Chapter Thirteen #3
“Unless you can stop her from dying, there’s nothing you can do.”
She startled him when she rose up on tiptoe and drew his mouth down to hers.
It wasn’t the kiss of a young woman trying to flirt or gain his attention.
Instead, it was the desperate touch of a wife hurting from his rejection.
He tasted the rain from her mouth, and when she began to remove his sodden jacket, he stopped her. “You didn’t come here for this.”
But her face held seriousness. “I came to comfort you. In whatever way you need me.”
It was a way of forgetting about the horror of his daughter’s illness; he understood that. And yet, he couldn’t touch her. Not now, not like this.
“Go back home,” he told her, lifting the blanket around her shoulders. “I’ll follow shortly.”
When she returned to the door, he caught a glimpse of the heartache on her face, which made him feel even lower. Before she could venture out into the rain, he caught her hand and drew her in for a soft kiss. “You don’t deserve a husband like me, Amelia.”
“No,” she breathed, wrapping her arms around him, “but know that I am here.”
Impatience plagued Brandon Carlisle when his coach arrived at the Falsham estate near Edinburgh. His opportunity was here, after so many years.
He reached inside his coat, feeling the heavy pistol that he’d brought with him. This weapon was already loaded, and he had another in the opposite side. Or, if the occasion required it, he also had a small blade with which he could cut Paul Fraser’s throat.
He smiled, imagining the man’s sightless eyes.
“You will go now,” he told Sarah. “Tell them you’ve come to pay a call upon Lady Falsham.” Juliette would be distracted by his sister, and when Brandon came for Sarah, the servants would not dare turn him away.
His sister was trembling, especially when Richardson came up behind her. Fear, in a woman, was something to be encouraged. Sarah had been given too much freedom over the years, and he didn’t want her making decisions.
“Brandon, this will never work. Lady Falsham hardly knows me, but she does know that I am your sister.”
“Tell her you’ve come to warn her,” he added.
Even better. He liked the idea of instilling fear in Juliette.
Because of her and her husband, Brandon had spent the past four years chained in an asylum.
His mind had been lost, sedated, and caught in its own silent prison.
Now he wanted vengeance for what had been done to him.
He didn’t want Juliette anymore. No, he wanted her to watch while he killed the people she loved. First her husband. Then her sisters and parents.
And last, her daughter.
Brandon smiled as he remained within the carriage. He’d waited four years for this, and he relished the idea of making Juliette endure everything he’d suffered.
But his sister returned entirely too soon. There was a blend of relief and anxiety on her face. Even Richardson appeared grim when he allowed her to enter the carriage first.
“They aren’t there,” she said in a rush. “They left a day ago.”
“Where?” he demanded.
“I don’t know—” she started, but was cut off by Richardson.
“Castledon.” The man met Brandon’s gaze. “She went with Lord Falsham to visit her sister Amelia, who lives at Castledon, a few days south of here, near Yorkshire.”
“Did she?” It was better than he’d hoped for, for he could then kill her youngest sister.
Sarah paled. “You are mad,” she whispered. “And you feel no remorse for what you’re about to do.”
“None whatsoever,” he agreed. “They took everything from me. It’s time they paid the price for it.”
Brandon ordered the driver to travel south, toward Castledon. It didn’t matter to him that it would take days to arrive. He wanted vengeance, to kill those who had taken his life from him.
As far as he was concerned, the consequences didn’t matter. So long as the Andrews family was dead, he would be satisfied.
Amelia’s gown was soaked from the rain, but the chill she felt had nothing to do with the cool weather. She tried to untie her bonnet, but the ribbons were knotted, and her hands were shaking.
She found her sister waiting for her in the parlor. Juliette stood, her face filled with worry. “Are you—is the earl—all right?”
Amelia nodded but couldn’t seem to find the right words.
“Where is he now?” her sister prompted.
“At the gamekeeper’s cottage. He n-needed a moment alone.”
“And so do you.” Juliette took her by the hand. “Show me where your bedchamber is.”
Amelia started to walk up the stairs, her tears falling down her cheeks. This day had been the worst of all. Though she’d known David would be devastated, as she was, she wouldn’t let herself believe that Christine could die. But he seemed so certain of it.
When they were alone, Juliette pulled her into a hug. “Don’t cry, Amelia. Paul will find out what’s wrong with Christine, and he’ll do everything he can to make her better.”
“I do pray that she’ll get well,” Amelia said, pulling back, “but I’m more worried about David.”
“Grace has gone with her nurse for a while, so you can tell me everything.” Juliette locked the door and went to sit down.
Amelia couldn’t stop herself from spilling it all out and having a good cry.
“I used to think my life was going to end like a fairy tale. That I would marry the viscount, reform him, and we’d be wealthy beyond our dreams.” She accepted the handkerchief Juliette offered her.
“But then I saw the villain he was. Lord Castledon saved me from Viscount Lisford and married me, but I was so na?ve to think that there could be more between us. He only married me out of kindness. Not love.”
“Are you unhappy being married to him?” Juliette asked in a low voice.
“I thought I was happy,” Amelia hedged. “But he’s never made a secret of the fact that he only remarried to provide a mother for Christine.” She dried her tears and eyed Juliette. “I’m not much of a mother, am I?”
“I’d say you’re doing quite well,” Juliette corrected. “Christine seems to like you very much.”
“I think Lord Castledon blames me for her illness,” Amelia confessed.
“He was so angry when I told him I sent the first doctor away. But all the man wanted to do was bleed Christine. He would have made her worse.” A dull ache caught her heart.
“And now, if she dies, my husband will never forgive me.”
“It’s not your fault,” Juliette insisted.
“I know it. But our marriage is already fragile enough. She has to live, or everything will end.” Amelia swallowed hard, trying to gather up her courage. “I might remain married to David, but he’ll reside on one of the other estates. He’ll avoid me, and I can’t live like that.”
“Then don’t,” Juliette said. “Paul will do everything possible for Christine. We won’t leave until she’s well again. And perhaps you should come to Edinburgh with us for a visit.”
“But what good would that do?”
“It may bring the earl to his senses, so that he’ll see what’s before him.”
Amelia understood what Juliette was saying, but she didn’t want to go. Not now, when her household was in disarray and her stepdaughter was fighting for her life. “I can’t leave him, Juliette. He may not realize he needs me, but he does.”
Her sister squeezed her hand. “Then I’ll be here for you, when you need me.”
“What have you learned?” David asked the doctor.
Dr. Fraser sat beside Christine, who was sleeping lightly.
“It’s no’ a common disease,” he began, keeping his voice low.
“I’ve read of only a few accounts. One from Germany, and another from France.
” The physician handed him a few letters that had been tucked into a medical book.
“Due to the war, it’s been hard for any correspondence to reach us. ”
It wasn’t encouraging, for David suspected the doctor didn’t have a diagnosis yet. “What do you think it is?”
“She had a cough and a sore throat before this, aye?”
David nodded. “But she improved. That was weeks ago.”
“Some of the physicians think it’s a form of Boulogne sore throat.” His eyes met David’s, and the graveness of the man’s expression spoke the worst.
He’d heard of that illness, and many children had died from it. Still, he didn’t want to alarm Christine. “Is that what it is?”
“I’m no’ certain. She doesna have the swelling or the fever I’d expect to see.” He began listing the symptoms he’d noted, the paralysis being the worst of them. David listened to the physician, but he felt a cold fear take command of his courage.
Christine’s going to die, his mind insisted. Everyone you love dies.
The thought was a jagged blade into his heart. He couldn’t bring himself to think of losing her, though he knew it was likely going to happen. “What can we do?”
“We have to stop the paralysis from spreading to her lungs.” Again, the doctor sent him a hard look, making it clear that Christine would suffocate if it got that far.
“And you have medicine that can do this?”
The doctor paused. “Some say strychnine is a common treatment. But I say ’twould more likely poison her than be of help.
I think we should keep exercising her arms and legs tae keep the blood flowing.
There was one account I read where the condition reversed itself after a week. We’ll pray for that.”
In other words, this was an ailment with no cure. David lowered his head, holding back the frustration building inside. His daughter was fighting for her life, and there was nothing he could do to help.
Amelia came inside the room, and an invisible tension caught him in the shoulders. Never before had he lost control in front of a woman, and it bothered him that she’d seen him resort to violence, when he’d destroyed the cottage.
She took a seat on the opposite side of the bed while Dr. Fraser repeated his suggestions for treatment.
“It sounds reasonable,” Amelia pronounced, and then asked, “Has she eaten anything for supper yet?”