The duke’s hand was immediately at her side, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Don’t try to speak,” he said quietly, his voice soft and reassuring, though something in her could not trust it. Why would he care? None of this made a lick of sense.
Jaclyn's mind raced, her vision swimming once more. The last thing she remembered was falling into the pond after trying to convince Melisande to come out of the water. She had tripped and fell… The cold water had swallowed her and dragged her down. Now, here she was, in a bedchamber unfamiliar to her, in the presence of a man who had never shown her kindness. Her thoughts were scrambled as she tried to understand it all. Why would the Duke of Amberwood be here? She could feel the bitterness rising within her—the same bitterness she had carried ever since she had been sent to Havenwood after the scandal. When he had arrived at Easton Abbey with the marquess she had been surprised. The duke had been cold, dismissive, and distant from the first moment of their reintroduction to each other. So why would he care if she was ill?
She shifted slightly, her pulse quickening. “You... you’re here.” Her voice came out in little more than a rasp, but it was enough to make him pause.
“Yes,” he replied, his tone gentle yet firm. “You fell ill, Lady Jaclyn. You’ve been unconscious for several days. I?—”
“Why?” she interrupted, her voice sharp despite the weak rasp. “Why are you in here?”
He stiffened, his gaze momentarily hardening before softening again. “I had to ensure that you would be all right.” He frowned. “Lady Easton needed a break from keeping vigil. I offered to stay even though it made her uncomfortable to leave you alone with me. Though neither of us expected you to awaken yet. The fever has kept you delirious.”
Jaclyn wanted to laugh bitterly, but it hurt too much. Now that she believed. He hadn’t thought he would have to explain himself. It made much more sense for Charlotte to care about her wellbeing. The duke had never shown any concern for her before. He had always made his disdain for her clear. Though he was here now, sitting beside her, watching over her, his voice softening with every word. Surely that meant something… Didn’t it?
“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “We both know what happens when you show me any kindness.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her tone. That duel had ruined her life, and it hadn’t made his any easier. Her foolish brother had damned them both.
There was a long silence between them, the weight of her words hanging in the air. The duke shifted in his chair, his face unreadable. “This is different,” he said, his voice raw with an emotion she couldn’t place. “Besides, I cannot very well ruin your reputation any more than I already have, and your brother is not here to force another duel.” He smiled. “I do care, Jaclyn. I do not wish any harm to come to you. Why would I have bothered jumping into the pond after you if I wished you ill?”
Jaclyn’s chest tightened, a mixture of anger and something unfamiliar swirling in her heart. He shouldn’t jest about that night… “You seem rather blasé about what happened that night, Your Grace.” She shook her head and regretted it immediately. “You were physically injured that night. I am glad it was not a grave wound, but next time you might not be so fortunate. We both know how hot-headed my brother is.” She met his gaze. “I was only ever a nuisance to you,” she muttered, trying her hardest to remain awake. “Your kindness to me was paid in bloodshed. I do not wish to incur any further injury to your person or your reputation. Mine is already in tatters and another blight will ensure I will be a pariah. You should leave. Send Charlotte back.”
“I am not leaving,” he said, his voice low and firm. “I am not afraid of your brother or his temper.”
“I did not mean to imply that you were,” she said softly. “Perhaps I am just surprised.”
“At what?” he asked.
“That you care…” She had not meant to admit that to him, but she could not hold back the words.
“It surprises you that I care?” He arched a brow. “I am not so unfeeling, my lady. I care more than I wish to admit.”
The words were so simple, yet they struck her like a blow. She wasn’t sure if it was the fever, or the exhaustion, or just the sheer confusion of it all, but the walls she had built around herself began to crumble just a little bit. The hope she’d buried deep inside—long buried, but still there—stirred. Could she trust him? Could she let him in? That night at Vauxhall, when they had first met, she had thought perhaps fate had brought him to her. That he might be the gentleman destined for her. What a fool she had been. A young, innocent fool…
Before she could gather her thoughts, he spoke again, his voice softer. “I am sorry you were hurt by all that transpired that night. You never should have carried the burden of a scandal. You did nothing wrong.”
She wanted to believe him. Could she trust him now? “I know that,” she told him. “As much as I am aware that you meant me no harm that night. The fault lies with my brother.” She laid her head back on the pillow. “That doesn’t change anything though. The outcome is still the same. Nothing we say now makes a difference.” She realized then that there was no question in her mind about trust. She had always trusted him. From that first moment. It wasn’t him she had lost faith in. It was in herself that she had doubts. She couldn’t trust her own feelings or instincts any longer and that was why she was struggling now.
“It doesn’t stop me from wishing it could have been different,” he continued, his hand brushing hers gently. “Or that I could make it right.”
Jaclyn’s heart raced, her thoughts in chaos. He was being so kind to her. She closed her eyes, exhaustion sweeping over her again. “I... I can’t do this now,” she whispered, her breath coming in shallow waves.
He seemed to understand. “Rest now, Jaclyn. I have kept you awake long enough. I don’t wish to make anything difficult for you. When you wake again, Charlotte will be here.”
But as she let herself drift back into unconsciousness, her thoughts were only of him. The possibilities were endless. What if they could still have a future? What if he felt more for her? What if, what if, what if… The world was full of what ifs, and she could not allow herself to fall into that trap. There was no what if for her and the duke. What was done, was done forever. Any chance they had was ripped away from them at Vauxhall and that duel. There was no Jaclyn and the duke. There was no one for her at all.
Kingston walked into the game room, the dimly lit space offering a welcome escape. One he desperately needed after his vigil at Jaclyn’s bedside. The fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls, while the scent of aged brandy filled the air. He had come down for a quiet drink, hoping the smooth warmth of the liquor would settle his mind. His thoughts were consumed with Jaclyn, who had been ill for days after she had nearly drowned in the pond, and his unease over her condition gnawed at him still.
The door to the room creaked open, and Kingston turned, not expecting anyone to disturb him. To his surprise, standing by the door was the Earl of Foxmoore, looking slightly disheveled but no less regal in his posture. Kingston raised an eyebrow, his surprise evident. "Foxmoore," Kingston said, setting his glass down and stepping forward to greet the man. "I didn't know you had returned to Easton Abbey."
Foxmoore gave a curt nod, a flicker of something—perhaps fatigue—passing over his face. "Lady Easton sent word to my wife," he said, his voice laced with a hint of concern. "Lady Jaclyn had an accident of some sort, and my wife insisted on returning to check on her. We arrived earlier this afternoon."
Kingston's chest tightened at the mention of Jaclyn, and his thoughts immediately returned to the scene of her flushed cheeks and fevered brow. He had been sitting with her before, trying to keep her comfortable, but her condition seemed to worsen as each day passed. He had lied to her earlier. He had not just been in the room to give Lady Easton a break. He had insisted that he be allowed to sit by her side. He still did not know why Lady Easton had acquiesced, but he didn’t question it. He should have known she would send word to Lady Foxmoore. They both cared about Jaclyn and were, to his knowledge, her closest friends. While he had been keeping vigil, he had not been aware that the Earl and Countess of Foxmoore had arrived.
"It is good that you are here," Kingston replied, the words coming slower than usual. "I was with Lady Jaclyn earlier and she will appreciate her friend’s presence. Where is your lovely wife?”
“Georgina has been fretting ever since she got word of her friend’s accident.” Foxmoore nodded at him and then settled himself into one of the leather chairs. "My wife is having tea with Lady Easton and plans to sit with Jaclyn later today," he said, his tone matter-of-fact but edged with concern. "She insisted on coming to offer whatever aid she could. She would not have done anything less than rush to be by her friend’s side. She doesn’t have many she can rely upon."
Kingston felt a quiet relief that Lady Foxmoore had arrived. He was grateful for her presence, especially given Jaclyn’s worsening condition. "I’m glad she’s here," Kingston murmured again, his eyes wandering to the window as his thoughts returned to Jaclyn. "Jaclyn’s fever still has her in a state. Her cheeks were burning earlier when I spoke with her."
Foxmoore seemed to say something else, but Kingston’s mind was a thousand miles away, absorbed in his worry for Jaclyn. He couldn’t tear his thoughts away from her—how feverish and pale she had looked earlier. His heart clenched, praying she would come through it. Had she believed him when he told her he cared about her? He thought he glimpsed disbelief in her feverish gaze, but he couldn’t be certain.
