The Lyon and The Rose of Mayfair: The Lyon's Den Connected World

Chapter Thirteen

Charlotte had never known anything but love, affection, and comfort from the day she’d been born. She’d been so content with life that she hadn’t wanted to leave the safe cocoon her parents had spun around her. Happy as she’d been, she had never imagined that having a family of her own could be so blissful. She’d witnessed her parents’ love and had hoped to find the same for herself, and she’d imagined that a love match would simply be an extension of the life she already lived. But life with Hugh was an entirely new world where every ordinary event seemed more exciting, and every day seemed brighter and filled with the promise of a beautiful future.

She sighed happily and snuggled close to Hugh as the coach rolled into Mayfair, feeling certain that her papa would love Hugh as much as she did. Mama would have already broken the news to him, and now all that remained was for their families to come together. Just as planned.

Hugh wrapped his arm around her, enveloping her in his warmth. “How are you feeling, my love?” he asked as the carriage rolled to a stop outside her parents’ townhome.

“Blissful,” she said. “In just a few minutes, all the people I love most in the world will be in the same room.”

It was evening, and the streets were already dark, but warm candlelight flickered in the windows of her home, and she knew that, after having received her message, her parents would have postponed their dinner so they could all dine together. And the thought filled her with warmth.

“Are you ready?” Hugh said.

She nodded and smiled reassuringly. He reached for the door handle, but she grabbed his hand, and he turned back to her. “My parents will love you. I have no doubt in my heart about that.”

He leaned toward her and kissed her. “And I shall love them because they are part of you,” he said, kissing her again before pushing open the door. He exited the carriage and turned to help Charlotte out. Just as she reached for his hand, a figure emerged from the shadows and lunged at Hugh. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open in an expression of surprise and pain.

A thin trickle of blood ran down the corner of his mouth before his body slumped to the ground. A glint of silver and a head of fiery copper hair caught Charlotte’s eye as Hugh’s attacker made his escape.

Still holding the lamp, Charlotte scrambled to get out of the carriage but froze when she saw Hugh slumped on the ground right in front of the carriage door. The driver had already dismounted and crouched next to Hugh.

“He’s been stabbed in the back, Miss,” the driver said, looking up at her. “I think he’s gone.”

The scream that had been sitting in Charlotte’s throat escaped, piercing the calm night air.

Voices sounded inthe distance—his driver and another man—a stranger. He didn’t know the voice. Women’s voices were also in his head. Charlotte’s voice. He could hear her, but he couldn’t see or touch her. Where was she?

Charlotte. He tried to say her name.

An icy chill gripped his body, and he began to shake.

“Take him inside,” someone shouted.

“Fetch the doctor,” another voice cried.

He thought he heard a woman sob. Charlotte, he tried again to speak but failed. His body shook uncontrollably. Why was it so bloody cold?

Someone slipped their hands under his arms. His body convulsed in response to their excruciating touch. Another person gripped his legs. Then he was in the air, dangling helplessly, as they carried him inside. A searing pain radiated between his shoulder blades and then throughout his body. He screamed, but it seemed nobody heard his cries. Pain overwhelmed his senses. He was drowning in an ocean of agony. Then everything went black.

When he awoke, he was naked to the waist, lying face down on a soft bed. Daylight streamed into the room through a gap in the gold curtains. Gold curtains? He tried to push himself up, but the throbbing between his shoulder blades crippled him. Where am I? What the hell happened? He remembered riding in the carriage with Charlotte. They were married and happy. Had it all been a dream?

“Don’t try to move.” Charlotte’s voice forced his eyes open. She crouched by his side, her eyes swollen, and her cheeks streaked with tears.

What was happening? She’d been smiling at him, stretching out her hand to take his.

“Charlotte.” His voice came out in a whisper. Saying her name seemed to use all of his strength.

“Here, swallow this. It’s laudanum.” She spooned a few bitter drops in his mouth. Seconds later, a pleasant haziness overcame him, and his pain and fears disappeared. He floated on a soft cloud. Gretna Green. A bearded blacksmith striking an anvil. Charlotte in his arms. In his bed. The thoughts floated in his mind. Happiness filled his heart. He smiled as he sank into a deep sleep.

“Poppycock! My sonwill not stay in this house! Not while I’m still drawing breaths.” Despite being retired, General Warsham carried himself like a soldier on active duty. His rigid posture, permanent glare, and commanding voice sent shivers down Charlotte’s spine. He was the opposite of Hugh, who exuded warmth and charm. All of Hugh’s beauty and warmth, Charlotte knew, had come from his mother. She had the same gentle hazel eyes, luxurious brown curls, and exquisitely carved features. It fascinated Charlotte that Mrs. Warsham had once been engaged to her papa. And even more so that she’d chosen to marry General Warsham instead.

“General Warsham,” Doctor Warren said, “if you try to move your son now, you risk infection. His body has suffered an immense trauma; he must be allowed to rest and heal in peace.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of what these people have done!” He pointed at Lady Rose and Charlotte.

“I won’t have you speak about my wife and daughter in that vile manner. And certainly not under my roof!” Sir Benedict shot out of his seat.

“Your wife’s kin stabbed my son! And why? Because of your daughter! And now you hold him hostage.” The general thrust the newspaper at Sir Benedict. The headline read, Family Feud Turns Deadly. A sketch of Lucas accompanied the headline. He’d been captured a day after the attack, but not before Theseus paid him a visit and thrashed him within an inch of his life. It seemed that Mrs. Dove-Lyon had some powerful friends.

“He’s a distant cousin of my wife’s. I’d hardly call him my kin,” Sir Benedict shot back. “And as for my daughter, she gives your son reason to live.”

Tears stung Charlotte’s eyes. How could they argue like this when Hugh lay injured and unable to move? And even if he did recover, what hope was there for a future with him? In spite of her hopes, General Warsham clearly wasn’t the forgiving type.

“I’ll be sending my own doctor in here to examine Hugh, and if he gives me the all-clear, I’m taking him home. And when he has regained his strength, I will do everything I can to make him see the error of his ways and convince him to end the sham marriage that sorceress Dove-Lyon tricked him into.”

Charlotte bit her lip but could not stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks. Lady Rose put a comforting arm around her daughter.

“No one is taking my son anywhere, including you, William Warsham.” Mrs. Warsham, who had been sitting and silently observing her husband’s outburst, stood up and put herself between the two warring men. “Last week, our son, a grown man capable of making his own decisions, eloped to Scotland with the woman he loves, precisely what you did five and twenty years ago.”

Charlotte felt her mother tense beside her as Lady Rose cleared her throat loudly.

“Hugh’s marriage is no more a sham than our own. And if that is what you’ve thought these past five and twenty years then—”

“No,” General Warsham interjected. “Of course, I don’t believe that.” To Charlotte’s surprise, the general’s face softened. “You’re right. If this was indeed Hugh’s choice and not something he was tricked into, then—well, I can only know the truth when I hear it from his lips.”

“You will, I can assure you,” Mrs. Warsham said, “and in the meantime, you must—”

“Dr. Warren, a word if you please.” Charlotte looked up to see that the doctor’s assistant had entered the room. He was a young man, no older than Hugh, tall and reed thin, with a thick mop of dark hair and large dark eyes that stared out from behind round spectacles.

“I’m sorry to disrupt in this way, sir,” he looked nervously at Sir Benedict, “but—”

“What is it?” Charlotte stood up and faced the assistant. The dread that had settled in her stomach since the stabbing now climbed her throat. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“Fever. It came on suddenly.”

Everyone moved forward simultaneously and followed Dr. Warren to Hugh’s room.

“Don’t crowd the patient,” Dr. Warren warned as he removed Hugh’s bandages and examined his wound. “I don’t see evidence of infection,” he said, turning to his anxious audience, “but it could be internal that we cannot see. And that can be extremely dangerous, I’m afraid.”

“It can’t be.” Charlotte’s knees turned to jelly, and she clung to her mother for support. “This morning, he seemed better. He whispered my name. I heard him.”

“That’s possible, but healing is a journey, and there are sometimes setbacks. The best we can do for him now is keep his body cool and draw out any poisons from his blood.”

Painful as it was to watch, Charlotte remained by Hugh’s side as the doctor made cuts in Hugh’s arms and let his blood drain into a bowl. Charlotte felt as though she was watching the life flow out of her husband, who seemed to grow weaker by the minute.

Two days hadpassed with little improvement to his condition. Charlotte sat beside her husband, holding his limp hand in hers. Her mother had tried and failed to get her to take a break and rest. She simply refused to leave Hugh’s side, so they sat with her, alternating, to ensure she was never alone.

General Warsham entered the room as his wife left Charlotte’s side for a much-needed break. He seemed to have aged ten years and sank into a chair in the corner of the room, his energy clearly drained. Charlotte’s heart went out to him. His love for Hugh was plain, and for that, she could forgive him anything.

Several hours passed, and Charlotte grew heavy. As if they had a mind of their own, her eyes insisted on closing, even though she kept trying to force them open. And then it happened. Hugh’s limp hand came to life, and he squeezed her hand.

Her eyes flew open. Had she imagined it? Again, his fingers squeezed hers.

“Hugh,” she said, looking down at him.

“Charlotte,” he whispered, blinking several times before opening his eyes and smiling up at her.

“General Warsham,” Charlotte called, “Hugh’s awake!”

The general stirred in his chair and then leaned forward. “What did you say?”

“Hugh is awake!” She caressed his cheek. It was cool to the touch. “His fever has broken!”

The general shot out of his chair and, seeing his son’s eyes open, embraced Charlotte in a bear hug before running out of the room, calling for his wife to come quickly.

Charlotte smiled down at Hugh, who looked up at her with a warm, clear gaze, squeezed her hand, and for the first time in days, she felt that all would be well.