“It is.”
“Then get me several clean pails of it. Warm the water—not hot, warm—and bring them up. I will need you to help me with your strength, so compose yourself. She is not entirely unconscious, and if you are not becalmed, she will notice. We don’t want anything to agitate her.”
“I could help,” Brentworth said.
Dr. Chalmers advanced into the room. “No, Your Grace, you cannot. Nor can the lady. What I am about to do is indelicate in the extreme, and I daresay if either of you are there, it will only make a bad situation worse.” He turned to Davina. “It is good you noticed her dehydration at once. The coachman mentioned it, so I brought something that might help. A clyster syringe is normally used to administer medicine, but it can also be a way to get water into a person. A lot of it, quickly. The body will absorb far more this way than spoonfuls by mouth.”
Davina knew that. She had been debating how to create a makeshift clyster if necessary. In ancient times, they used cleansed animal bladders. She doubted Mr. Bowman had any of those around.
Brentworth appeared impassive. If he knew what a clyster was, he was not showing it. However, he did not offer to assist the doctor again.
“Once the water is ready we will proceed.” Dr. Chalmers removed his frock coat while he spoke. “I will sit with her tonight. I expect the crisis to happen before morning and the final result to be apparent, one way or another.” He turned to Davina. “You most likely kept her alive. Know that, no matter how it ends. Now, I advise you to get some sleep. You are of no use to anyone if you become ill too.”
“I will take you back to your house,” Brentworth said.
“I really should stay—”
“No. There is nothing for you to do here. Come with me now.”
She did not want to go. It felt like an abandonment of the family. Yet, as she stood, she noticed that Mr. Bowman was busy in the kitchen warming the water and talking to his son. There was a point where helping became intrusion, and she might have reached it.
Back in the carriage, exhaustion settled on her like a damp blanket. She gazed out at the last light and tried to ignore that she sat across from a man who had kissed her today. A very nice kiss. Under other circumstances, if it had not been a kiss of pity, really, she might become girlish about it.
* * *
She slept at once. Her head nodded and she was gone from the world. Eric was both relieved and disappointed. Mostly the latter.
When he kissed her, he had realized that kiss had been a long time coming. Langford had seen that at once, but then, Langford had a special instinct when it came to sensual matters.
He watched her now, barely visible in the rising moon’s glow and the vague light from the swinging coach lamp in front. The qualities that impressed him were invisible now, with her vibrant eyes closed and her expressive face stilled. The self-confidence that had gone into that chamber to aid a woman she had not seen since girlhood—anyone who saw it would believe at once she would make a difference. As soon as she closed that chamber door, both father and son had displayed improved spirits.
He readjusted himself so he could stretch out his legs. He was tired too, even if he had done nothing all day but pace. He should have gone with Napier. He had not even considered doing so. He supposed he had thought he might be needed if Louisa passed. Not by Mr. Bowman and the boy, but by Davina. The way she had wept in the garden, not with grief but with regret and frustration, said he had been right.
Not that he had any idea how he might help her. Not by kissing her; that was certain. That had been an impulse and a mistake. So often, those two things went together. Tomorrow, or the next day, or sometime in the future, he would have to speak of that with her. He was not sure what he would say.
Something emerged in me that I have buried for years and I was not myself. He would sound like a fool if he said that, true though it might be. Nor did he mind that he had succumbed to impulse. To passion. To recklessness. After ten years of controlling that part of himself, he had reveled in its victory over his better sense. But for her sleeping, he might have done so again here, in the dark. Instead, he rode in silence, listening to her calm, deep breaths, while memories pressed on him of how destructive true passion could be.
He had Napier stop in the village as they rode through, and sent him to a tavern to buy a basket of hot food and some wine. Davina dozed through it all. When they reached her house, he needed to jostle her awake and enjoyed that brief touch more than he should.
She blinked and straightened, then looked out the window. “We are here so soon?”
“You were sound asleep.”
She wiped her eyes. “What is that?” She pointed to the basket.
“Food from the tavern. I cannot promise it is any good, but it should still be hot enough. You have not eaten all day.”
“Nor have you.”
“I will dine when I return to Newcastle.”
“That is a long way. We can share what is in there.”
He should decline and start on that long way. He didn’t.
He carried the basket into the house. She found a flint and lit a lamp, then led him back to the kitchen.
“I hope this will do. The dining room is not clean.” She found another lamp and lit it, then knelt and built up the fire a bit in the hearth.
