking as they buried into his hair to hold his head back. In the most foolish of her dreams, she had hoped to do that again someday. But not like this. Fear prickled down her spine. She closed her eyes against the tears that burned unexpectedly there.
“What a peculiar idiosyncrasy,” Stepfather muttered. “I did not react adversely to the cashew at all. I should have considered that each body is unique in its peculiarities of constitution, I suppose. But what a fascinating discovery.”
“This is not a scientific experiment, stepfather!” Sophia’s voice was shrill with panic. “He could be dying!”
Stepfather scowled. “Do calm yourself, my dear. He looks quite alert to me.”
Chapter Seven
Isaac’s throat may have felt like it was on fire, but that didn’t stop him from noticing Sophia’s face above him, blue eyes flooded with tears. Her cheeks were wet and flushed, her hands buried in his hair as she held his head back.
He gathered as much air as he could with each breath. It was cold as it rushed past his itching throat. He felt ill enough to vomit, but he refused to do that in such a moment, not with Sophia as a witness. The panic he had felt when his throat first began to swell had only hindered his ability to breathe, but now he knew that he still could…at least for now.
He heard Lord Blackstone’s voice—something about an idiosyncrasy—and then he noticed all the other faces hovering around him. He had been alert through the entire ordeal, though severely distracted by the panic inducing sensations burning through his body.
That blasted exotic nut had donethisto him?
He stared up at Sophia’s tear-stained cheeks, and the pressure of each of her fingers suddenly became apparent under his hair. If he wasn’t still fighting to breathe, he would have been mortified. She had been the first to run to his aid, and now shewas crying over him? It was painfully embarrassing, but it was also telling.
She might not have hated him as much as he thought.
With all the horrified expressions around him, he was desperate to lighten the mood. He blinked up at Lord Blackstone, whose grey hair was even more disheveled than usual. “Are you trying to murder me, my lord?” His voice was barely a hoarse whisper.
“Of course not!” the viscount sputtered. “I am as baffled as you are, Mr. Ellington.”
Isaac mustered up a smile. “Would you have called this a death by natural causes?”
