Chapter 20 #3
The entrance hall was a scene of chaos. Servants rushed past with basins of water and armfuls of linens, their faces grey with worry. Nell pushed through them, following a frantic instinct; Graves appeared, materializing out of the crowd. His usually impassive face was tight with concern.
“Lady Philippa. Mrs. Ashford.” He fell into step beside them, gesturing toward the grand staircase. “This way. The doctor is with him.”
They climbed the stairs, past the silent portraits of Westmore ancestors and down a long corridor where the windows rattled in their frames. They stopped before a heavy oak door. Graves pushed it open.
Nell stepped inside.
The room was dim, lit only by candles flickering on the nightstand and a fire crackling low in the hearth.
Heavy curtains muffled the storm to a distant rumble—a massive bed dominated the space, its dark wood posts rising toward the ceiling.
The white linens were stained with a rust-coloured fluid that made Nell’s stomach lurch.
And in the bed lay Dominic.
He was as pale as death. His dark hair was matted with blood, and a white bandage was wrapped clumsily around his head, crimson seeping through the fibers.
His eyes were closed, his face slack, and his chest labored with shallow, uneven rhythms. He looked fragile—a ghost of the vital man who had once pinned her against a wall.
Edmund stood at the bedside. He was bent over Dominic’s still form, two fingers pressed firmly to the pulse point at the man’s wrist. He looked up as the door creaked, and a shadow of something far sadder than surprise crossed his face when he saw Nell.
“Mrs. Ashford.” He didn’t look up again, his attention returning to his watch as he counted the beats. He remained professional, clinical, and miles away. “You came.”
“How is he?” The question felt far-off, a hollow rasp that seemed to echo from the end of a long tunnel.
“A concussion.” Edmund straightened, setting Dominic’s hand back upon the coverlet with a gentleness that was painful to watch. “Possibly worse. He has been unconscious since they brought him in. He rouses for a moment, but his mind is elsewhere.”
Dominic stirred at the sound of the words. A low groan escaped him, his head turning restlessly upon the pillow as his features twisted with a sudden flash of pain.
“Nell.” He mumbled the name, the word thick with a desperate, feverish longing. “Nell… please...”
Her heart cracked. It felt the way it had broken clean in two.
“He has been saying that for hours.” Edmund’s voice was quiet and carefully neutral as he adjusted the instruments in his medical bag. “Your name. Only your name.”
“Nell.” Dominic spoke again, thrashing now. His bandaged head tossed against the linen and his hands clawed uselessly at the heavy sheets. “Don’t go… don’t leave me… Nell...”
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She could do nothing except move. She crossed the room in three quick strides and sat upon the edge of the bed, taking his hand firmly in both of hers.
His skin was cold and his fingers felt limp. But when she touched him, his expression changed. The tension in his jaw eased and his thrashing slowed. His whole body seemed to turn toward her, much like a flower seeking the sun.
“I am here.” She whispered the words, squeezing his hand like she could pull him back to the surface. “Dominic. I am here.”
He went still. The frantic movements stopped, and his eyes fluttered, half opening to reveal clouded, unfocused depths of grey. He stared at her as if he were not entirely sure she was real, like she might dissolve into the shadows if he were to blink.
“You came.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips, weak and full of wonder. “I thought I was dreaming. I am always dreaming of you.”
“You are not dreaming.” She brought his hand to her cheek, pressing his cold fingers against her warm skin. “I am here. I am real.”
His hand twitched in hers. It was weak, but it was there, trying to hold on to the anchor she provided.
“Don’t leave.” His eyes began to close again, the sheer weight of exhaustion pulling him back under. “Please… don’t leave me...”
“I won’t.” The words came without thought or hesitation. She leaned closer to him. “I am not going anywhere.”
He sighed. It was a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him, a final settling of his spirit.
It was like he could finally rest, having received the permission he required.
His breathing evened out, becoming deeper and steadier than it had been since the accident.
His grip on her hand loosened, but he didn’t release her.
She didn’t let go.
Edmund watched from across the bed, his face a carefully maintained blank mask.
Philippa stood in the doorway, one hand pressed hard against her mouth to stifle a sob while tears streamed silently down her cheeks.
The room fell quiet, save for the rain lashing against the windows and the low crackle of the fire.
“He needs rest.” Edmund finally broke the silence, the words clipped as he snapped his medical bag shut. “The next few hours will tell us more.”
“Will he—” Nell couldn’t finish. She looked down at the way her fingers were intertwined with Dominic’s.
“I don’t know.” Edmund’s reply was raw with a sudden, unexpected gentleness. He stepped toward the fire, the orange light catching the exhaustion in his face. “Head injuries are unpredictable. But he is strong. And he is calmer now than he has been all day.”
Neither of them said the obvious reason why. Both of them simply knew.
“I should check the bandage.” Edmund moved back to the head of the bed. “I must change the dressing.”
Nell started to rise, intending to give him room to work, but Dominic’s hand tightened on hers. It was a weak but insistent grip, an anchor he refused to let go of even in the depths of unconsciousness.
“Stay.” The word was a ghost of a sound, barely a breath against the pillow. “Nell… stay...”
“I am staying.” She settled back onto the edge of the mattress, her free hand smoothing the dark, matted hair back from his forehead. “I am not leaving.”
Edmund worked around her, unwrapping the bloodied cloth and cleaning the wound with steady, practiced efficiency. But his eyes, when they briefly met hers across Dominic’s prone form, held a painful clarity. He understood now why she’d said no that morning.
“You love him.” He didn’t ask; he simply stated it the way reading a final diagnosis.
She didn’t deny it. She couldn’t. “I didn’t mean to.” The confession was a mere thread of sound, an apology offered to the man she was hurting.
“No one ever does.” Edmund finished wrapping the fresh linen and stepped back to gather his supplies. “I will return in a few hours to check his progress.”
“Thank you.” The words felt entirely insufficient for a man who had offered her his life and received only this revelation in return.
“Take care of him.” Edmund fastened his bag, his posture straight and his composure absolute. “He needs you more than he needs me at this moment.”
He left then. He moved quietly, without looking back.