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  Hours later, Georgina sat in the chair at his bedside, watching her son take it all in. All Duncan wanted was to be alone.

  His forearm itched at the memory of the bloodletting.

  His stomach cramped.

  He was agitated, impatient.

  Three weeks. The meaning of her words did not fully process. He had been in bed, trapped in a laudanum dream, for three weeks.

  Bernard had not seen him in all this time. The boy was upset, wanting to know where Papa was. The most humiliating part was learning Mary had called on the family every day and seen him in this state. That was worse, even, than the mortification that he had been carried to a tub, bathed, and shaved by footmen and his valet during this time. There were flashes of memories, some bits of lucidity when he recalled being in a bath, recalled Mary’s hand holding his, recalled being fed by a woman who looked remarkably like Mary only older. He had not the wherewithal during any of those times to realize he was not still dreaming.

  Propped against the headboard, a pillow serving as a barrier against the cold wood, he strangled the fabric of his nightshirt, his legs stretched before him, limp and motionless.

  “The physician is speaking with your father,” his mother said. “He’ll come soon to discuss the surgery. He’s optimistic.”

  Duncan did not respond. His eyes fixed on the outline of his feet beneath the covers. He felt nothing from the hips down. Dead, lifeless extremities.

  “I know this is a lot to take in, son, but we’re here for you. We’ll see this through.” She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a card. “I thought this might cheer you, give you something to look forward to.”

  When he did not take it from her outstretched hand, she set it on the edge of the bed. Barely a glance, he gave it.

  “I’ll give you some time before the physician comes. Is there anything I can fetch for you? Anything you need?”

  He could have laughed if he were not so despondent. Instead, he shook his head. She studied him in silence, then leaned over to kiss his forehead before stepping out of the room.

  He stared at the outlines of his legs beneath the sheets. Long, strong, muscular. The legs of a cavalry officer. The legs of a warrior.

  Picking up the card, he turned it over to see the royal invitation for the May ball, the celebration of the returned officers. Crumpling it, he hurled it across the room.

  Chapter 8

  By the time the chamber door opened, and a smartly-dressed, middle-aged man entered, Duncan had explored his physical state. He was cleanly shaven and recently bathed, but weak and nauseated. Scabs had formed on his forearm where the lancet, or whatever the leech had used, had pierced his skin for bleeding. His legs were, as he suspected, immobile and devoid of feeling. The future as he knew it was over.

  The fellow gave a bow upon entering, a woman following close behind him. Duncan fisted the sheets in startled confusion to see the woman. For a moment, he thought it was Mary. Only, this woman was older, perhaps mid to late thirties. It took him several long seconds to convince himself he was not having a residual laudanum hallucination.

  The two women shared the same black hair, dark eyes, Roman nose, and tall height. The immediate distinction was the physique. This woman was pear-shaped rather than hourglass, beautiful in her own way, but not Mary. Her breasts were smaller and her hips wider. Smile lines framed her mouth where Mary’s skin wore the smoothness of youth. Aside from the resemblance to Mary, there was something familiar about the woman he could not readily identify.

  “I take this as a compliment of my success to see you sitting aright,” said the man, fussing with his cravat.

  Duncan scowled. “And you are…?”

  “Dr. Knowlton. I see our previous meetings were not memorable. I assume you remember Lilith, at least?” He waved a hand to the woman.

  Duncan shook his head.

  “Yes, well, at least the laudanum days are behind us. As I said, I’m Dr. Knowlton. I saw to your treatment and will be staying for another week. My companion is Lady Collingwood. She saw fit to send for me, and rightly so.”

  Duncan’s gaze moved from one to the other. Lady Collingwood stepped forward and put her hands on the foot of his four-poster, an intimate action for a woman he had never met.

  “Please, call me Lilith. I’m the Duke of Annick’s cousin and have come on his behest. Though you don’t recall, I have visited every day for two weeks. We have spoken on numerous occasions. I realize you were not entirely lucid during those conversations.”

  All he could do was continue to shake his head, feeling like an imposter in his own body, a traveling soul who found his way into another man’s shell.

  The physician approached the bedside, taking a seat where Georgina had been not long before. “I’d like for us to talk about your treatment.”

  Duncan curled his lips. “No more bloodletting. And no more surgeries. Stay away from me.”

  Instead of appearing offended, the man smiled, crossing one leg over the other. “I’m not a surgeon, leech, or apothecary, Sir Duncan. I’m a doctor. I do not bleed my patients, nor do I saw off limbs. I’m the youngest son of an earl, educated at Oxford, and had the great honor of working with Domenico Cotugno in Italy before settling in Hampshire to help Lord and Lady Collingwood with their hospital. You’re a rarity, my good man. Only twice have I seen a case like yours, both while working with Cotugno.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Duncan continued to look between the two of them, feeling exposed and uncomfortable. They were strangers standing in his bedroom, clearly familiar with him, while he sat trapped in his bed, wearing nothing but a nightshirt and without the faintest clue who they were aside from the informal introductions.

  “You had a clotting of blood compressing your spine. Had I not studied with Cotugno, I would have been at a loss. God appears to have smiled on you, good sir. I have already drained and removed the clot. The swelling at your lower back is gone, though there will remain bruising for another week or longer. I’m surprised you haven’t walked out of the room already. Have you tried?”

  Incredulous and alarmed, he pulled the covers more tightly around him. Was this some kind of cruel joke? He was not going to be walking anywhere ever again. The horror of knowing they had performed a bloodletting operation while he was drugged was bad enough, but to be taunted about his condition was going too far.

  “You need to leave. Now.” Duncan growled through barred teeth.

  The doctor had the courtesy to look chagrined. Lady Collingwood was another matter. She walked to the other side of the bed, sat on the edge—Good God!—and reached a hand to take his. He stared at it, balling his fingers into fists.

  “Lady Mary and I have spent a good deal of time together and with you over the past two weeks, Sir Duncan. I’ve come to know you as a strong and determined man, as well as an intellectual. She tells me of your love for horse riding and your enthusiasm for your new baronetcy. I know it’s difficult to trust strangers, but I’d like for you to consider me a friend. Will you give me a chance to help you, as a friend?”

  Her hand remained suspended, reaching out to him. Looking from it to her and back, he knew not what to do. If Mary trusted her, he wanted to also. Slipping his hand into hers, he nodded.

  Dr. Knowlton clapped his hands and stood. “Now, tell me, do you feel any pain?”

  “No,” Duncan said. “I don’t feel anything.”

  As soon as he spoke the words, it hit him. He felt no pain. For the first time in six months, he was free of pain. No throbbing. No stabbing. No pain at the base of his spine.

  “Feeling in your extremities should return, as should your ability to move. Small steps, literally and figuratively, my good man.” The doctor leaned over the bed and held his hand a foot above Duncan’s shin. “Lift your leg to my hand.”

  Oh, this was the outside of e
nough. Grinding his teeth and squeezing Lady Collingwood’s hand a touch too tightly, he said, “If I can’t move my legs, then how the devil am I supposed to lift it that high?”

  “Will power. Now, lift.” Dr. Knowlton raised his brows expectantly, his hand held steady.

  Throwing back the covers and hoping Lady Collingwood would not be shocked to see bare legs below the edge of the nightshirt, Duncan concentrated on the doctor’s hand and willed his leg to move. Nothing happened. How he could lift a leg he could not feel was beyond his comprehension. He grunted in frustration. The doctor did not move his hand, simply waited patiently.

  Minutes passed of Duncan glowering at the hand, willing his leg to lift.

  “This isn’t working.”

  Dr. Knowlton lowered his hand until it was barely two inches above Duncan’s leg. He nodded.

  Duncan strained until his head throbbed.

  Lady Collingwood interrupted. “I think Sir Duncan is tired, Frederick. Shall we try again tomorrow?”

  The doctor hesitated, not in the least agreeing with her, but he withdrew his hand. Duncan covered his humiliation with the covers.

  “We’ll have a tray brought up with a hearty meal,” Lady Collingwood said, “and an herbal tea. I’ve mixed the herbs myself, so drink the tea in its entirety. It’ll help regenerate your strength. I believe you’ll enjoy the meal. It’s my husband’s favorite recipe, and I’ve shared it with your cook.”

  The two bade their farewells at last and left Duncan in peace.

  He let his head fall back against the headboard. This was hopeless.

  The blush of the rose petal looked remarkably realistic, Mary thought as her fingertips caressed the silk thread.

  Steadily, over the past two weeks, she had been working on hem embroidery for dresses to surprise the orphans in Lilith’s orphanage. How delighted they would be to have their overseer return with an armful of gifts. For the boys, she had collected books from the Annick library to use for their lessons. The image of their excited faces swelled Mary’s heart. Kindness aside, finding and crafting gifts for them busied her mind.

  It was difficult to think straight while worrying over Duncan’s condition. As much as she loved her rides with Athena, there were only so many times one could ride in a day. She had no wish to exhaust her horse just to forget her own troubles. Archery took up at least an hour of her time each day as she prepared for the October house party and the archery competitions she would host, but a weapon in trembling hands, given the current emotional straits, was a dangerous thing.

  The door to the parlor opened, startling Mary and Mrs. Starrett. Eyes wide, breath hitched in anticipation, Mary looked up as Lilith joined them. Her cousin’s brows were creased, a tight smile on her lips. Mrs. Starrett set her book aside and leaned forward. Having seen Lilith’s expression and reading the worst in it, Mary looked to her embroidery. With careful precision, she tied off the thread and tucked away her work.

  “Well?” Mrs. Starrett asked, her voice full of hope.

  “It’s a process. Recovery may take some time, but he’s through the worst of it,” Lilith answered.

  Mrs. Starrett sat up straighter, gripping the arms of the chair. “The doctor said he would be able to walk today.”

  “Not precisely,” Lilith said, her tone as soft as the silken thread. “He hoped your son would be able to walk today.”

  Duncan’s mother heaved herself against the chairback. “It didn’t work.”

  “On the contrary. It did. The pain is gone, as is the swelling. The clot is no longer compressing the spine. After seeing a similar case in Italy, Dr. Knowlton was hopeful this would be nothing short of miraculous. Your son is better, though, Mrs. Starrett. We both have faith he will regain sensation and mobility. It is a matter of time and effort.”

  Mrs. Starrett did not respond. As silence lingered, Mary imagined Duncan in his room, alone, angry, possibly scared. She should be there with him, not sitting in a parlor.

  Lilith reached out to Mrs. Starrett, covering the mother’s hand with her own. “He’s in shock. He needs your hope and optimism. The only way he will walk out of that room is with determination and sheer will. In his current mood, that might not be possible. You must be his strength.”

  Still holding the woman’s hand, Lilith pulled out a handkerchief for Mrs. Starrett, whose cheeks were streaked with tears.

  “May I see him?” Mary braved.

  With a subtle but unmistakable cringe, Lilith said, “While that’s for Mrs. Starrett to decide, I wouldn’t advise it. Not yet.”

  “But I can talk to him. If he knows I’m here, surely that will lift his spirits.” Mary was desperate to tell him she did not care about his condition. It changed nothing, not really.

  “You must understand. He’s in shock. He feels emasculated. You, I’m afraid to say, are the last person he needs to see right now, and I say that with tenderness.”

  After wiping her face with the handkerchief, Mrs. Starrett said, “I’m inclined to agree, Mary, love. I am in your debt for all you’ve done for my boy. Let’s visit in a few days, shall we? Just the two of us.”

  The words hurt. Mary understood, truly, but the words still hurt. Her place was by his side. After all she had done, she was being pushed away. From their perspective, she was not part of the family. She was the concerned neighbor and friend, nothing more.

  Mary did not care that there was no formal understanding. As often as she had come to the house over the past two weeks, and as many times as she sat at his bedside, regardless that it was always with a chaperone, the whole of the county would assume they were betrothed by now. Servants talked. Servants talked to their families, to each other, to the servants of other houses, and to their employers. Employers then talked to each other. If there was a person in Northumberland who did not know by now of his condition or of her bedside vigil, she would be shocked.

  As far as she was concerned, Duncan and she were bound for life. If not, she had compromised her reputation and her heart for nothing.

  The carriage ride back to Lyonn Manor began in silence.

  What was there to say? The farther she moved away from Cois Greta Park, the more depressed she felt. Would they tell him she had been there every day? Would he know she still cared? If she thought she felt helpless before, it was nothing to now.

  “You understand, don’t you, Mary?” Lilith asked.

  “Yes, of course.” Her words were brusque and dismissive.

  Lilith gave a reassuring smile. “That is to say, not at all?”

  Uncertain how to respond, Mary turned back to the window to watch the rolling hills pass.

  Over the past two weeks, she had the opportunity to get to know her cousin. Lilith was a likable woman—direct and honest. Mary could not recall meeting anyone quite like her. Even Lilith’s son was a treasure, one of the happiest children Mary had ever met. He smiled and laughed at everything and never cried. It was love at first sight when Lilith brought him with her on several visits, giving the Mowbrah family a chance to spend time with him. With a head of dark brown curls and the greenest eyes Mary had ever seen, Benjamin would one day be a heartbreaker.

  Much to Mary’s surprise, Lilith spent an hour of each of her visits at the dower house, conversing with Mary’s mother. Why anyone would want to voluntarily spend time with that harridan was beyond her understanding. She declined to accompany Lilith. Each time, Lilith took Benjamin with her, as if Catherine would want to spend time with a six-month-old baby. As far as Mary knew, her mother hated children.

  Lilith laid a hand on Mary’s knee. “I know you want to be at his side, but he does not want or need a nursemaid. With you there, he would feel more helpless than supported. He’s a man, Mary. He must do this on his own.”

  Mary insisted, “I wouldn’t be a nursemaid. I would encourage him.”

  “You are the most instinc
tively mothering woman I know. I mean that as a compliment. At the present time, he does not need mothering. He needs a swift kick to his buttocks to get him out of bed.”

  She disagreed. What she felt he needed was her loving support. With her at his bedside, she could encourage him with plans for his new home and his future. Oh! And the May ball. That would be something to look forward to. Though they each loved dancing, they had never danced with each other. How wonderful of a motivator that would be!

  “Have you thought about what you want?” Lilith asked.

  Brows knit in confusion, Mary turned to Lilith. “What do you mean, what I want? I want Duncan to return to his normal life. Maybe it’s too much to assume we’ll marry, but it is something I hope for.”

  “How shall I say this?” Lilith sighed. “Duncan’s life will not return to normal. There’s a chance he could never walk again. That isn’t something I would say to his mother, but it is something I’ll say to you. There’s a chance he could never regain feeling and never walk. That’s the future he’s facing, Mary. If he does regain mobility, and perhaps feeling too, and Dr. Knowlton firmly believes he will, his life will always be shadowed by this ordeal and the possibility of it happening again.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying you need to think about what you want and if Duncan can offer it, assuming he’s willing to offer it. Just promise me you’ll think on this.” Lilith patted Mary’s knee.

  Mary turned back to the window, the world outside a blur.

  Chapter 9

  It was not the laudanum he craved so much as the paradise it offered, a reality he could never have. Never again would he and Mary sit by the lake, dance, or ride side-by-side. In a single night’s horror, his dreams had shattered.

  However ill he was over the next few days, and however much he wanted to return to that paradise rather than face reality, he refused to drink a single drop. It had not been his choice to use laudanum to dull his pain, but it certainly was his choice now not to use it. Thankfully, there was no physical pain for him to dull other than a lingering nausea and chill.