“She left several minutes ago,” Gertrude shared, appearing in the doorway. “Said you were well taken care of so she wasn’t needed anymore, but that we should tell you that she wishes things could’ve been different. And that you are, and always will be, everything to her, and that she wishes you all the happiness in your life.”
His sadness over Frederick turned to supreme annoyance. Could the woman not wait long enough for him to talk to her? Well, he wasn’t giving up on them again, and he would show her or tell her or—definitely both. She needed both.
If he could just get to her. He pushed down on the bed to stand, but dizziness quickly overtook him, and he fell back against the pillows, muttering a curse beneath his breath.
Doc and Rebecca made their escape, sliding around Gertrude to exit the room. “We’ll get something to dress your wound,” Doc called before closing the door behind her with a soft snick.
“Don’t you dare do that,” Gertrude snapped, crossing to stand in front of him.
“What?” he asked, folding his arms because he was most certainly not in the mood for her scoldings.
“Feel sorry for yourself,” she retorted.
He glared. She had to be joking.
“I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I’m sad, I’m hurt, and I’m annoyed. Very annoyed.”
He paused.
“And maybe a touch sorry for myself; however, I think I’ve earned it,” he told her with a sniff. “I’ve been nearly killed twice, my head aches, my body hurts, and everything tingles, but in a very, very bad way.”
Sol counted each incident off on his fingers.
“Not to mention the fact that my own brother would like me dead. And given his ambitions, wants the woman I love dead as well, whether we’re together or not, whether I’m alive or not. She knows far too much and is far too much of a threat to him.” He squeezed the coverlet in frustration. “And naturally, at the moment I need to speak with her most, if not to convince her that she’s wrong about us, then to at least warn her regarding my brother, she’s run off. Yet again. While I’m, once again, stuck here.”
“First, you’re healing rather rapidly,” Gertrude said. “As for the girl, I’m not sure convincing her that she’s wrong will be so difficult.” She pointed a finger at him. “She sat with you the whole time, administering remedies in tiny, minuscule drops so as not to choke you. Rubbed your hands and forehead too and talked to you.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Told you she was sorry and that she loved you.”
“I thought that was a dream,” Sol murmured as a memory whispered through his mind. “I thought I conjured it and her because I wanted her—that—so badly.”
“For now, I would focus your energy on the matter with your brother,” Gertrude advised. “That’s the most challenging situation, it seems. He’s proven himself quite driven and, I fear, has become quite powerful. It would take someone even more powerful, I imagine, to resolve this in a way that will keep you and Miss Mosessafe.” She folded her arms. “You don’t happen to know anyone like that, do you?”
Did he? Isabelle, David, and Roger all had money and influence that stretched outside the Jewish community, but not enough to counter the gentry—or the law for that matter. And Frederick would have the power of both behind him. Especially after he married Lady Drucilla.
Sol frowned as an idea—or more so, a person—popped into his head. Someone who did not care for his brother but was almost certainly going to have to live with him. And thus, might be interested in a way to manage him.
He closed his eyes. Frederick would see it as a clear betrayal. It would most certainly end his relationship with his brother forever. He inhaled slowly.
It didn’t matter. Well, it did, but not in the way it should. He had tried, he had done everything, and now it was time to admit that you couldn’t make someone love you. That you could only protect those who did, who made you so happy. That you could only love without expecting it in return.
Though he’d need a touch extra proof first. Or at least facts. Which meant for once, he, not Hannah, was the one who’d be gathering information.
