Chapter 21
Catherine did not sleep at all that night. Instead, she lay awake in bed, thinking about everything Alaric had told her. Their dance was almost forgotten as her thoughts returned to his face when the memory surfaced.
“He was white as a sheet.” She pulled the bed covers closer around her. “And the circles under his eyes... They have been growing darker for weeks, and that stubborn, foolish, idiot of a man did not tell me that his headaches have been getting worse!”
And I was too much of a fool to notice. She swallowed as she thought of how cold his skin had felt as she had held him in the carriage.
“Surely someone cannot have tried to kill him.” She tossed in her bed. “Why would they?”
Power. The thought came to her instantly. Her blood ran cold. Alaric was a duke without an heir, a freshly married duke, but with no one to take on the title, it would pass to his next male relative.
“Is it some distant cousin?” Catherine frowned. “Who would inherit if he died?”
She closed her eyes, trying to picture the family trees she had discovered when rearranging the study in the London house. When she opened them again, Annabelle was gently waking her and placing a breakfast tray on the table in her antechamber.
“Where is the Duke?” Catherine asked as Annabelle helped her dress.
“I believe he and young Master Oliver went to the lake. Apparently, Master Oliver’s swimming lessons are coming along quite well.” Annabelle smiled. “Though Daisy does not seem to care for the water. Mrs. Langley keeps her company while Oliver swims.”
Catherine nodded absently, her mind still on the conversation from the night before. “I need to do some investigation into Alaric’s family tree— could you ask Mrs. Danvers to dig out any documents we have and bring them to my study?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Annabelle nodded. “Is there anything else you need?”
“A copy of the entailment of the estate. That will certainly be in Alaric’s study.” Catherine tapped her finger on her lips. “And a large pot of coffee. I will need it today.”
“I shall see to it at once, Your Grace.” Annabelle curtsied and left the room.
By the time Catherine had finished her breakfast and made her way to the study, several sheets of parchment, two tapestries, and a thick tome were sitting on her desk.
There was a note with them that read:
Your Grace,
These are all the records I could find in the castle. There are likely more in London. If you wish for me to send for them, let me know, and I will do so as soon as possible.
Kind regards,
Mrs. Danvers
Catherine pulled the tome toward her, flipping through it until she found the family tree related to Alaric. She traced the lines, her frown growing deeper.
“No living uncles, no brother...” She sucked on the end of her quill. “His first cousins are women, so they would not benefit from his death.”
She crossed off names and checked between the volumes, slowly working her way through Alaric’s family tree. By the time afternoon arrived, Catherine had narrowed down his potential successors to a cousin twice removed and a second cousin.
“It is a start.” The bell chimed for dinner, and she jumped.
Her stomach growled, reminding her it had been neglected since breakfast. She picked up her notes and a piece of parchment and headed down to the dining room.
Alaric will just have to forgive me for not changing into evening attire.
He was already waiting for her at the table. Oliver was nowhere in sight, and for once, Catherine was relieved at his absence. She did not want to scare him.
She plopped her documents down and pointed to the names she had circled. “Those are the people I think are your heirs.”
Alaric nodded. The dark circles under his eyes made it look as though he had smeared coal beneath them. His face seemed pale.
Did he not sleep either?
“Let us discuss this properly after dinner. Thinking is best done on a full stomach.” Alaric began carving the roast beef and carefully placed it on her plate.
Catherine looked at the papers again, but when her stomach growled once more, she gave in. She pulled the plate closer and started eating as fast as she could.
She heard Alaric chuckle, but ignored him.
There is no time to waste.
“You are acting as if you have never eaten before in your life,” Alaric said.
“I want to get back to the research,” Catherine explained. “If what you said last night is true, then we are racing against time. Who knows what could happen?”
“I do not think I am in immediate danger, Catherine.” Alaric speared a piece of meat onto his fork. “You eating so fast that you choke will not help the matter either.”
She scowled at him but knew he was right. He let out a bark of laughter, and Catherine was just about to tell him he needed to take this seriously when he made a strange sound.
“Alaric?” she frowned.
The color drained from his face, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed.
“Alaric!” Catherine screamed as she lunged toward him.
His body convulsed, pulling the tablecloth off the table. Dishes and glasses shattered, and broken China sprayed everywhere. A dark liquid trickled from the corner of Alaric’s mouth.
“Send for the physician at once!” Catherine barked, her hands on Alaric.
“Yes, Your Grace.” The sound of running footsteps filled the hall, followed by barking.
“Oliver! I cannot let him see Alaric like this!” Catherine gestured to the other footman. “Go and tell Mrs. Langley to keep Oliver away from this part of the castle. Then fetch the other footmen, and we will carry His Grace to his room.”
The footman nodded and hurried away. Alaric had ended his fit; his eyes were closed, and his body was completely still. Panic took over Catherine. “No, please, do not be dead.”
She placed a hand on his chest and felt it rise and fall beneath her. His breathing was shallow, but it was still there. His heartbeat was faint.
“If you die on me, Alaric Deverell, I swear to God I will never forgive you.” She wiped away the small dot of blood from his mouth, her heart clutching in her chest.
“Catthrn,” he murmured weakly.
Her heart pounded. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and moments later, three footmen appeared. They carefully lifted Alaric, and Catherine followed them to his room. They gently placed him in bed and began tending the fire.
Sweat dripped down Alaric’s face and neck. His lips were a ghastly shade of purple. His usual amber and cedar scent had been replaced by a sickly, sweet smell that made her stomach turn.
“The physician should be here in a few hours,” the footman said.
“A few hours?” Catherine felt panic trying to overwhelm her, but she pushed it down.
Clear head. That is what he needs. Come on, think, Catherine.
Something stirred in her mind, an old nursery rhyme about sweetness being drawn out through coal. “Bring me a cloth and warm water. And a solution of charcoal.”
Alaric’s skin was icy cold despite the beads of sweat on him.
I have to warm him up.
“At once, Your Grace.” The footman disappeared and returned what felt like hours later with a cloth and a basin of water, though it could have been only a few minutes.
Catherine dipped the cloth in it and wrung it out, gently wiping the sweat from Alaric’s brow. His skin was gray, and his breathing came in rattling wheezes.
“Catherine.” His voice broke every part of her. “Stay.”
“I am here. Do not worry. I am here.” She held one of his hands in hers and squeezed it.
His usually firm, warm grip was weaker than a child’s. His hands were clammy and cold to the touch. She pressed the charcoal solution to his lips. “Drink this.”
She had no idea if it was the right thing to do, but every part of her hoped that it was. The inky black liquid concealed the purple around his lips, and the sweet smell faded away. Catherine felt a lump form in her throat, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
“This is when I have need of your stubbornness most, Alaric.” She dabbed at his face with the cloth, her thumb tracing across his skin. “I do not know what ails you, but fight it. Please, fight it.”
Alaric’s skin was gradually returning to its normal color. The terrible gurgling sound in his chest was easing. The vice around Catherine’s relaxed, but only slightly.
His eyes snapped open, and her heart raced. Alaric looked around the room with a feverish intensity. He tried to sit up, but she placed a hand on his chest.
“Catherine!” he cried out.
“I am here. Shh… Rest, I am here. See? Listen to my voice. I am right here,” Catherine soothed him.
His skin was burning up now, and Catherine was not sure if it was better or worse than the cold.
Curse that physician! If Alaric dies before he arrives, I swear I will make sure he never works again.
“Catherine.” Alaric’s eyes were glassy.
“Rest, Alaric. You are burning up with fever. Save your strength.” She cupped his face in her hands, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath them. “And once you are better, we shall see that this does not happen again.”
Alaric nodded, his eyes fluttering open and closed. “I love you.”
The words were like three daggers to her heart.
It is just the fever talking. He is probably not even talking to me.
A lump formed in her throat as she looked down at her husband.
This was the man who had rescued her more than once, even though she had not known it at the time: first from scandal, then from her mother.
The man who had stood by her side. He was the man who had danced with her until the world around them faded.
“Do not leave me.”
“I do not want to leave,” Catherine whispered, resting her forehead against his. “I want to stay with you, Alaric.”
She knew he could not hear her, but she could not help saying it. “Come back to me, stay with me.”
She gave a gentle kiss to his lips, tears streaming down her cheeks and landing on his burning skin. “Please.”