Chapter Twenty-Six
P
“He’ll not sleep if he’s in this much pain.” The surgeon Linus had brought in to evaluate Charlie’s condition did not sound overly encouraged. He had more experience than the local physician and was highly respected.
“What can we do to ease his suffering?” Linus hadn’t heard yet from Daphne. He’d sent a missive, but messages took time to travel across counties. She would know an efficacious tisane or tea, but he might not receive word from her for days yet.
“I’ll write up instructions for the apothecary,” the surgeon said. “We’ve a few things that’ll help.”
That was a relief. Charlie was by now as much family to him as his own siblings; he hated seeing him in such pain.
Before he could ask the surgeon for more details, the sounds of carriage wheels on the pebbled lane out front caught his attention.
That could not possibly be the dowager. There hadn’t been time enough for her to have made the journey.
Indeed, his letter explaining the situation would likely only just have arrived at Lampton Park.
He crossed to the window. The master’s bedchamber where Charlie had been placed afforded a view of the drive below. He knew the fine traveling coach and Kielder heraldry on the instant. His family, it seemed, had chosen to return to Falstone Castle by way of Shropshire.
An unexpected surge of bone-deep relief swelled inside. Persephone would know what to do.
He offered a quick excuse to the surgeon, glanced at Charlie sleeping fretfully, then rushed from the room, along the corridor, and to the main staircase. His family’s voices floated up to him, pulling him down toward them.
They had all stepped inside, filling the small entryway. Servants scrambled to gather trunks and divest the travelers of their coats and hats. Oliver sat in his mother’s arms, clearly a bit unsure of this latest excursion.
Linus met his older sister’s eye. The smile of excitement that lit her face turned immediately to concern. “What’s happened? You look distressed.”
Adam’s gaze was on him now as well, and Artemis’s.
“There’s been an accident. Charlie was injured.”
“Badly?” Persephone asked.
Linus nodded. “He’s broken both his legs and an arm. Cracked several ribs.”
“Good heavens.”
“I’ve sent word to his mother, obviously. The physician has been here. A surgeon is here now.”
Persephone nodded her approval. “Did you write to Daphne?”
“Of course.” The tension that had grown since Charlie’s fall increased tenfold as he stood there.
Persephone handed Oliver to Adam, then moved with purpose to where Linus stood. She took Linus’s hand and pulled him back around the corner and to the stairs. “How perilous is his situation?”
“The physician and surgeon both believe his injuries will heal given enough time.” That had been a relief yet not a true comfort. The panic Linus had felt at the sight of Charlie unresponsive on the ground had not subsided despite the passage of more than twenty-four hours.
“You mentioned leg, arm, and rib injuries. Does his mind seem intact?” Persephone had always been one for maintaining her calm in a crisis. Linus usually was as well, but his composure had fled.
“Charlie’s in a great deal of pain, which makes him less conversant than he would likely be otherwise, but he has been able to speak, and what he has said is sensible.”
They’d reached the top of the stairs. “Where has he been placed?”
“Father’s roo—My room.”
She slipped her arm free of his and faced him directly. “I will see to his care for the next while. You need a respite.”
Linus shook his head. “I have a responsibility.”
“Yes, you do. You are charged with running this estate, looking after all your guests—including those who only just arrived—and making certain you do not render yourself so exhausted that you cannot see to any of those tasks.” She patted his cheek the way she’d done when he was a small boy.
“Let me be your big sister again, Linus, and look after you for a change.”
Relief warred with guilt at the escape, however temporary, she offered. “I spent far too much of my life when we were young letting you carry my burdens. I’m a grown man now; I cannot continue doing that.”
She arched a single eyebrow. “I am a duchess now; I can do whatever I want.”
He could actually smile at that, something he didn’t think he’d done even once the last day and a half. “You sound like Adam.”
“Good.” She nodded crisply and turned toward the corridor. “Go see to it the others are settled. I will look after Charlie.”
He remained in the corridor for a long moment after she’d disappeared inside the sickroom. Seeing Charlie so badly injured, so bent and broken, had shaken Linus deeply.
He rubbed at his weary face, trying to regain his lieutenant’s demeanor. There was a great deal to be done: settling the rest of the family, sending the surgeon’s instructions to the apothecary, bracing himself to face the dowager when she inevitably arrived.
Adam appeared in the corridor, Oliver in his arms, Artemis in his wake. Linus assumed a neutral expression, one he’d been taught to manufacture as he’d sailed toward battle.
His brother-in-law’s mouth pulled in a stern slash across his face. “What happened to Mr. Jonquil?” Adam was nothing if not direct.
“He fell off a roof.”
“He fell off a roof?” Artemis responded before Adam could. To her credit, she sounded sincerely concerned despite her unfriendly association with Charlie. “Will he recover?”
“The medical men I have consulted expect him to.”
“Thank the heavens.”
The opportunity to tease his sister proved too much to pass up. He needed a moment of levity. “Thank the heavens? I assumed you had been praying to them for something like this.”
She angled her chin at him. “I would never wish harm on a person, no matter how aggravating and contrary he might be.”
Linus looked at Adam. “That must be a relief to you, in particular.”
“I’m not afraid of her.”
Artemis shook her head in obvious annoyance. “The men in this family are impossible.”
Adam set Oliver on his feet. “Go with your aunt. She’ll take you to the nursery.”
“I’m not afraid of her either, Papa,” the little boy said.
“Thank you very much, Adam.” Artemis held her hand out to Oliver even as she turned her back on the two of them.
“You’re in her black books now,” Linus said.
“Right next to you.”
“And Charlie,” Linus added.
“And half the population.” Adam pushed out a breath that sounded a great deal like a growl. “She is going to be the death of me; I’m certain of it.”
“Better you than me,” Linus said.
“You look after the boy who fell off the roof,” Adam said. “I’ll look after the girl who likely would have pushed him if she’d been here.”
Linus’s amusement dissipated quickly. “I don’t know that I’ve ever told you how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for my family. You’ve taken on responsibilities that ought not to have fallen to you. I’m their brother. I should have done more.”
“For one thing,” Adam said, “you were a child. For another, I didn’t do any of it for you.”
Linus knew his brother-in-law too well to be offended by the frank and gruff explanation. “I think you rather like Persephone.”
“There is not anything in this world I wouldn’t do for her. I endured Athena’s miserable Season, Daphne’s departure, and Artemis’s drama because they are her family, and their happiness is crucial to hers.”
“Is mine?” He’d intended the question to be a jest, but somehow the two words emerged with a ring of desperation to them.
“Why do you think I dragged you to that house party?” Adam didn’t manage to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
“I can endure Lampton, and Harry was distraction enough when necessary. But Persephone was worried about you being alone and unhappy.” Adam shrugged.
“I made certain you came along so she could see for herself that you were well.”
“And you diverted your return to the Castle all this way so she could see her family home.”
Adam didn’t smile often, but he did in that moment, a soft, tender smile, one that somehow managed to soften the deforming impact of the web of scars on his face. “There is no undertaking so miserable that it isn’t made endurable by having her with me. She makes my life worth living.”
No undertaking so miserable. Linus was undertaking a few miserable things himself, things he wasn’t certain he could endure. “I suspect I ought to find a Persephone of my own—one I’m not related to, of course.”
Adam’s gaze darted around the corridor. “I don’t intend to stand about here while you make that search. Simply tell me where my wife is.”
Linus motioned to the nearest bedchamber. He received a quick nod before Adam slipped inside.
Persephone eased Adam’s burdens. He did the same for her.
To have that kind of support and strength .
. . Linus couldn’t imagine Mrs. Blackbourne or Lady Belinda crossing the kingdom for him or enduring the company of a difficult family member for his sake.
Miss Napper hadn’t seemed willing to countenance the inconvenience of a conversation.
If he were being entirely honest, he would not have happily upended his life for any of them either.
Unbidden into his thoughts came Arabella, as had happened often over the past fortnight.
She had rescued Oliver, visited the children when they were ill, talked with him at length about his worries and difficulties.
He’d gladly spent hours each day visiting her when she’d felt unwell, had listened to her struggles, and had wished he could do more to help.
In the midst of it all, they had laughed and smiled. There’d been such joy between them.
Even with counties separating them, he thought about her, wondered how she was, wished she were nearby. She tugged at his heart in ways no one else had.
And by now, she knew that Charlie, whom she cared about, who belonged to a family that considered her one of their own, had nearly died while in Linus’s care. Would she hold that against him? Blame him?
Would she forgive him when he was struggling to forgive himself?