Chapter Twenty-Eight
London, three weeks later
Ava came in from her morning ride and went straight up to Jerome’s room to see how he fared.
He was lying against the pillows with his face turned away.
At first, she thought he was asleep and approached quietly.
The sling kept his arm and collarbone fixed in position to encourage healing, but even so, she knew it caused him pain.
The inflammation in his face was slowly reducing as the wound healed.
He turned his head as she approached the bed and stared at her, almost as if he didn’t recognize her. Her heart flipped in alarm.
“Jerome?” She came closer and bent to kiss his forehead. “How do you feel?”
“No different. Why do you keep asking? Nothing has changed,” he said irritably.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her heart wrung by his obvious distress. “Can I fetch you anything?”
“No.” He turned his face away.
“Do you wish to sleep?”
“No!” He let out a breath. “I’m sorry. I’ve done nothing but sleep. I’m sick of this bed.”
“The doctor said—”
“I know what the doctor said!”
She bit her lip, stifling the desire to rip back at him. He was impossible in this mood.
“Would you like me to read to you?”
He hesitated and then said softly. “Yes, thank you. I can’t seem to read without getting a headache yet. I would appreciate that.”
She smiled. “Just let me change. I’ll be right back.”
He nodded and as she turned away, he caught her hand with his free one and squeezed it. “I’m sorry, I’m being a beast.”
She smiled wryly. “I know, but it’s because you feel beastly.”
Ten minutes later she was back with a copy of Waverley and settled carefully on the side of the bed to read to him, resting the book on her lap and holding his free hand in hers.
She looked up after a bit and found his eyes closed.
“Don’t stop,” he said, still with his eyes closed. “I’m listening. The light just makes my eyes ache.”
She kept on until Leyton arrived with morning tea.
She took the tray from him while he helped Jerome sit up in the bed.
Jerome wouldn’t suffer anyone to touch him but Leyton.
As much as she wanted to help, she knew better than to try.
Instead, she busied herself with the tea things, preparing him a cup of tea just as he liked it and optimistically putting a biscuit on the saucer in the hope that he would eat it.
Setting it on the bedside table in easy reach, she sat down carefully and sipped her own cup while Leyton tidied up and left them alone.
“I saw Emrys in the park. Annis is recovering well. I am going to visit her this afternoon and see the baby. They have settled on Annabelle for a name. He is so proud, you would think it’s his first instead of his fourth child!”
Jerome smiled; it was only half a smile as the healing wound pulled his mouth down on the right side. “He’ll be unbearable.”
“He wants to come and see you when you’re up to it.”
He nodded slowly but didn’t say anything. His eyes fell to the teacup in his hand, and he took a sip.
“Rob and Deo too. They’re all worried about you,” she said quietly. And so am I!
“Hm.” He sipped his tea.
She stifled a sigh, finished her tea, and resumed reading.
He finished his tea but didn’t eat the biscuit, settled back against the pillows, and closed his eyes.
She eventually stopped reading when she could tell by his breathing that he had fallen asleep.
She sat looking at him as silent tears rolled down her cheeks.
He was so unlike his usual energetic self.
So quiet and withdrawn, so bruised and battered. Her heart ached just looking at him.
She left him quietly, ate her luncheon in solitary state, and spent the afternoon visiting her former governess with her new baby.
She held the little scrap in her arms while the babe slept and wondered if she would have one of these to call her own one day.
It would seem a logical consequence of the physical expressions of love between herself and Jerome, but in his current condition, it would likely be a while before such conjugal bliss was resumed.
She pushed aside her own gloomy thoughts and entered into Annis’s genuine joy in motherhood. It was late for her; she was almost thirty.
“Emrys scandalized the midwife by insisting on being present for the whole thing. Wild horses couldn’t have kept him out,” said Annis with a fond smile.
“For which I was actually grateful, because he was extremely useful wiping my brow, holding my hands, breathing with me. I thought he might be upset to see me screaming in agony, but he was eminently practical about it. He knew what to do far better than I did. It pays to have an experienced husband,” she said, biting into a biscuit.
“Good heavens,” said Ava, revising her view of the viscount, whom she had always considered to be amiable but slightly buffle-headed. How might Jerome be? Will I get the chance to find out? She supposed there was no reason why she shouldn’t, but one never knew after all.
When she returned to the house, she found Jerome sitting up playing checkers with Leyton, which made her smile.
“Sarah has invited me to the theatre tonight, but I needn’t go,” she said.
“No. Do go, I’ll be fine here,” he said with his new lopsided smile. “My head is aching less, and I daresay I’ll go to sleep early.”
“Are you sure?” she asked anxiously.
He nodded. “You’ve been dancing attendance on me for weeks. Go and enjoy yourself for a few hours. I’ll be fine here with Leyton, I assure you. We may play a round or two of cards after dinner.”
She smiled and nodded at Leyton. “Don’t let him fleece you. He never loses, you know.”
“I know, my lady. I’ll be careful.”
“Leyton has quite a talent for cards, Ava. I wouldn’t bet on his losing. And in any case, I doubt I’m at my best at the moment.”
“Well, don’t overdo it,” she scolded gently, and kissed his forehead.
Leyton had the tact to turn away and give them some privacy, and she attempted a kiss on the lips, but he evaded her again.
It has been like this since the accident.
She thought it must be because of the wound hurting him and tried not to mind.
The Troubridge coach collected her at eight o’clock, and she joined Sarah, Robert, and Sarah’s sister Deborah.
Ava hadn’t seen much of Deborah in the past few weeks, but she watched her now with new knowledge and wondered.
But of course, she couldn’t say anything.
Rey had sworn her to secrecy, and she would never break her word to him. But still, she wondered.
“How is your husband faring?” asked Deborah, once they were seated together in the box, under cover of the murmured conversation of the audience and the sounds of the orchestra tuning up.
“On the mend,” said Ava brightly, and plied her fan. It was warm in the theatre already.
“Nevertheless, you’re concerned,” said Deborah shrewdly. She placed a hand on Ava’s arm and said with genuine empathy, “It must be a difficult time for you. Males, active ones in particular, are never good patients.”
Ava smiled in relief. “So true. You’ve had experience?”
“Lots!” said Deborah with an expressive grimace.
“With three small, very active brothers always getting into scrapes. And the male of the species always suffers more from a head cold or other trivial ailment than a female. Or at any rate, they would have us think so,” she said with a smile.
“I also help with Papa’s parishioners. Sarah and I would visit the sick regularly and offer what relief we could.
Ruth and Mary go with me now, and Hepzibah is getting old enough to go too, if I can just keep her still long enough to dress her properly.
The wives are often grateful for someone to do the washing or prepare a meal, when juggling a sick spouse and multiple children, along with their other chores.
And of course, if it is the wife who is ill, the menfolk need all the help they can get. Single fathers even more so.”
Ava listened, fascinated by a world she knew nothing of, and her conscience pricked her.
Of course, as a lady she should be embracing charitable works, but most of the ladies she knew certainly didn’t get their hands dirty doing actual work themselves.
They inspected orphanages and gave money and gifts.
Some took up causes, and those of an evangelical turn preached salvation.
Mama occasionally spoke of the evangelical work she had been forced to do when she lived with her uncle, a Methodist minister.
It had given her a deep distaste of such approaches to supporting the poor, and she took a more practical stance on such things, but even so, Mama had not done any actual manual labor.
Rey had described Deborah as an angel. It seemed he had meant it literally—a ministering angel to her father’s parishioners at least. A stronger contrast with Rey’s dissolute life would be hard to find. The angel and the devil, indeed.
Ava enjoyed the play but was glad to get home, for she couldn’t help but worry about Jerome.
He was never far from her thoughts. She went straight to his room and entered quietly.
A branch of candles burned beside the bed, throwing shadows on the wall and revealing his slumbering figure beneath the covers.
He lay on his back, the arm in its sling lay across his bared chest and his face was turned away from the light, exposing the scarred cheek, with its divots and still inflamed flesh, the stitches still in the skin.
She crept to the bed and stood watching him, her heart full of love and anguish for him. She slipped off her cloak, gown, shoes, stockings, petticoats, and corset, and dressed only in her shift, she moved to the far side of the bed and slipped between the sheets, careful not to disturb him.
Despite her care, though, he woke and blinked at her as she turned toward him.
“Ava!” his voice was low and husky with sleep. “Did you enjoy the play?”
“Yes, but I would have rather been here with you,” she confessed, sitting up and leaning on an elbow. “How was your evening?”
“Well enough,” he said.
She reached out a hand to touch his face, and the movement disturbed the equilibrium of the mattress, and he winced as his arm moved involuntarily.
“Oh! I’m sorry!” she said, withdrawing her hand.
“It’s all right,” he said, closing his eyes.
She lay back down and watched him for some time. Eventually he said, with his eyes still closed, “Ava, please stop staring at me.”
“How do you know I am?”
“I can feel you. Look, it might be better if you went to your own bed.”
She jerked and caught her breath at the stab of hurt. “O-of course if you’d rather—”
“I would.” His tone was flat and tired.
She climbed out of bed, gathered up her discarded clothes and said softly, “Good night then.”
He grunted in response, and she went to the door to her own room blinking back tears.