Chapter Forty-One #2
“They weren’t sure,” Frances admitted, swallowing against her own discomfort as she saw Sarah’s reaction to it. “But a doctor when I was older said it was just a birthmark.”
Dr. Collins nodded and put his tools away.
“I don’t believe there’s anything to worry about. A chill that caused a fever. Once it breaks, Lady Lark should be as good as new, but until then—”
“I know how to take care of her,” Nathaniel assured the doctor, though Frances had believed he’d been in the hallway or his study, not listening in from her dressing room.
“Of course.”
“You really don’t—”
The look Nathaniel gave her made Frances’ next words die before they reached her lips.
“I’ll leave a tincture with Mrs. Mulberry. She’ll know how to prepare it.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
“It’s no trouble, Lord Lark, but as I’ve mentioned, countless times, unless the fever lasts longer than three days, or the patient is delirious—”
“So you’ve said, but all the same.”
“Of course.”
With that, the doctor left, and to Frances’ surprise, Sarah followed, while Nathaniel remained in the room with her.
“I know you’re upset—"
“I’m not,” he cut her off. “This was my fault. I should have…” He sighed in frustration. “It’s fine. The important thing now is to keep you hydrated, and—”
“Sarah is perfectly capable.”
“She is. But today is her day off, and you are my—”
“I’m not your responsibility, Nathaniel. You’ve done your duty—”
“You are my wife,” he continued as if he didn’t hear her. “You may think me an incompetent male, but I’ve been the head of this household for many years, most of them with Lizzie at Lotham, so I have nursed my fair share of Suttons back to health.”
“I’m not one of your siblings.”
“No, you’re not. They took much less convincing. Some were even excited at the prospect of me waiting on them.”
“I couldn’t possibly—”
“Try and stop me.”
“Why?”
He looked like he was going to make another teasing quip, but then his whole demeanor changed, and he went serious.
“Because I can’t lose you.” He looked terrified. “I promised to take care of you, Frances, and—”
“You don’t break your promises.”
He looked pained, like there was a literal knife slicing into his chest.
“It’s freezing, isn’t it?” She realized as she said the words that it was getting cold again, but at first, they were just something to say to steer them away from a topic that clearly hurt them both.
“Let’s get you back in bed.”
She put her hand out to stop him when he moved closer, so he hovered—but didn’t touch her—until she was in bed, at which point he tucked the sheets under her sides so she was wrapped in covers.
“Drink some tea.”
He took a cup from the tray Sarah had brought and reluctantly waited for her to free an arm so he could hand it to her, rather than bringing it to her lips himself.
“I’m not thirsty,” she argued, enjoying the heat from holding it, but feeling like she might toss her accounts if she drank any.
“You’re sweating out all the moisture in your body, so you need to replenish it.”
“Since when are you a doctor?”
“Six younger siblings,” he reminded her. “And I used to ask Becca’s father incessant questions. He was a doctor.”
“What happened to him?” There was a voice somewhere in Frances’ head telling her that was a very inappropriate question to ask, but she couldn’t focus enough to remember why.
“My aunt fell sick, and he…” He cleared his throat. “Why not talk about happier things?”
“Such as?”
“The greenhouse is nearly done. Perhaps we can ride up to the estate for a few days once you’re better.”
“I’m starting to worry you’ll never let me garden again.”
“I would never deprive you of anything you love that much.”
But he was. He was depriving her of what she loved above anything else.
“Why don’t we try to get some sleep?” he suggested.
“I’m worried you’re only being kind to me because I’m sick.”
“Am I not normally—”
“It’s different now. You’re…”
“Get some sleep, Frances. I promise I’ll be right here, and nice, when you wake up.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t…”
Frances fell asleep before finishing her sentence, but it was advice Nathaniel should have taken a long time ago. Not that he would have regretted his promise to Jo if he hadn’t married Frances.
If he hadn’t fallen for her.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the quiet. The only other sounds were Frances’ breathing and the cackling of the fireplace. “I don’t know if it was because I broke the promise or because everyone I love dies, but I can’t lose you. I can’t go through that again.”
He put more blankets on her when she shivered, but didn’t dare climb in beside her.
“I have the tincture. For when she wakes up. You should get some sleep.” Sarah bustled in and adjusted the blankets on the bed.
“I’ll sleep here if I’m tired.”
“You were also in the rain, then journeyed to get the doctor, and are exhausted.”
“Do I look that terrible?”
“You look worried.” She was honest, at least.
“I’ll rest when she’s better. I won’t be able to sleep while she’s…” He trailed off, his eyes on Frances, the pallor of her skin and the flush in her cheeks.
“It’s just a fever. Dr. Collins wasn’t worried.”
“He never is,” Nathaniel said, absentmindedly taking Frances’ hand. He’d meant to tuck it back under the covers, but he felt better holding her.
“We fared okay.”
He smiled at her. “I would do that for any employee.”
“Liar,” she called him on it.
“I had to wrestle Becca and Teddy to let me go instead of them.”
“You can’t always protect everyone.”
“I can try.”
Sarah sighed, and admitted defeat. “Ring if you need me.”
“Thank you.”
“Mary?” Frances mumbled as Sarah was leaving.
“Just me, love,” Nathaniel said, keeping her hand in his while his other hand gently swept the hair from her face, exposing the burgundy mark.
Lizzie had often used her hair and strategically tied bonnets to cover blemishes, but he’d never seen anything like the fear in Frances’ eyes when she’d realized she forgot to cover it. From him.
He gently placed her hair back.
“I’m sorry.”
“Whatever for?”
“I wanted to tell you. I didn’t mean to lie and keep it from you. I just didn’t want to give you another reason to say no.”
“To marrying you?” She nodded. “Because of this?” He traced the outline of her mark with the tip of his fingers.
“When I was born, they told Mama it was the mark of the devil. That I’d been claimed and wouldn’t survive a fortnight. I don’t think they believed the devil part, but I was born frail, and immediately caught a fever that lingered for months. That’s why she called me Frances.” She yawned.
“Because of the fever?” He didn’t stop running his fingers over her temple, and in return, Frances closed her eyes and cuddled closer to him.
“Because Papa hated him, but Mama wanted to honor her favorite brother. It was perfect, because I wasn’t going to survive.
” She sighed. “But then I did. I think I was four the last time I was truly ill, but it took years for them to accept that I wasn’t living on borrowed time.
By then they felt so guilty that they couldn’t stand to be near me. ”
“That makes no sense,” Nathaniel argued.
If anyone he cared about was sick, he would spend every moment he could with them, and their recovery would be a blessing, not something they should be punished for.
“My parents weren’t strong enough to love a child they were going to lose, so they hardened their hearts and kept their distance,” she said simply, and his heart broke for her.
“Marigold had me, though. Her little china doll, all breakable and weak. She took care of me. And then when I was older and didn’t understand why I wasn’t like everyone else, she became Mary for me. ”
“It’s their loss, Frances. Every inch of you is perfect.”
He kissed the mark that had caused her so much pain, but then sleep won and Frances buried her face deeper into the pillow.
“My Nathaniel,” she murmured.
“I’m yours,” he whispered.