Chapter 29 Rhys
Rhys
Rhys couldn’t help but feel he was running out of time. He could not eat or sleep or function properly. He could not wait for the musical competition, which was still days away, to find Magellan.
His only course of action was to discover Felix Mendelssohn’s whereabouts and hope Magellan would turn up nearby. The composer was performing with the Philharmonic Society this coming week at the Argyll Rooms. If Magellan was looking for his sister, she might go there.
His carriage turned onto King Street when he heard the music. A lone violinist playing in the distance. The notes, heart-wrenching and pure, moved through the air and struck him like a blow.
No one could play like that.
Except her.
He jumped from the carriage without waiting for his driver to stop and yelled at the man to circle around. Rhys dashed down the street toward the violinist. As he rounded the corner, there she was.
He stopped with a gasp when he saw her across the street.
She looked like a vagrant, a broken angel.
Her face was bruised with a dried scab on her chin, and dark shadows ringed her eyes.
A thick, soiled bandage padded her left arm, and an old brown dress many sizes too big hung on her slight frame.
The satchel he had given her was slung over her shoulder.
The sight of her undid him. Even gaunt and weak she still played magnificently. Rhys hadn’t even known she could play the violin.
Her eyes were closed, a look of pain etched across her face.
As Rhys ran to her, he heard a woman frantically call out, “Stop the carriage!” And the woman hopped out.
She and Rhys both rushed toward Magellan from opposite directions, like two traveling points on a map about to collide.
Rhys was barely aware of the woman in his periphery.
Magellan’s eyes were still closed, and her body listed as her playing slowed down like a music box about to stop.
Her arms, unable to hold the violin up any longer, lowered in defeat.
Rhys reached her right as she crumbled, and he lunged to catch her.
She was unconscious in his arms.
“I’ve got you.” He held her tight. “I’ve got you.”
The woman, winded from running, swooped in and caught the violin, right as Magellan let it go.
Rhys turned to the lady who had raced from her carriage to meet them and choked out the words, “Thank you,” unsure what else to say.
“Is she all right?” the woman asked, breathless with concern.
“I don’t know.” Rhys frantically looked to the street for his carriage. He needed to get Magellan medical attention right away. He could see his driver caught up in traffic, slowly turning the carriage around at the corner to come meet them.
“How did she know?” the woman asked in a daze, shaking her head as if trying to clear it. “How did she know my music? I haven’t even finished it yet.”
Rhys blinked, taking in the woman. She had the accent of a foreigner. He almost didn’t dare to ask, switching to German. “Are you Fanny Mendelssohn?”
The woman looked at him with startled eyes and answered in German too. “Yes, I am.”
Rhys could barely think straight. Here was the woman Magellan had put herself at great risk to find.
He quickly made a decision and rushed on, still speaking in German.
“I am the Earl of Liron. My driver will give you my card. I’m afraid my fiancée was in an accident and is not well.
She is a musical aficionado and would love to speak with you when she has recovered.
Please call on us in three days’ time at my town house in Mayfair.
” He didn’t know how else to explain their situation to her.
All he knew was Magellan had asked for his help once and he’d denied it. He would never make that mistake again.
He didn’t give Miss Mendelssohn time to ask questions. He climbed into his carriage with Magellan in his arms and ordered his footman to go fetch his physician quickly and meet them at his residence. Miss Mendelssohn handed his driver the violin and took his card. Then the carriage was off.
Rhys cradled Magellan, dizzy with a heady mixture of profound relief and stark terror.
She was injured, unconscious, and burning up with fever.
The carriage ride was brief, but the minutes felt like an eternity as they jostled and crept alongside London traffic.
When the carriage entered his house gate, footmen stood at the ready.
Rumors had been running rampant with his staff ever since Rhys’s arrival to town.
All the servants believed the lady he’d recently betrothed had gone missing with her father after a carriage accident.
It was the only story Rhys could think to put forward.
When the staff saw Magellan in his arms, they broke into action at once.
Gibbons, his head butler, and Mrs. Weathers, his housekeeper, took charge.
Rhys strode up the stairs with Magellan, listening to his housekeeper order boiling water and fresh linens be brought up.
The doctor should be on his way. He reached Magellan’s room with Mrs. Weathers fretting behind him.
“Put her on the bed, my lord. Then you may go.”
“No, I will help.” He wasn’t about to leave.
“But my lord . . .”
“I will tend to her myself.” Propriety be damned.
He gently laid Magellan on the bed and removed the satchel from her, tossing it aside.
“Help me with her boots.” He pulled them off to find her stockings worn with holes, and her heels and toes riddled with blisters.
“Throw those shoes away,” he bit out. “Burn everything.”
“Of course.” When Mrs. Weathers pulled the ruined stockings down Magellan’s legs, he saw the other bandage on her right calf.
Two knife wounds from the monster he’d given her to. Rhys felt the pressure back in his chest, suffocating him, and the room began to spin. He staggered to sit in the chair by the bed, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands.
“I’ll be back with the linens and water,” Mrs. Weathers said and scurried off.
Rhys was left alone, unable to stop the tears even if he could try. He took Magellan’s hand, bringing it to his face, and closed his eyes, whispering, “Please forgive me.” He could never make amends for this. “Forgive me.”
The metal of her ring felt cold against his forehead.
He opened his eyes to look at the band and there engraved across it were the symbols from the standing stone.
He stared at the ring, dumbfounded. How could Magellan’s ring match the stones?
Rhys searched for a logical answer but could not find one.
He barely realized when Mrs. Weathers returned or when the doctor arrived. Rhys kept hold of Magellan’s hand, unwilling to let go while he watched the doctor unwrap the bandage on her arm. His heart seized when he saw what lay beneath, a horrific wound with stitches inflamed and oozing.
The doctor went to clean them with some astringent, and Magellan screamed, her eyes opening wide, wild with pain. Rhys shot up in alarm and braced her shoulders, trying to calm her. “Shhh. It’s all right. We need to clean your wounds.”
Her eyes focused on him. “Rhys?” She raised a hand to his cheek in shock and blinked several times, still delirious. “What are you doing here?”
“You are at my London home. The doctor is here.” He didn’t know if she understood. Her eyes closed, and she was unconscious again.
After the doctor was finished cleaning her arm and leg, the man dabbed a thick ointment over both and instructed Mrs. Weathers on the treatment to administer. “I’ll come check on her again tomorrow.”
“Will she recover?” Rhys asked anxiously.
The doctor sighed. “If the fever subsides. The lady has been through a serious trauma.”
Rhys nodded, unable to speak. Mrs. Weathers saw the doctor out. Rhys sat back down at Magellan’s bedside and took her hand again. Closing his eyes, he willed his strength to her. Take it. Take all of it.
Mrs. Weathers returned with another maid carrying a tray with broth and water.
She insisted he leave so they could change Magellan into a fresh nightgown.
He reluctantly did and tried to be productive.
He wrote a letter to his family, explaining Magellan had been found and they were in London.
For propriety’s sake he knew he should secure his rooms at the club and spend the night elsewhere, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave.
He sat by her bedside all night, waiting for her to wake.
Finally, the next day after her fever broke, her eyes fluttered open.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Neither said a word.
He had water, tea, and broth at the ready, but for the life of him he couldn’t move as he watched a myriad of expressions cross her face. What was she thinking now? Was she pleased to see him? Did she hate him?
“What happened to Oliver’s violin?”
Her question broke the silence. He shook his head to clear it, for a moment not understanding. Who was Oliver? Then he realized it must be one of the Lucky Horseshoe persons. “Do not worry. I have it downstairs.”
“And my satchel?” She looked around in a panic. “Did I lose it?”
Disconcerted by her practical questions, he went to the corner of the room where he had stowed it and brought it over. “Do not worry. It is here.”
She quickly opened it and drooped in relief as she pulled out the diary.