March 1813
Southwick Castle, Derbyshire, England
“Ye have taerest, Your Grace.”
Mara flinched when Agnes placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Not until he wakes up.”
“That might not be for another hour, or another day, or even another week.”
“Then I’ll wait for as long as it takes.” Lifting her head—her neck was beyond numb—she squinted blearily out the window. “What time is it?”
What day is it?
Three had passed, that she knew of. Three days since the wild dogs had attacked, and she’d fended them off, and Ambrose had slipped into what the doctor was calling a “blood loss coma.” With nothing else to do and nowhere else to go (how laughable, that she’d once imagined trotting off to London sans her husband when now she couldn’t fathom leaving his side), she had begun to track the minutes by the steady rise and fall of Ambrose’s chest. That movement, slight as it was, remained one of the few things that gave her hope.
As long as the duke breathed, he lived.
And as long as he lived, there was no reason he wouldn’t soon wake up.
“Noon on the hour, Your Grace, and ye have not eaten a bite since yesterday morning.” Agnes clucked her tongue in sympathetic disapproval. “I’ve a hot bath in your room, along with a platter of fruit and cheese. All of yer favorites. Come wash yourself and eat.”
Mara sighed. “Agnes—”
“Ye can do it quickly,” the Scotswoman said with the same unequivocal firmness she used to boss the other servants about. “But ye need tae do it. Come on, then. I’ll stand guard over him.”
“And tell me if anything changes,” Mara ordered as she wearily pushed herself to her feet. “Even something small, like a movement of his finger. The doctor said that would be a sign of a progress.”
“Even something small,” Agnes agreed before she nudged the exhausted duchess out the door and closed it behind her.
*
Once Mara haddeparted, Agnes abruptly turned to the duke, crossed her arms, and scowled. “That’s enough now, Your Grace. Ye have given us all a good scare, but it’s time tae wake up. We both know ye have been through worse than this. If that monstrosity of a father couldn’t defeat ye, then what chance does an inbred spaniel have?” She waited, breath bated, for the duke to open his eyes.No oneignored a direct command from the likes of Agnes MacCallum, and this was the first time she’d been alone with the duke to give it. The duchess, bless her heart, had left his bedside for nary a second. If it weren’t under such dire circumstances, it would have warmed her heart to witness such devotion between two people who had caused each other such pain.
“Your lady is waiting for ye,” she said, squeezing the duke’s hand. “Dinna disappoint her, Your Grace. Ye have done enough of that already.”
*
“You look terrible.”Kitty was there to greet her sister when Mara entered her bedchamber, although the salutation was less than complimentary. “And your hair looks like a nest for squirrels.”
“Not today, Kitty.” Mara’s muscles, stiff from sitting in the same position for hours on end, screamed in protest when she undressed, and she all but wept with relief when she stepped into the bath that Agnes had prepared for her. Filled with bubbles, it smelled of lavender, and she closed her eyes as let her head fall back onto the curved lip of the claw foot tub and the warm water lapped up to her chin. “I’m too tired to argue with you today.”
“Who said that I was arguing?” Kitty’s skirts swished with indignation as she settled herself on a chair beside the tub. “I was merely making an observation.”
“An unkind and unnecessary observation.” Mara opened one eye. “Perhaps you should return to London. Try to make amends with your own husband instead of criticizing my appearance after I’ve been looking after mine.”
It was a cold day in hell that Maraeverstood up to Kitty, let alone put her in her place. But the last few days of standing helplessly beside Ambrose as he’d teetered between life and death had hardened her. It had also shown her that there was no time for enduring petty insults and making herself small so that others—including her own sister—could feel bigger.
Kitty had grown up in the same household with the same father. She’d endured the same abuse, even though Mara had done her best to take the brunt of it. But they weren’t those children any longer. They hadn’t been those children in years. And they could either continue to play the same roles as they always had or they could create new ones. Better ones. Stronger ones.
Mara wasn’t the poor, battered daughter of a viscount.
She was theDuchess of Southwick.
And it was past time that she acted like it.
“You’re throwing me out?” Kitty’s mouth opened to form a perfectoof exaggerated dismay. “After all I’ve done to help you?”
“What have you done?” Mara asked evenly. “Besides berate me, mock me, and question my decisions? I love you, Katherine. You are my sister. But that does not give you leave to treat me as you do.”
