Chapter 31
Charlotte sat at Joshua’s bedside, a basin of cold water in her lap. The first few days of Joshua’s recovery had been smooth. He had joked he’d be out of bed before Charlotte’s threatened week had passed.
Now, four days later, Joshua tossed about, slipping out of consciousness as a fierce fever took hold. She wrung out the cloth and wiped his brow, though the action seemed to do little to relieve his agitation.
Fulton appeared in the doorway, a cup of tea in his hand. “Here now, Miss Charlotte, you come and have something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.” She moved her eyes back to Joshua. His face was unnaturally flushed, his lips dry and cracked. How had such a change come over him in only one day?
“Have you no faith in me?” Fulton brought his peg leg down on the floor with a thump. “I’ve some experience with musket balls, you know.”
Charlotte felt lightheaded. Fulton had lost his leg at Waterloo. “You think it will come to that?”
Fulton’s hand came to her shoulder and squeezed. “No. I’ve seen many a man through a bullet wound, your father included. This is a scratch. He’ll come around.”
Charlotte swallowed. “How can you be certain?”
“Well, now, there’s only one thing as is certain in this life.”
“Death,” she whispered, her fingers clenching the cloth.
Fulton gave a short, humorless laugh. “Aye, that, too, but it wasn’t what I meant.” His rusty voice began to sing as he pushed back the covers to check Joshua’s wound.
The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose,
I will not, I will not desert to its foes.
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I’ll never, no, never, no, never forsake.
She let the words wash over her, longing for the strength and peace Fulton found in them. Nearly everyone she’d cared about had left her. Mama, Papa, Simon. Could she really trust that God would not forsake her, too?
For so long, she’d clung to the past, determined to control her future. But the past was nothing like she’d thought. Fulton’s revelation had blown all her memories to bits.
I’m sorry, Mama. I’ve failed. We’re going to lose Edenbrook. She closed her eyes, expecting to hear Mama’s voice as she so often did, urging her to try harder. Instead, it was Joshua’s words that echoed like a balm to her bruised heart, warming her from the inside out.
You’re worth more than the lot of us together.
Joshua woke in the gray light of early morning. He looked down at the unfamiliar quilt on the bed and tried to piece together the events of the last days. Montgomery’s Tavern. A musket shot.
Then his eyes lit on the slight form in a chair beside the bed. Charlotte.
She slept, leaning over the bed with her head resting on her folded arms. Her face was pale, and dark circles shadowed her eyes.
A tremor went through him, half longing, half fear.
As long as he’d known her, she’d been a force to reckon with, so capable and determined that it had been easy to overlook how alone and vulnerable she was.
He reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
Her father had just died. She ought to find comfort in the rites of mourning, surrounded by friends.
In the bush, women always came together in times of sickness and death, but Charlotte had been left to mourn alone, her only ally an old manservant.
None of them fancy ladies in the city would have anything to do with her.
The rush of rage surprised him. He’d thought himself immune to the callousness of the rich and powerful after a lifetime under their thumb. When Charlotte needed help, the people who ought to be her friends had deserted her. She was left at the mercy of a ruthless, greedy man and his gang of thugs.
What that girl needs is a man who would put her first.
Mrs. Norris’s words slammed into him. Could it be so simple?
Charlotte’s eyes opened. For a long moment his gaze held hers, warm and soft in the quiet room. They seemed to communicate without words, finding comfort in each other’s presence.
She sat up with a start. “Joshua. You’re awake. How do you feel?”
He tested his leg. Not bad at all. Fulton’s salve might be meant for horses, but it was certainly effective. “Better.”
“You should drink something.” Charlotte stood and reached for the water on the bedside table. Her arm came around his shoulders, lifting him to sip from the cup in her other hand.
He wanted to protest that he didn’t need her help but was shocked to discover he did. His arms felt weak and shaky. Even the act of lifting his head off the pillow made the room spin.
He leaned on her as he gulped the water, enjoying her closeness and the hint of lavender that clung to her. She was right. He was thirsty.
She lowered him back to the pillow and stood before him, her hands twisting in her skirt. “Fulton will want to know you’re awake.”
“Wait,” he said, reaching for her. “What happened?”
She gave a ragged sigh. “You became fevered.” Her brow creased in concentration. “Four days ago that was.”
“Four days?” No wonder he felt addled. “And you’ve nursed me all the while.” He squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”
“It was the least I could do.” She looked down to where his hand clasped hers. “It’s my fault you were shot in the first place.”
She darted out of the room before he could protest. Soon after, Fulton came to change his bandage and slather more of the disgusting salve on his leg.
After a bowl of broth, he felt stronger and his restlessness grew.
Waiting in this room, with no news of Simon or the rebellion, no way to protect Charlotte if Deacon Cole returned, was torture in itself.
“You need anything else before I go?” Fulton asked.
“Where is Charlotte?”
Fulton grinned, making Joshua realize he sounded like an impatient lover, not a hired hand. “She’s fine, lad. Cleaning up the study is all.”
“The study?”
“Aye. Messenger come round about an hour ago.”
Fulton hoarded his words like they were gold. Joshua nearly smacked his head in frustration. “Is everything all right?”
Fulton nodded. “We’re to expect company today.” He paused but seemed to sense Joshua had reached the end of his patience, for he added, “Mr. Ballantine is coming. He was the major’s best friend.”
The name was familiar. Quite an important man in the city, if he remembered correctly. “Does he bring news of Simon?” His heart dropped. What if he came to tell her the worst?
“He didn’t say. I only know he’s coming to discuss the will.”
The will. His heart ached for her. Today would decide her fate. She might need him.
“Fulton, could you spare me some water to wash with?” He ran a hand across his cheek. “And a razor, if it’s not too much trouble.”
The old man hesitated. “Miss Charlotte won’t like it. Wants you to rest.”
“Miss Charlotte won’t know anything about it,” Joshua said with a meaningful look.
Fulton soon returned with the requested items. Joshua grabbed the shaving brush and worked the soap into a lather, hoping the soothing action would settle his nerves.
If the worst happened today, and she was left with nothing . . . well, he wouldn’t wish that on her, of course. But if it did—if she was left penniless and alone in the world—she’d need him.
And if Charlotte Carruthers needed him, he intended to be ready.