Chapter 22
“He’s cooler.” The words came softly, tremulously, almost disbelievingly.
Duncan blinked against the dim grey of early light and looked down. Catherine’s hand was still beneath his, their fingers entwined on the edge of the coverlet. He had not realized how tightly he’d been holding her until now.
She let go of his hand then and shifted closer to the bed, brushing Henry’s hair back with trembling fingers.
“Duncan,” she whispered, her voice unsteady, “feel.”
He did. The boy’s skin was no longer burning but damp with the faint sheen of sweat…
The fever had broken. The small chest rose and fell at a steady rhythm.
Relief came like the first breath after surfacing from deep water. He hadn’t allowed himself to hope through the night. Not with the way Henry’s breathing had faltered, or with the shadows gathering around his eyes.
But now, as the weak dawn pressed against the shutters, the boy slept, alive and safe.
Catherine let out a long breath that turned into a sob. She pressed her hands to her mouth, eyes bright with tears.
“He’s going to live,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “He’s really—he’s going to live.”
Duncan didn’t trust his voice. He only nodded. His heart was full of gratitude that he did not have the words to express.
The door opened quietly, and Mrs. Simms appeared, red-eyed with a frown on her face. Behind her, the physician entered, coat still damp from the rain. He carried himself with brisk confidence, his gaze sweeping the room.
“Well?” Duncan asked.
The physician stepped forward, placing his hand on the boy’s brow. He nodded once. “The fever has broken. He’ll sleep for hours, but it’s the good kind of sleep; the body’s mending now. He’s past the danger.”
Catherine let out a shaky breath and sagged forward, her hand finding Duncan’s sleeve in gratitude.
“Thank you,” she murmured to the doctor, to Mrs. Simms, perhaps to the heavens themselves.
The physician smiled faintly. “You’ve both done well. Not many survive such a night. Your Grace…” He inclined his head toward Duncan. “Your timing was impeccable. Without those medicines and the ice, I daresay we’d have lost him.”
Catherine turned toward him, her eyes luminous with exhaustion and something deeper, unguarded.
“You…you sent for the medication?”
Duncan shrugged. “Before I left our townhouse, I sent a messenger to the apothecary. I did not know what had already been done, but…”
“Why did you fail to tell me of your intervention last night?” Catherine blinked at him, suddenly wide-eyed.
“I forgot,” Duncan answered simply. “In my haste to get here and battle through the rain, I…”
“You saved him,” she said softly.
Duncan shook his head. “No. I merely provided what was in my power to give.”
Catherine stared at him. “When I administered those medications last night, I prayed that they would make a difference. I hoped that all our efforts would be enough. I…Words cannot express…”
Duncan saw tears glittering in the corners of her eyes.
“Our efforts were enough. Henry will be just fine.”
Their gazes held a long moment, heavy with everything they’d endured in that small, stifling room. The scent of vinegar and smoke lingered in the air, but the heaviness that had gripped it all night had lifted.
The physician cleared his throat. “He’ll recover fully. Keep him warm but not hot, light broth when he wakes. I’ll send instructions for the rest. For now, I suggest you both rest as well.”
Catherine smiled faintly. “Rest sounds impossible.”
“Then at least eat something,” the doctor said kindly before taking his leave.
When the door shut, silence returned, soft and fragile, but peaceful now.
Catherine looked down at the boy once more, smoothing the blanket over his chest. “He’ll be all right.”
Duncan watched her, the line of her neck, the curve of her shoulders beneath the wrinkled gown.
She’d only closed her eyes for ten minutes, yet she was radiant in a way that stole his breath.
He wanted to reach for her again, to brush away the stray strands of hair that clung to her face, but he didn’t.
Instead, he said quietly, “We should go home.”
She hesitated, glancing toward Henry. “I can’t leave him.”
“You can,” he said gently, “because he’ll wake to a full recovery, and to Mrs. Simms hovering like a hawk.”
Catherine’s lips curved in a faint, tired smile. “You’re certain?”
“I’m certain.”
It took her a moment to pull herself away from the child’s bedside.
When she did, her legs wobbled beneath her, and Duncan’s hand shot out to steady her before he even thought about it.
Her palm found his chest, light but steady, and for a moment, she just looked at him, her lips parted as if she might say something.
Then she withdrew her hand quickly, as though remembering herself. “Yes. You’re right. Home.”
He nodded once and stepped aside, giving her space to gather her composure. Mrs. Simms followed them to the door, murmuring gratitude through tears.
“Your Grace,” she said, eyes shining, “we owe you more than words.”
Duncan inclined his head. “See to the boy. I’ll send supplies and coin for whatever’s needed.”
When they stepped outside, the world was washed clean. The rain had passed, leaving puddles glinting gold beneath the pale morning sun. The air smelled of wet earth and smoke from the bakeries already stirring in the distance.
Catherine blinked at the light as though it were too bright to bear. Her face was pale, her lips soft and colorless from fatigue. She looked fragile again, but not weak. There was something unyielding in her posture, the quiet pride of a woman who had stared down death and refused to surrender.
The carriage waited at the end of the lane. Duncan helped her up first, his hand steady against her back. She hesitated as she sat, her skirts pooling around her, her gaze still on Brightwater’s whitewashed walls.
“He’ll live,” Duncan said, reading her thought.
“I know,” she whispered. “But I’ve never been more afraid than I was last night.”
He shut the carriage door behind them and took his seat opposite her. The horses lurched forward, hooves striking the wet cobblestones.
For a while, neither spoke. The motion of the carriage lulled the silence between them into something almost tender. Catherine’s head dropped against the cushion, her eyes half-lidded.
“You should rest,” he said quietly.
She gave a faint, weary smile. “You’re very certain of what I should do.”
“Someone must be.” His tone was mild, yet as he looked at her, something unguarded slipped through.
The faint lines of strain around her eyes, the curve of her mouth fighting weariness…they pulled at him in a way he hadn’t anticipated.
She studied him for a long moment, lashes heavy with fatigue. “I am relieved it was this side of you who showed up last night.”
The words caught him off guard.
“Which side is that?”
“The one that bothers to care,” she murmured.
A beat of silence.
“You make it sound extraordinary,” he managed.
“Perhaps it is,” she said softly, her voice thinning as sleep pulled at her. “When you are around, I have come to find that you can be quite the caring individual.”
He felt his mouth tug upward into a semblance of a small smile. “I know I have not spent enough time at home…with you, as of late. But I hope my presence tonight didn’t disappoint you.”
“Not at all,” she murmured, her lashes fluttering.
Her head lolled to the side, her lashes lowering fully. Within moments, her breathing evened.
He watched her sleep.
The rise and fall of her chest was slow, peaceful. Strands of hair clung to her temple, and the morning light caught on the curve of her cheek. She looked younger like this, almost untouched by the world, though he knew better. She had faced more than most men he knew.
Duncan admired his sleeping wife and determined that once they both had rested well, he would share with her his feelings.
When the carriage drew up to the townhouse, she was still asleep. Duncan signaled for silence as the footman approached, then rose and bent to gather her into his arms.
She made a small sound, instinctively shifting closer, her head resting against his shoulder. Her weight was slight but strangely grounding. He carried her up the steps, past the curious eyes of the servants, and into the dim hush of her chamber.
Catherine’s maid gasped softly. “Your Grace—shall I—?”
He nodded once. “Help me.”
Together, they eased Catherine onto the bed. Alice began unlacing her gown, hands quick and professional, while Duncan stood close enough to guide but not intrude.
“Carefully,” he murmured when the woman started on Catherine’s shoes. The maid obeyed without question.
When at last Catherine was settled beneath the coverlet, Duncan dismissed the maid with a nod. The door clicked shut behind her.
He stood there for a long moment, looking down at his wife. Her hair fanned out across the pillow in soft disarray. A faint flush still lingered on her cheeks from the long night. Even in exhaustion, she was achingly beautiful.
He reached out, his knuckles brushing her cheek. Her skin was warm and alive, but she had not caught the fever from the young boy back at the orphanage. Relief swelled in him.
“You’re safe,” he murmured, though she couldn’t hear him.
For the first time in longer than he could remember, he let himself linger. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, the delicate curve of her neck where her pulse beat faintly beneath the skin.
The urge to kiss her was almost unbearable. But he didn’t. Not when she wouldn’t remember. He let his hand fall away and straightened, pulling the blanket a little higher over her shoulder. She sighed softly, as though feeling the motion even in sleep.
Duncan stepped into the corridor, his expression set, the tenderness that had touched his features vanishing into something harder, colder.
He looked at the butler waiting below. “Have my carriage readied again.”
The man hesitated. “Your Grace—so soon?”