Ever since the slap. Ever since she’d told him to stay away.
“Lightning spooked the horse.” Philippa continued, wringing her hands until the skin was red. “It threw him. He hit his head on a rock. The groundskeeper found him in the mud, barely conscious.”
Barely conscious.The words echoed through Nell’s skull.
“He kept saying your name.” Philippa finally looked at her. “Even when he didn’t know where he was. Even when he couldn’t remember his own.”
Nell’s eyes burned, but she bit her lip. She wouldn’t cry.
“Why me?” The question escaped on a tremor of panic, sounding raw and desperate. “Why did you come for me?”
“Because he needs you.” Philippa’s answer was simple and certain. “Because whatever is between you two… I have never seen him like this, and not even after the war. Not even after everything with Vivienne.” Philippa stopped to draw a shaking breath. “He loves you. More than he has ever loved anything.”
“I refused him.” Nell whispered, her throat aching.
“I know.” Philippa reached out, touching Nell’s knee with a damp hand. “But you came anyway.”
She had. Without a second thought. She’d heard his name and she’d run.
Bramwell Park appeared through the trees, every window blazing with light. Servants rushed through the courtyard with lanterns and umbrellas, looking like spirits in the gloom. They pulled up to the entrance, and Nell was out of the carriage before it had fully stopped. Her boots hit the gravel and her skirts dragged in the mud, but she didn’t wait for help.
She ran.
The entrance hall was a scene of chaos. Servants rushed past with basins of water and armfuls of linens, their faces grey with worry. Nell pushed through them, following a frantic instinct; Graves appeared, materializing out of the crowd. His usually impassive face was tight with concern.
“Lady Philippa. Mrs. Ashford.” He fell into step beside them, gesturing toward the grand staircase. “This way. The doctor is with him.”
They climbed the stairs, past the silent portraits of Westmore ancestors and down a long corridor where the windows rattled in their frames. They stopped before a heavy oak door. Graves pushed it open.
Nell stepped inside.
The room was dim, lit only by candles flickering on the nightstand and a fire crackling low in the hearth. Heavy curtains muffled the storm to a distant rumble—a massive bed dominated the space, its dark wood posts rising toward the ceiling. The white linens were stained with a rust-coloured fluid that made Nell’s stomach lurch.
And in the bed lay Dominic.
He was as pale as death. His dark hair was matted with blood, and a white bandage was wrapped clumsily around his head, crimson seeping through the fibers. His eyes were closed, his face slack, and his chest labored with shallow, uneven rhythms. He looked fragile—a ghost of the vital man who had once pinned her against a wall.
Edmund stood at the bedside. He was bent over Dominic’s still form, two fingers pressed firmly to the pulse point at the man’s wrist. He looked up as the door creaked, and a shadow of something far sadder than surprise crossed his face when he saw Nell.
“Mrs. Ashford.” He didn’t look up again, his attention returning to his watch as he counted the beats. He remained professional, clinical, and miles away. “You came.”
“How is he?” The question felt far-off, a hollow rasp that seemed to echo from the end of a long tunnel.
“A concussion.” Edmund straightened, setting Dominic’s hand back upon the coverlet with a gentleness that was painful to watch. “Possibly worse. He has been unconscious since they brought him in. He rouses for a moment, but his mind is elsewhere.”
Dominic stirred at the sound of the words. A low groan escaped him, his head turning restlessly upon the pillow as his features twisted with a sudden flash of pain.
“Nell.” He mumbled the name, the word thick with a desperate, feverish longing. “Nell… please...”
Her heart cracked. It felt the way it had broken clean in two.
“He has been saying that for hours.” Edmund’s voice was quiet and carefully neutral as he adjusted the instruments in his medical bag. “Your name. Only your name.”
“Nell.” Dominic spoke again, thrashing now. His bandaged head tossed against the linen and his hands clawed uselessly at the heavy sheets. “Don’t go… don’t leave me… Nell...”
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She could do nothing except move. She crossed the room in three quick strides and sat upon the edge of the bed, taking his hand firmly in both of hers.
His skin was cold and his fingers felt limp. But when she touched him, his expression changed. The tension in his jaw eased and his thrashing slowed. His whole body seemed to turn toward her, much like a flower seeking the sun.
