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In the end, there was no way to prevent his brother from crashing through the window and falling to the ground below.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Orris could hear sounds of a fight as she and Samuel waited for the landlord to open the door. He fumbled through keys, hands trembling, until finally, Samuel pushed him out of the way and began charging the door in an effort to break it down.

Orris and Myrtle had gone to the Dove and arrived just as Samuel had, returning from the hotels he’d searched with no success. Abram had left word with Barrett, which had led them to their location.

Samuel had insisted Myrtle remain at the Dove, in the event she was with child, and had even attempted to get Orris to stay as well. When she’d refused, he’d made her promise to allow him to go in first, if and only if there was no violence. She had promised to stay outside.

With the sounds coming from that room, she’d known there was no way she would be able to stay out of the raging battle happening inside. When they heard the window breaking, and someone screaming that they must have gone through, her heart sank.

What if that had been Abram? The mere thought of it stole her breath away. A sheen of sweat broke over her forehead, and she screamed when she could do nothing else. “Abram, we are coming for you!” she shouted, unsure if he was even in the room.

Samuel started using his foot to kick at the door. Finally, with one more forceful blow, the wood splintered near the knob and the door crashed open, banging against the wall on the other side.

Samuel charged in, and Orris followed on his heels. She surveyed the room and saw no movement, until the wind blew the tattered curtains, a bloody handprint near the bottom. Her eyes traced down the wall and there was Dahl in a heap on the floor. There was blood on his shirt, on his pants, and his eyes were closed as his chest heaved. On closer inspection, she noted the widow’s peak. It was Abram. Her Abram.

Samuel was already helping Violetta to her feet, hands busy untying the rope that bound her wrists.

Orris ran across the room. “Vi, are you hurt?” She pulled the dirty swath of cloth free from her mouth.

“I am going to fetch the constable,” the landlord shouted before quick steps were heard across the floor.

“No, only my pride,” she whispered. “We can thank Lord Abram for that. If he had not arrived when he did, I do not know what Dahl—Lord Hartinton would have done to me. He was ranting and saying the vilest things I have ever heard.”

“You’re safe now,” Orris said.

“Tend to Abram. See how badly he is injured,” Samuel said, moving to Violetta’s side.

Orris went to her knees before him, her hands touching every place where there was blood. “Abram, can you hear me? Where are you hurt?” she asked when his eyes did not immediately open.

“Just my hand.” He groaned.

She glanced down and found his left hand was deeply cut, a cut she worried might have gone all the way through. Using her thinnest skirt, she tore at the crinoline, tearing free a strip, ripping it with a strength she had not known she possessed. Once she was done, she wrapped the fabric around his hand, again and again, until the cut was completely covered and tied it off with either end of the makeshift bandage.

Abram had not moved. Orris grabbed his face with her hands. “Look at me, Abram. You will be well. We shall get a doctor and he will—”

“I thought he had you. I could not allow him to harm another person.”

“I know. You fought valiantly. You saved my sister. I shall be forever grateful,” she said.

“I couldn’t save him, Orris. Couldn’t save him from the fall. What will I tell my father?” he asked, his voice so weak and hoarse, she hardly recognized it.

“The truth, Abram. You have to tell him the truth. All of it. It may hurt him, but he deserves to know that you tried to maintain the integrity of your family. You protected the honor and legacy of your line from your brother’s villainous behavior.”

“How can you be sure?” Abram whispered hoarsely. “When we were fighting, a part of me wanted him dead. He deserved it for what he did to Rowan. When he fell through the window, I tried to catch him. He grasped my hand, and I could see the fear in his eyes. He deserved the fate he received, but I did not want to witness it. Not in that way.”

“I know. Come on. We must get you to a physician. Your hand could become infected,” she said.

Abram did not protest. She offered him her hand and he used it as leverage to get himself off the floor. She let him lean on her and suspected it was not the pain of the fight that had left him weakened. Orris believed it was the pain of loss weighing on him the most.

She would help him through the heartache. She would be there for the duration of his sorrow. Never again would he have to face the atrocities of the world alone, for she would remain right by his side.

*

Orris came down for luncheon for the first time in days. She had remained at Abram’s side as he’d convalesced with his injured hand and finally grieved the loss of one of his greatest friends and mourned a relationship with his brother he’d never had.

“Is he getting better?” Mama asked as she entered the room.