His Royal Favorite (24 page)

“All right,” she repeated numbly.

As Ben tucked the remnants of the coverlet around her shoulders, James pushed away the heavy, wet bathrobe she’d been wearing. Her thighs were a grid of still-bleeding cuts. Her hips too—and her belly—and he had to fight his revulsion as he saw she’d even slashed her breasts.

“I didn’t go deep enough, did I?” Indigo said. “I fucked this up too. Why don’t I stop? Why don’t I just stop?”

She didn’t mean
stop cutting
. She meant
stop existing
.

“Does she need to go to the hospital?” Ben said quietly.

“Not for blood loss. At least, I don’t think so. Can you get her something warm to drink or eat?”

Ben hurried to the bedroom door, and from the hallway James could hear him asking Woodley to bring some soup or tea. For his part he kept rubbing Indigo’s shoulders, trying to warm her again. Maybe she wasn’t bleeding to death, but he was worried about shock.

Indigo looked up at him, rivulets of water from her damp hair streaking down her face like tears. “Hartley’s dead,” she repeated.

“I know. I’m so sorry, Indigo. He loved you dearly.”

“I loved him too. But I never said so, because he was a servant.” Her lower lip trembled. “That’s a horrid reason, isn’t it?”

James nodded.

In a whisper she said, “He’s gone. Soon you’ll be gone too.”

So, she knew about the end of the regency and all that was likely to follow. The timing couldn’t have been worse.

“You know I’ll never leave you,” he insisted, pushing her damp hair back. “Don’t you leave me either.”

That punctured the shell around her—but shock was replaced by raw misery as Indigo began to cry. Ben hurried back to them; in his hands he held bandages, no doubt supplied by the quick-thinking Woodley.

“I can’t do this,” Indigo said between sobs. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

James wished desperately for someone else who could help. Ben was doing his best, but he’d never seen Indigo like this before and was no doubt too astonished to know how best to handle it. Nicholas had always been good at dealing with Indigo in her darkest moods, but he was out on maneuvers this month. Even Richard was sometimes better than nothing, but he’d swept up to Leeds in triumph for a series of weekend appearances. They were on their own.

Unless Hartley could help one last time.

Carefully, James said, “Hartley wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself because of him. You know that.”

Indigo wiped at her cheeks. “I know.”

“Then please, try to settle down, and let us bandage you. It’s what Hartley would have wanted.”

“He wanted me to go away,” she said. “He showed me the pamphlets too. About the hospitals for people like me.”

To have taken this to Indigo herself was the single most egregious breach of protocol Hartley, or any other servant, had ever committed. But it didn’t surprise James at all. For Indigo, Hartley would have done anything.

“Are we talking about a mental health facility?” Ben said. “It might not be the worst idea, if you’re willing to go.”

James looked daggers at Ben. How could he talk about institutionalizing someone so fragile, someone who didn’t even want to leave her room? How could he bring it up now, of all times?

But then Indigo said, each word slow and separate, “I could go. He would’ve wanted me to go. It doesn’t matter any longer.”

“What?” James couldn’t believe what he’d heard. “You could go?”

Indigo’s hazel eyes met his, and she looked so bewildered, so lost, that James felt his throat begin to tighten. “It doesn’t matter what happens to me. It can’t get any scarier. It can’t get any worse. James, it has to stop. Make it stop.”

He had to act quickly. “If they could make it stop at the hospital—help you stop hurting like this—would you go there, and stay, and work on your treatment?”

She sat very still for a few moments, then nodded.

It was a breakthrough, but James didn’t know whether or not to trust it. Indigo had always been so vehemently opposed to any outside help; she’d always feared and distrusted the world beyond her own doors. Could she truly be prepared to go to a psychiatric hospital? Was it fair of him to trust any decision she made right now? His sister sounded less like someone ready to seek help, more like someone on the brink of suicide. Yet that was all the more reason to move quickly.

Ben sat near both of them and held out the bandages; Indigo slowly extended one trembling leg and let Ben get to work. To James, Ben said, almost under his breath, “You realize this is what she needs.”

“Yes. But I worry about rushing her.”

“Amelia needs help now,” Ben insisted. “I know you see that.”

“I do. This is just—I don’t want her to feel like I took advantage, later on.”

“So we let her rest over the weekend. Bring in her doctor if she needs medical attention.” Ben kept methodically wrapping the bandages around Indigo’s calf. He smiled at her, trying to make it clear she wasn’t excluded from the conversation, even though she was again withdrawing into herself. “Then we get her to some help when you’re both feeling steadier than you are at the moment.”

Realization settled down on James like a vast weight. “That won’t work.”

“Why not?” Ben said.

“The family would block it if they could. After Monday, they can. When the regency ends, so does my authority over Indigo’s welfare. Neither the king nor Prince Richard would ever allow this.”

This would be a scandal that might dwarf even his own coming out—a member of the royal family mentally ill. James knew he was the only one of them who would be willing to face the uproar in order to save her. The others would insist the matter could be handled privately up until the day she was found dead.

Only now did James fully admit that day was where they were headed, if nothing changed. It could easily have been this very night.

“Indigo?” He put his hands on her shoulders, trying to summon her back. “Listen to me. If you want to go to hospital, you need to go now. As in, within the hour.”

“Tonight?” she whispered.

“Any more time and the others find out. If they stall us even by a day, I might not be able to place you in hospital while I’m still regent. So we’d have to leave tonight. We can pack a bag for you, order a car. The brochures—do you still have them?” James had never thrown away the ones Hartley had given him, but those were back at Clarence House, and he no longer thought they’d even have the chance to stop there.

Indigo nodded. “In my desk.”

The desk had been tipped over, but Ben knelt down to go through the spilled contents. After a moment he held up three shiny brochures. No doubt they were all top-notch—Hartley would have been judicious—so James took them and searched for the one closest to London. “Here. St. Maur Hall. This looks promising.” Quickly he scanned the copy, looking for something reassuring that didn’t exist. It was a mental health facility that specialized in self-harm; they seemed competent and private; there was nothing else to be known.

Indigo didn’t even look at the brochure. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t care where we go, as long as it’s not here.”

He felt he needed more than this from her before he took action. Very gently, James added, “This is a place Hartley chose for you. Will you do this for him? Will you try?”

Her eyes welled with fresh tears, but it was worth it, because she nodded and said, “I’ll try.”

That was permission, and yet James hesitated. He knew next to nothing about this facility. Indigo was doing something highly atypical at a moment of profound crisis, and she might come to blame him for it later. The family’s wrath would be intense. Above all he was frightened for his sister and scared of doing the wrong thing.

Ben rested one hand on James’s shoulder. When James looked up, Ben said, “Your sister has to fight for her own life. Don’t stand in her way.
Let her fight.
”

The courage James needed returned to him. It was barely enough to get through the shock and fear, but enough all the same. “Let’s go.”

***

“It’s highly irregular not to have the patient’s name.”

“I realize that,” Ben said. Since his demeanor was less likely to be recognized, he was making the call to the mental health facility instead of James. “Everything will be made clear, I swear to you. For the moment this has to be kept private.”

“Does she have an attending physician?” The young doctor at St. Maur Hall had a kindly voice, but was proving unexpectedly firm. “It’s almost unheard of for us to take a patient who hasn’t first tried counseling or medication, especially without a full history.”

Across the room, Ben watched James helping his sister pull on a T-shirt. “The patient has been denied psychiatric help,” he said quietly. “She’s needed it for years, but the possibility has been kept from her. Now she’s in an extreme crisis, her self-harm has escalated, and we’re afraid for her life. She’s willing to come tonight, and so we need to act.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the young doctor said, “Then we must do what we can. I’ll have a room prepared and we’ll be ready to receive her within the hour. When she arrives I’ll need to talk with her closest family member to get as much of a medical history as possible.”

“Her brother will come with us. I’m sure he’ll be ready to help in any way possible. Thank you.”

“One final thing,” the doctor said. “Forgive my mentioning it, but your accent suggests you’re not from the UK. If the young lady in question isn’t covered by the NHS, we’ll have to have some form of insurance.”

“She’s British.”
Understatement of the year.
“Thank you again. We’ll be there as fast as we can.”

He helped James prepare as best as they could. The maid hurriedly packed a bag full of T-shirts and jeans while James grabbed a few books he thought Indigo might want with her. Indigo sat limply on the bed while Ben tried to work a comb through her wet hair.

I didn’t sign up for this
, muttered the old Ben. But he had, hadn’t he? Loving James meant taking on not only the weight of the nation but also the bizarrely mixed-up group of people he called a family. Tucking her hair back, Ben said, “There you go, Amelia.”

She looked up at him then, wan and teary. “You may call me Indigo.”

“Okay, Indigo.” He smiled down at her, but she wasn’t capable of smiling back.

The maid said to James, “Sir, are you certain I shouldn’t contact the equerry?” By now Ben knew the royal equerries were in charge of all the royal family’s travel arrangements . . . usually.

“No.” James handed the maid another couple of paperbacks to stuff in the suitcase; Ben spotted a copy of
Dune
. “Security knows we’re going out. That’s sufficient for now. If anyone questions you about it, you may explain that I ordered you expressly not to involve the equerry. No one outside this room is to know precisely where we’re going until we arrive.”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness.”

Ben touched Indigo’s shoulder. “Ready?”

“No,” she said, but she shakily got to her feet.

The pamphlet for St. Maur Hall said it was “an hour's drive from London,” but they made far better time at midnight with no traffic—and, Ben supposed, no fear of being pulled over for speeding. They rode in James’s sedan, with Indigo’s security team following behind. Indigo sat in the middle of the backseat. Ben realized that James was afraid she might attempt to leave the car at a traffic stop, or perhaps simply fling herself from it. They had her braced on either side.

“After Mum and Dad died, Hartley would sit up and listen to me talk about books for hours,” Indigo said, staring blankly forward. “As though he knew or cared anything about fantasy literature. But he would sit there and ask questions and pretend he was fascinated, and that there wasn’t anything wrong, that of course we’d talk about
The Mists of Avalon
until 3 a.m.”

“He was a very good man.” James kissed her forehead.

St. Maur Hall proved to be a former grand manor, converted for its present purposes. As they drove up, Ben could see a few staffers emerging from the door, obviously prepared to meet the new patient. Ben murmured, “Should we clear any extra people away? Have security get rid of them first?”

“This is one time we need to be indiscreet.” James looked grim. “Word has to get out that Indigo’s here—and that she came here willingly, with me alongside her. The family could keep her from going into hospital, but it’s another thing altogether to be seen removing her against her will. Do you understand?”

In other words, James was counting on at least one of these people telling all to the tabloids. The same press that so often tormented Indigo might also save her. Ben thought he would never get used to this strange world.

One member of the security team opened the car door. James held out his hand to Indigo, and after only a moment’s brief hesitation she took it and allowed him to help her out of the car. Brother and sister went up the steps huddled together, Ben only slightly behind. He was able to watch the faces of the staffers as their expressions shifted from concern to shock as recognition set in.

One young man stepped forward; he had soft brown hair, horn-rimmed hipster glasses, and a long white coat. While the others were still gaping, he was able to speak normally. “I’m Dr. Colin McKay. Junior physician, on call this evening.”

“I’m Benjamin Dahan.” Ben knew he had to be the one to speak; James remained entirely focused on Indigo. “We spoke on the phone.”

“Of course. I understand the situation now.” Dr. McKay smiled gently. “Please, come in.”

Once in the front hall, beneath normal light, Indigo suddenly stopped. She clung to James, who kept his arm around her and whispered, “Are you all right?”

“I need a minute.” Indigo tightened her grip and began, very quietly, to cry. Ben didn’t even have to see James’s face to know that he must feel as though he were being ripped in two. Then Indigo made a strange sound—half laugh, half sob—and said, “I need to hang on to you, James, but you can hang on to Ben if you need to.”

“I think I do.” James held out his free hand to Ben, who took it, and the three of them stood there in the lobby for what felt like forever. Both he and James were damp and bloodstained, and Indigo’s bandages were obvious beneath her clothes. At least a dozen medical personnel stood there, watching this intensely personal moment, and Ben silently swore that if one of them said anything untoward—or, God forbid, pulled out a camera phone—he’d do violence and deal with the repercussions later.