“There is a doctor I’ve heard about in London.” Another fleeting glance. “A woman.”
“Awomandoctor?” she said, amazed.
“Aye. She’s supposed tae be an expert in diseases of the flesh. Except she doesn’t travel. Refuses tae. I dinna know if she’ll come here—”
“She will,” Mara said, speaking with newfound determination. “I’ll get her myself. She can’t refuse me, I’m the Duchess of Southwick.”
“Yes,” Agnes murmured, pride warring with distress as her heart was pulled in opposite directions. To the duke she’d loved since he was a boy. And to the duchess that she’d had the honor of watching turn from a shy, awkward duckling into an elegant, powerful swan. “Yes, ye certainly are, lass. Ye certainly are.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mara didn’t wantto leave Ambrose, but as her carriage raced off to London, at least she was content with the knowledge that she was doingsomethingto save him. Something other than sitting around and waiting for the worst to happen.
Drumming her fingers on the windowsill, she silently urged the driver to go faster. Derbyshire to London, a journey of more than 150 miles, would take the rest of the day and half the night. An outrider had already been sent ahead to share the news of her impending arrival with the staff at Mill House, after which he was to report directly to the private residence of one Dr. Abigail Chadwick and deliver the letter that Mara had hastily dashed together. A letter that she prayed would be enough to convince the doctor to travel back with her to Southwick Castle, but if not, she was prepared to persuade her with words. On her knees, if need be, for she wasn’t afraid to beg for the man she loved.
And shedidlove him.
Ambrose.
Part of her always had. All of her always would.
No matter what happened.
Mara, I...
She was determined that he would have the opportunity to finish that sentence.
Somewhere around Northampton, Mara slipped into an exhausted, dreamless sleep and did not awake until she heard a knock on the carriage door seconds before it opened, letting in a waft of cool night air that smelled of vaguely of brackish water and chimney smoke. London at its finest.
“We’re here, Your Grace,” a footman announced formally. “Mill House.”
“What—what time is it?” She rubbed the tension at the base of her neck as she hopped down from the carriage and gazed warily at her husband’s London manor. This was where she’d spent her wedding night, a memory that did not invoke overwhelming feelings of joy. She had never pictured herself coming back to this place. This stone tomb of bad beginnings. But then, neither had she pictured herself taking a lover, or standing up to her husband, or fending off a pack of stray dogs. What was life, if not a series of pictures that you painted as you went? Sometimes with more grays. Other times with vivid reds and oranges. Always changing. Always evolving. Always bringing you, canvas by canvas, to where you were truly meant to be.
If this was where her marriage had broken, then perhaps it was only right that this was where it was supposed to be fixed. Where she was meant to save the husband that had sent her away. Where she was meant to save the man who had stolen her heart.
“The hour is half past midnight, Your Grace,” the footman informed her. “Should I have your belongings brought straight to your chamber?”
“I didn’t bring any belongings. But I’ll take a cup of tea.”
She sat in the front parlor and sipped her tea by candlelight, her nerves too frayed to sleep. A hundred times over wondered if she’d made the right decision in leaving Ambrose. What sort of wife left her husband when he was hovering in that dark, gloomy place between life and death?A wife who cares,she told herself.A wife who is willing to fight for her happy ending.
Ambrose had come out to the orchards to fight for her.
Despite all his failings, he was there when she needed him most.
He hadn’t run.
He hadn’t left her.
He had risked his life, and sustained a serious, life-threatening injury as a result, to save her (never mind that she’d already mostly saved herself). If there was a chance, however small, that this doctor knew how to help him... then she was in the right place. She had to be. Because the alternative was too terrible to even think about.
Refilling her cup, she drank her tea and waited for the sun to rise.
*
“Why would youdo that?” Humphrey asked in a hushed tone as he and Agnes waited outside the duke’s door. They’d just finished cleaning his wound for the second time and he was resting fitfully, his fever having miraculously broken over the long night.
“Do what?” Agnes asked, busying herself with folding a pile of clean linens.
