Chapter Ten
After breakfast, Emily fled back to their bedroom, and Oliver followed her upstairs, shutting the door behind them. Food seemed to have done him good; although he still held his arm stiffly, he seemed rather more robust than he had been.
She could not say the same for herself.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“So you keep saying.” He reached for her, and she flinched back, but he only caught her chin.
A frown darkened his face as he examined her temple.
“I wish I could have prevented this,” he murmured.
His thumb brushed her jaw, a gentle touch he appeared to have done entirely unconsciously, and Emily held still.
Warmth bloomed where his skin touched hers, and she wanted to find an excuse for this sudden awareness.
Perhaps it was that she was afraid of him.
Or merely that someone had not touched her in this way—tenderly, as though she might break underneath him if he was not careful—in such a long time that she had forgotten how it felt.
Oliver didn’t seem to notice, his gaze still fixed on her temple. He was not very much taller than her; a few inches at most. With the way he leant in, breath dancing across her face, he was almost close enough that she could kiss him.
Just as he had no doubt kissed Isabella.
That thought made her pull away. His hand dropped to his side, and she took another step back. Distance—they should have distance between them. When they returned to Dalston, if Isabella still wanted him for a husband, they would marry. Emily could not risk becoming too involved.
“I should—” She didn’t know what she should do.
“You should rest,” he said firmly. “I’ll see to the horses and the carriage. Help me into my coat, and I’ll investigate to see how matters stand.”
Emily fetched the greatcoat from the corner of the room, pistol heavy in the pocket. She concealed the pistol under some blankets, though it had been some time since she had suspected Oliver of doing anything to act against her.
Oliver let out a sigh at the sight of the ruined material.
“I paid a pretty penny for it, and now look at it.” He hissed a breath as she draped it over his shoulders, feeding his good arm through the remaining sleeve.
“Ah well. This is the price of my own foolishness, as Henry would be quick to tell me.” His gaze travelled across her face, and she could have sworn something like concern flittered in his eyes before he offered her a rakish grin. “Now, wife, shall we?”
“There’s no need to pretend when we’re alone.”
“But it’s such good fun, don’t you think?
” He gave a roguish wink, and Emily was disgruntled to notice it was rather more pleasing to be the recipient than to watch him wink elsewhere.
He took her arm, tucking it in his elbow as though they were about to promenade rather than venture back downstairs.
To her horror, she discovered she rather liked the press of swell of his biceps against her fingers, and worse, enjoyed his teasing familiarity.
Evidently her head was disturbed. She could only pray she regained her sense soon.
“Sit in the drawing room awhile,” he said when they were downstairs. “Rest, Emily, if you can stomach the word. I’ll be checking up on you.” He hesitated as he released her, and she hoped he wouldn’t kiss her hand again—once had been quite enough. More than enough. Disturbingly pleasant, in fact.
“Don’t hurry back,” she said. “I won’t miss you.”
“You make for a cruel mistress,” he said, but his eyes laughed at her. Before she could protest, he had vanished, and she was left to make her way to what passed for a drawing room—or perhaps a parlour. The two youngest children sat with their tongues out, tracing their letters.
The peacefulness of the household reminded her of quiet evenings around the fire when she was a child.
Her father had always played with her and Isabella, often while her mother reclined on the couch with a book.
The fire roared, and she sat by it, letting its warmth sink into her.
Her head pounded, and she did her best to ignore the pain.
Despite her best efforts, however, her headache only worsened, as did her dizziness. By the time Mr Chambers and Oliver returned to the house, over an hour later, she felt positively unwell.
A frown darkened Oliver’s expression as he took in her face.
“Are you tiring Mrs Beaumont out?” Mr Chambers demanded of his children, only to be received with choruses of no.
Oliver made his way to Emily’s side, taking her arm and guiding her to her feet. “You look pale,” he said.
“If you ever believed you were charming, you were mistaken.”
“Are you well?”
“A headache, that’s all.” One so bad that she felt as though her head would throb so badly, it might split and spill her brains on the floor.
And then she would vomit all over them.
Oliver’s hand tightened on her arm, and she realised she was swaying. “Emily,” he said.
The door opened, and Mrs Chambers bustled in. “Oh, my dear,” she said after taking one look at Emily. “Back to bed with you. I recognise a poorly face when I see one.”
“Here,” Oliver said, propping her arm over his shoulders and wrapping his good arm around her waist. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t need help.” Emily tried to blink away the brightness of the room. “A sit-down is all I need. A little quiet.”
“I’ll decide what you need.” He sounded stern, and she didn’t have the strength to resist him as he half-carried her upstairs to the small room they shared. There, he laid her gently down on the bed, and as her aching head met the coolness of the pillow, she let out a little sigh.
“Truly, I’m all right,” she said, but it was a relief to be upstairs, a relief to be able to close her eyes.
“I’ll make you some nice hot broth,” Mrs Chambers said.
“Oh, you shouldn’t,” Emily attempted to say, but her tongue tripped over the words.
“Nonsense. And after you did so much to help out this morning. If I had known—but never mind. You stay right there.” She pulled out the covers and wrapped them around Emily in a motherly gesture that made her eyes sting.
“I’ll be back directly.” On her way out of the room, she exchanged a murmured conversation with Oliver, but Emily couldn’t hear it, and she had no energy to ask.
The bed beside her dipped. “You ought to have told me you were feeling so wretched,” Oliver said. “I wouldn’t have left you alone if I’d known. And you got up to help with breakfast, too.”
“I wanted to help,” she mumbled.
“Well, you’ve helped enough. Now, I suppose, it’s my turn.” His cold hand pressed against her forehead. “Sleep. I’ll make sure everything is all right.”
She had to concentrate on the words to make them happen. “I don’t think even you can guarantee that.”
“Then we shall both discover what I’m capable of.”
In all his twenty-three years, Oliver had rarely been called upon to be the man in charge. He had gone as far as to avoid all sense of responsibility.
But here, with Emily unconscious and breathing softly beside him, what else could he do but step up? There was no one else to, and he had promised her he would make everything all right.
Once he was certain she would not wake, he went in search of Mr Chambers, finding him in his study. Papers were piled everywhere, and the sight made Oliver feel vaguely ill; even a farmer could not get by without knowledge of his letters.
“Ah, Oliver,” Mr Chambers said, an unlit pipe in his mouth. “How is she?”
“Not good. I need a physician.”
Mr Chambers removed the pipe from his mouth. “That bad?”
“She collapsed. If she’s hurt—” He couldn’t allow himself to think of it. “I can’t let anything happen to her.”
“Aye, I understand that, but you saw the roads—they’re all but impassable. You can’t get a cart down them.”
A strange desperation came over Oliver. “Then I’ll walk if I have to. Just tell me where the nearest physician is.”
“Five miles along, in the nearest village.” Mr Chambers sighed and shook his head.
“I can’t go with you, son, but if need be I can spare a horse.
We’ve a carthorse that might make it through these drifts, and could probably bear another person on the way back.
But there’s no guarantee Mr Winters—that’s his name—will come with you. ”
Oliver would force the man if need be. All this was new to him, but when he closed his eyes, he could see Emily’s pale face and hear his own voice promising her he would show her what he was made of.
He hardly knew what that was—nothing good, he was certain. But he had to try.
“I’ll take it,” he said. “And thank you.”
“I wish you’d wait for the snow to melt.”
“I can’t. She hit her head in the carriage—and she’s so stubborn, she wouldn’t tell me she was feeling ill until now.” He dragged a hand through his hair, scraping it back off his forehead. His arm ached, but he fancied he could ride so long as someone helped him on and off.
No one had looked out for Emily in a long time, or so it seemed. It was about time someone did.
Responsibility sat strangely on his shoulders, but for once, though urgent, it wasn’t overwhelming. He could do this.
“When can you have the horse ready?” he asked.
“I’ll get him saddled up now.” Mr Chambers clapped him on the shoulder. “God help you, lad. You’ll need it.”