Page 67 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

“Your Grace, Your Grace,” Miss Pearl shouted, hurrying out of the manor and down the steps. “Rowan, your mother. She is in her room…waiting for the physician to arrive.”

By the time the older woman stopped before them, she was panting and doubled over to gain her composure.

“Please, calm yourself, Pearl.” Marce stepped forward, patting the woman’s back. “That’s it, deep breaths. Now, tell us what has happened with the duchess.”

“She was”—his mother’s companion paused, glancing up at him before refocusing on Marce—“she was preparing for bed last night and stumbled off balance when a coughing fit overtook her. She fell and hit her head on the corner of her bed. I found her a while later when I went to bring her the orange tea she enjoys before she retires for the evening.”

“Was the physician called last night?” he growled.

His tone was more forceful than he’d anticipated, but the woman did not back down. “Of course, Your Grace, I am not feeble-minded.”

“No one said you were,” Marce soothed, taking the woman’s hands into hers and rubbing them gently. “Your hands, they are freezing. Have you gotten any rest since the physician arrived?”

“I have been with Leona since I found her.” Miss Pearl turned a narrow-eyed stare on Rowan as if to prove she was fulfilling her duties. “The physician feared a concussion from her fall and said I must keep her awake until he returned this afternoon to examine her.”

“Did she injure anything else?”

“A bruise on her arm, that is all, but it seems the doctor is also concerned about her increased coughing.” Miss Pearl pulled from Marce’s hold and turned toward the manor. “She insisted you not be summoned, Your Grace, but I was ever so worried and knew you could convince her to do as the physician says and remain abed.”

A bit of Rowan’s unease receded, and they followed his mother’s companion into the house and up the stairs and to the west wing of Hadlow. He nodded to various servants as they passed them in the foyer and the corridors. Each seemingly stunned to see him.

He leaned close to Marce when they rounded the corner and entered the west wing and said, “It appears every servant assumed I would abandon my mother in her time of need.”

“It isn’t that, Rowan, I assure you.”

His step faltered at her words. “Then what in the bloody hell is it?”

She squeezed his hand in answer, and he realized he’d taken hold of her again at some point…and every occupant of Hadlow had noticed.

Her hand in his felt natural and normal—a feeling he’d never felt before. Rowan had spent so many years comforting his mother that being comforted was foreign—yet very welcome.

“She is in her bedchambers,” Miss Pearl called, glancing over her shoulder. “However, she is expecting you, Your Grace.”

They entered the duchess’s private drawing room and continued on to her bedchamber beyond, the air thick with warmth from the roaring fire in the hearth. The room was dim with the drapes pulled closed, and but a single candle lit on her dressing table. The stench of sickness nearly overwhelmed him. Only a few days before, his mother appeared to be improving and was looking forward to working in her garden come warmer weather. But now, her eyes were sunken, and her arms looked deathly thin.

His mother appeared fragile and pale where she lay in her large, four-poster bed, the sheer curtains tied back with a chair positioned close to the mattress.

Rowan led Marce farther into the room, pulling her close to him as they reached the side of the bed. “Mother,” he whispered so as not to startle her if she slept. When she began to stir, her eyes opening a crack, Rowan lowered himself onto the chair. He sensed Marce at his back. “Mother, Marce and I are here.”

“My dear boy.” Her voice was a ragged croak, and she reached out to touch him. “And my dear daughter.”

“We are both here, Leona.” Marce’s warm breath caressed his cheek when she leaned closer so Leona could see her. “How are you feeling?”

“You are both here?” Her glazed stare narrowed, and her eyes moved between them in seeming disbelief.

“Of course, we are here.”

“Together?”

Rowan couldn’t help but turn a questioning gaze up at Marce, who stood behind him before focusing on his mother once more. “You should rest, Mother. The physician should be arriving shortly. We will return once he leaves.”

In response, his mother snorted, the sound turning quickly to another coughing fit.

Pearl rushed forward and handed the duchess a kerchief.

Pressing it to her mouth, his mother scrutinized them, her green stare identical to Rowan’s. “I was afraid that I would never see the pair of you together again.”

“Nonsense, Mother.”