Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Charlotte approached Perry’s room on quiet feet to look in on her patient.
Peering into the room to ensure he was asleep, she held her breath.
Perry had lain in a fog of fever and laudanum for days.
After removing the bullet, the doctor explained that the wound was festering and had few treatments possible besides bloodletting.
Charlotte could not bear to see Perry subjected to a procedure that would cause him to lose more blood.
Surely there was another way to treat his wound.
She laid a hand on Aamina’s shoulder. Her maid had been taking shifts to watch over him when the housekeeper needed to attend to her responsibilities. Aamina was startled as she became aware of Charlotte’s presence.
Brows gathered in worry, Charlotte took in the sleeping man. Sweat glistened on his forehead, wetting the strands of hair around his face.
“Any signs of improvement?” she whispered to the other woman, who now stood next to her, allowing Charlotte access to the chair.
“Nothing, ma’am.” The maid crossed her arms and shook her head. “He’s in a right state. I hope he awakens soon. Would be a shame if the fever took such a nice-looking gentleman.” Aamina quirked a brow at her mistress.
Charlotte frowned. “Aamina!” she admonished.
The maid shrugged. “He’ll be due for fresh linens soon. Allow me to fetch them, ma’am. He’s sweated clean through these ones. Look at him shiver like that. Such a pity.”
Charlotte’s throat tightened with fear, but all she could do was nod. The maid bustled from the room, off to gather supplies to refresh the bedding.
Sitting in silence as the servant saw to his needs, she watched him struggle in his drug-induced sleep and winced at each painful whimper from his lips.
If he awoke when she was in the room, her safety would be at risk.
Her entire life at Fermoy depended on her presence being kept a secret.
Pressing her lips together, Charlotte clasped her hands to keep from reaching out.
She longed to press a hand to his brow and give him the comfort he deserved.
Tossing a glance over her shoulder, she confirmed that they were still alone. A mere touch to comfort a man who was at death’s door would hardly be considered a crime.
Ignoring that every part of her knew what she was doing was wrong, her hand hovered toward his forehead. The temptation was too great.
Peregrine trembled beneath the blankets.
The illness had settled in after a few days.
His wound had putrefied, and he was in the powerful grip of a dangerous fever.
The doctor seemed resigned to a poor outcome.
A sick sensation surged in her stomach at the thought that he would not recover.
Such an illness had killed many, regardless of age or level of health.
Fever did not discriminate. They were at the mercy of God.
She prayed Perry would be strong enough.
Pressing her palm gently to caress his burning skin, a soft sigh escaped her lips.
The shivers running through his body stilled.
For a moment, Charlotte could almost believe that she had the power to heal him.
To bring him from the brink of death and back to his robust health. If only such a miracle were possible.
Reaching for a cloth on the nightstand, she dipped it in the bowl of cool water and gently wiped his brow, then his face.
Had he been a stranger, it would have been greatly inappropriate—and uncomfortable—to place her hands upon him so intimately.
Soaking the cloth and wringing it out, she used it to bathe his torso and arms, stopping at his navel.
The servants were not all aware of how intimately familiar she was with Peregrine Spencer. If she were careful, they never would.
Covering him once again with the sheets and snug blankets, she tucked them around him to give him the warmth she wanted so badly to infuse into his body.
If only she could wrap her arms around him and hold him while he struggled, weaving in and out of consciousness.
If only she could take his pain and absorb it into her own body to spare him.
With a shuddered breath, she changed the cloths and used a fresh one to cool his forehead, then left it in place.
She brought her hands to cover her face, releasing a quiet sob.
Though she had lived long without him, it comforted her to know that somewhere, Peregrine was living a contented life.
Having him before her, teetering on the edge of life and death, was too much to bear.
She could live knowing he wasn’t hers.
She could live with the agony of regret and loneliness her disappearance had caused.
Charlotte couldn’t live with the thought of him dying.
Soothing herself the only way she knew how, she touched his face, caressing his cheek reverently to remind herself that he was very much alive.
His skin was hot to the touch, but he breathed.
If that was all she had right now, it would have to be enough.
Stroking his cheek with her thumb, she released a sigh filled with longing.
Surely Aamina would be back soon. It wasn’t wise for her to linger too long in his presence. Closing her eyes, she reveled in the sensation of his rapid exhales as they whispered against her skin.
A hand—his hand—shot up from beneath the blankets, gripping her wrist tightly.
Charlotte yelped.
Peregrine’s bright blue eyes, glazed over with fever, locked on hers.
“How is it possible?” he whispered. “Am I dreaming?”
Charlotte’s arm shook within his grip and she pulled back, wordless. Perry’s feverish gaze never left hers as she swallowed and searched for an appropriate answer. His laudanum fueled alertness was muddled, and she wasn’t sure if he truly understood what he was seeing.
“Please, my lord. You must rest,” she said as she caressed his cheek with her hand to soothe him back to sleep.
“Who are you, fair maiden? Are you a ghost?” he whispered, tortured and frantic. Bewildered, Perry leaned into her hand, his gaze rapt.
“Yes. I am a ghost,” she whispered, her lip trembling. Charlotte blinked to chase away the tears gathering. “You are dreaming, my lord.”
His eyes fluttered closed, and he sought the comfort of her touch, the sweetness of the sensation tearing at her heart. All she wanted was to care for him, so he could live.
So one of them could live.
Once she was certain he had fallen into a deep sleep, she withdrew her hand, holding it close to her chest as though burned. This was the last time she would be able to visit him. The mere thought of not seeing him again was utterly devastating.
Sacrifices must be made to keep the secret.
Perry may have thought her a ghost, but she was very much alive.
The pain his proximity was causing was going to be the death of her.