Chapter 20 #3
He could have lost so much today. But he hadn’t lost Sybil. He hadn’t lost Verity. And he had somehow been granted a second chance to love his wife. To prove himself worthy of her.
He wasn’t sure that such a feat was possible. Everett was willing to spend the rest of his life trying, however.
They settled side by side in a pair of chairs that had been pulled beside Verity’s bed, their hands still linked.
For a time, neither of them spoke. They simply sat there in silence.
Everett was weary to his marrow. Every part of his body ached from the exertion he had spent in rescuing Sybil, Verity, and little Emma. Sitting felt wonderful.
He only wished that it wasn’t at his sister’s sickbed vigil.
“She was so incredibly brave today,” Sybil said. “You should have seen her, Everett. She was determined to find Emma. If not for Verity, the girl would have been lost. No one else was going to the attic to look for her. Not with the building burning around them.”
He gave her fingers a squeeze. “You were both brave. Everyone was praising the two of you for the way you remained within at great peril to yourselves, doing your best to see that every child was able to escape the fire alive.”
“We did what we had to do,” Sybil said. “What anyone else would have done in our places.”
“Not what everyone would have done, I don’t think.”
How he admired her for it, even if part of him longed to shake her for putting herself in such danger.
She had been selfless to the last, doing everything she could to help those orphans when others had already fled, more concerned with saving their own hides.
That was Sybil, he realized. She was kindhearted and generous to a fault, always caring for others instead of herself.
Her mother, her half brother, the orphans at the Children’s Foundling Hospital, himself.
“It matters not,” Sybil demurred. “What does matter is that the children are safe and Verity shall heal.”
He kissed her hand again. “What a treasure you are, my love.”
“Did you truly love me so much that you were chasing after me even though you believed I was in love with a footman at Eastlake Hall?” she asked quietly.
“I didn’t love you enough. I realized it too late. But I shall make up for it, darling.”
His throat closed over again at the thought of what could have been, how thoroughly he could have been devastated that afternoon in those flames.
Before Sybil could answer, Verity shifted on the bed, making a small sound that turned into a body-racking cough as she awoke.
“Verity,” they said in unison, relief mirrored in their voices.
“Shall I fetch you some water?” Sybil asked anxiously as Verity continued to cough.
His sister mumbled something unintelligible, her coughing attack interfering with her speech.
He gathered she meant yes, and so did Sybil, for she leapt to her feet and bustled across the room to pour water into a tumbler before he could act.
Everett patted his sister on the shoulder gently, not certain where she had suffered bruising or burns.
It was such a tremendous relief to see her eyes open.
“Sister,” he said softly, struggling to keep the raw emotion from his voice, which proved difficult indeed.
He was so damned grateful she hadn’t been lost to the flames that had gone on to decimate the orphanage. Grateful, too, to Kingham for his timely intervention. Everett couldn’t have managed to get both Verity and the child to safety on his own, and he knew it.
“Brother,” she croaked, attempting a smile.
“Here you are, dearest,” Sybil said, offering her the tumbler. “Have a sip of water.”
She helped Verity into a semi-sitting position, plumping the pillows at her back. Verity took the water and drank deeply.
“Not too much at once now,” Sybil admonished, a mother hen clucking over her brood.
“Th-thank you,” Verity managed, still hoarse, her smile thin.
“Are you in pain?” he asked, hating seeing her like this.
“Some.” Verity relaxed against the pillows, eyes fluttering closed.
“Perhaps you should take some laudanum, then,” Sybil suggested.
“Where is King?” Verity asked without opening her eyes. “When will I see him?”
Everett and Sybil exchanged a look. Why the devil did she keep asking for King?
And why was she referring to him by the nickname traditionally reserved for his inner circle?
Yes, King had saved her, but she had been unconscious when he had rescued her from the fire.
There was no way for Verity to know that.
“He is no doubt at his home, where he belongs,” Everett said, perhaps a bit too sternly.
Verity made a low sound of pain as she shifted in the bed. “My head. It aches.”
She coughed again, then groaned once more, clearly in a great deal of discomfort thanks to the burns and other injuries she had suffered.
“The coughing isn’t helping, I’m sure.” Sybil frowned, clearly as distressed as he was by Verity’s condition.
“I need him here,” Verity said. “I want to see him.”
“Kingham?” Sybil asked, looking to Everett, her brow furrowed.
“I must see him.” Verity’s eyes were open once more, imploring. “I miss him so very much.”
She clutched at her locket with a bandaged hand.
Now he understood Maman’s words in the hall. Verity did indeed seem confused, almost as if she were conflating her memories of Lord Leopold with Kingham.
“Fetch her some laudanum, my love,” he told Sybil quietly. “She needs to rest.”
Sybil nodded and moved to the table where a host of medicinal jars and bottles had been left, finding the laudanum that would help ease Verity into sleep and hopefully enable her overburdened mind to begin healing.
“Please, Everett,” Verity persisted. “Promise me you’ll bring him to me.”
“I promise,” he said instantly, thinking that he would bring an army into his town house if it meant that it would help to calm her.
Verity nodded, then winced, her eyelids lowering as if she could scarcely keep them open a moment longer. Sybil brought the bottle of laudanum from the table and slipped a spoonful between his sister’s lips.
“Hush now, darling,” she crooned gently. “You should get some rest so that you may heal. Kingham shall pay you a call in the morning.”
That seemed to soothe Verity. She relaxed against the mound of pillows, her breathing growing more even, eyes closed.
It wasn’t until she was truly asleep that Everett felt some of the tension leaving him.
Sybil wordlessly returned the laudanum to its place and sat at his side once more, reaching for his hand.
He laced their fingers together, grateful for her presence, her comfort, her love.
Grateful for her, full stop.
Maman returned shortly thereafter to resume her bedside vigil.
“You are certain you want to stay the night?” he asked.
“She is my daughter,” Maman said. “There is nowhere else I would rather be than here with her when she needs me. Besides, Linsdale has promised that she will attend me, bringing sweets and tea whenever I require them through the night. Such a dear woman. I don’t know what I would do without her.”
His mother’s companion was ever a boon.
“Very well, then,” he said, rising from his chair along with Sybil. “We shall take our leave for the night. But don’t hesitate to wake me should you require anything at all, or if her condition worsens.”
His voice broke on the last word, the last thought. The Everett he had once been would have been hideously embarrassed by such a show of emotion. By such weakness, such open vulnerability. But that Everett had been a stupid arse, too willing to believe that the woman he loved had betrayed him.
He knew the reason for it now—believing the worst of Sybil had made it easier to protect himself. Far better to guard his heart if she was a treacherous liar like Lydia had been. Far simpler to never allow himself to feel.
The Everett he had once been could go to the devil. He was a new man now. One who, he hoped, could someday deserve the woman at his side. That would take time and deliberation and intent. He would begin tonight.
“She shan’t worsen,” Maman said sternly. “I’ll not allow it.”
His mother was stubborn. He had likely inherited that trait from her. And so had Verity. He had to believe that stubbornness would get her through what was to come.
He and Sybil bid his mother good evening, and then they left together, closing the door quietly behind them. When they were alone, walking toward their chambers to retire for the night, she turned to him.
“At least she has returned to her senses. I know it is difficult to see her this way, but I have faith that she will be restored to her former self, and soon.”
“I hope and pray that she is.”
“She shall.” Sybil was adamant.
And he took comfort in that. In her.
He pulled her closer to him as they walked, sliding an arm around her waist and not giving a damn if he was being scandalous. The glorious scent of vanilla and tuberose invaded his senses, chasing the stale smoke that had hung in the air in Verity’s bedchamber.
They reached their suite of rooms, and he guided them to his door. Tonight, he wasn’t paying a call on her in her bedroom in civilized fashion. He was damned well making love to her in his room, in his bed.
Where she belonged.
He opened the door and gestured for her to precede him, grateful that his valet Turner was nowhere in sight. There was only one face Everett wanted to see until the morning’s light, and it was his wife’s. He closed the door behind them and turned to her, pulling her into his arms.
All the emotion he had been ruthlessly suppressing rose up within him like a flood, until he was overflowing with it.
“Thank you,” he told her.
Sybil’s brow furrowed, her befuddlement adorable. “For what?”
God, he loved her. Why had he spent the last few months running from it, from her?
“For forgiving me,” he explained. “For standing by my side. For loving me despite everything that has happened and despite my being the world’s greatest ass.”