The Reluctant Duke (A Seabrook Family Saga) (22 page)

“Thank you, my
dear. My son has chosen well. In one day you have already made me proud to call
you my daughter-in-law. I leave him in your capable hands.” She rose, took her
son’s limp hand in hers, and held on, eyes closed. Sadness and worry were
living, breathing things that spread out from her mother-in-law and encompassed
Emma and Thomas.

After the
dowager duchess left the room, Emma shivered, wrapped her arms around herself,
and hugged tightly. She pulled the sheet down low on Thomas’s waist, careful
not to expose his manhood. Even so, her cheeks heated at his nakedness. His
chest was large, muscular, and sprinkled with light brown hair. A bandage
covered most of his belly and extended far beneath the sheet.

Emma was
curious about her husband’s body. All she had to do was peek under the sheet
and look her fill. Emma was tempted to look while he was unconscious, as she
had never seen male parts before. Now that she had married Thomas she was even
more tempted.

When she went
to examine his bandages, her hands trembled and tears blurred her vision. She
needed to pause and take a deep breath to steady herself. It didn’t work. All
Emma could do was stare at her new husband and pray that he recovered.

 “Please, God,
let the surgery have worked. I will do anything. I have fallen in love with
him. Please . . . please . . . I can’t live without him.” Her knees gave way
and she leaned against the side of his bed. It was quite some time before she
was composed enough to continue her examination of his bandages.

Relief quickly
washed through her when she found his dressing clean. Gently, she touched his
arm and he twitched in his sleep, causing her to gasp and jump back. Emma
watched him regain his restful repose. She sighed deeply and smiled at her
frayed nerves. Then she yawned and collapsed in the chair beside his bed.

Emma was
exhausted and found herself nodding off in the uncomfortable chair. She did not
want to leave her husband to go to bed, and not knowing what else to do, she
climbed in the over-large bed and snuggled under the top cover, careful not to
get too close to Thomas. Emma would not want to accidentally bump into his side
and cause him unnecessary pain.

She let her
head rest back on the soft pillows and listened to the sound of breathing
coming from Thomas. It hit her then like a runaway coach; she was now married.
Tonight was her wedding night. Turning her head to the side, she looked at her
sleeping husband, and her heart soared.

As much as
she’d fought him about the wedding and told him she wanted to travel back to
America, she would have been miserable without him. Because her pride would
have allowed no other option, she’d have gone if he’d agreed. Emma would have
hated it, but she would have gone. Made a simple, quiet life for herself and
become a spinster, a sad spinster. And all the love she had for Thomas would
only have fueled the heroine’s love for the hero in her novels.

Thank you,
God,
she prayed because she was so glad to be lying in her husband’s bed
with him beside her. It was not the wedding night she envisioned. But under the
circumstances, she felt blessed because he had made it through his surgery.

Her lips curled
into a smiled. Emma was positive Thomas had had other plans for this night. He
would never have believed, that instead of spending it the way be had planned,
he would be asleep, recovering from an appendectomy, with his wife lying at his
side––fully clothed––on their wedding night.

An hour, maybe
two went by as she listened to his even breathing and watched the rise and fall
of his chest. His heart beat strong and constant. Her lids began to flutter
closed while the soothing sound of his breathing lulled her into sleep.

Emma’s mind
filled with dreams of her wedding night with Thomas. A night filled with sweet
seduction, whispers in the dark of night, about love and devotion. Then hours
entwined in each other’s arms making passionate love, cocooned in darkness,
until the sun rose up in the sky bathing the room in warmth.

 The bed shook
over and over. Groaning sounds followed the shaking, steady and constant. Emma
fought to open her eyes. Something inside her mind told her to wake up. It was
important she wake up.

Now . . .
wake up now!

Her eyes popped
open as she sat up with a start and took in the unfamiliar surroundings. Behind
the drapes it looked like the sun was just coming up. Then everything about the
previous day hit her at once.

When she locked
her eyes on Thomas it caused her lungs to constrict and her heart to rise up in
her throat. Scrambling out of the covers, she knelt beside her husband. Emma
placed her hand to his forehead and shuddered at the intense heat coming off
him. Sometime during the night fever had set in. His head tossed from side to
side; he mumbled incoherent words.

She climbed off
the bed, forcing her legs to hold her weight. She went to the washstand, wet a
cloth, wrung it, returned to her husband, and gently placed it on his forehead.
His hands rose up, fighting her.

“Shs, my love,”
she cooed. “Relax and let me take care of you.”

A frown line
appeared between his brows at the sound of her voice, until finally he rested
his arms back down by his sides and took a labored breath.

Pulling the
covers down to his waist, Emma inspected the bandage and cringed as her worst
nightmare came true. Blood and a yellow liquid had seeped through his bandages.
The metallic smell forced her to breathe through her mouth. Her brain screamed
all sorts of questions. Should she change the bandage or wait for the doctor?
Could she get him to take something for the pain? She had never nursed anyone
before.

“Stop it,” she
scolded herself. This was not the time to fall apart. She needed to be strong
for Thomas.

Think, Emma,
think
. She took the bottle of laudanum off the bedside table and tried to
get Thomas to swallow several drops. Some dripped down his chin, but she
thought he swallowed a bit. Then she went to remove the bandage, but it was
stuck to his skin with dried blood. Gently Emma pried it off, trying not to
break the doctor’s stitches. Thomas hissed and moaned, but fortunately he
didn’t use his hands to try and stop her or fight her off.

Wetting a clean
cloth with water, she patted the area covered in blood. She did not know much
about wounds, but she thought his looked good. Not angry, raised, or overly
red––so why the fever? Just as she washed off the last of the blood the
physician entered the room with Thomas’s mother following behind him.

“He has a
fever,” Emma said to the doctor. Her voice sounded odd and breathy. “I noticed
several minutes ago.”

When the
physician approached the bed, Emma stepped back and clasped her mother-in-law’s
hand and held it tight. “He slept soundly last night. I don’t know what
happened.” Panic threatened to overtake her mind and body.

“These things
happen, my dear.” Her mother-in-law’s voice vibrated with worry, regardless of
what she said.

Time stood
still as Emma watched the doctor examine Thomas. He cleaned the area around the
incision, put a foul-smelling black ointment across it, then covered it with
fresh bandages. The doctor put several small bottles on the bedside table,
packed up his medical bag, and turned to the ladies, frowning. “I have left
medicine to help him fight the infection and more laudanum for the pain. One
teaspoon of each every four hours, and you must try and get liquids inside
him.”

“Excuse me,
doctor. What is causing his fever and infection?” Emma asked. A knot had formed
in her stomach; she dreaded his answer.

“His diseased
appendix leaked toxins into his body. The infection comes from inside his body,
not from the incision.”

“Is it
serious?” Emma asked, and then she silently prayed.
Please, God, do not let
it be bad.

“If I may be
honest, Your Grace,” he said, his tone sober. “Yes, it is. This type of
infection can be deadly.”

Emma gasped and
covered her mouth while it felt as if her heart ricocheted around inside her.
“Deadly…,” she repeated as her eyes meet the dowager’s eyes, full of shock and
tears.

“Yes. It can
be,” the kindly doctor continued. “But His Grace is healthy and strong; let us
pray he can fight it off. Meanwhile, I would prepare for the worst . . . I was
optimistic until this infection. He has been ill for many weeks, and I fear
it’s unlikely he’ll recover.” He bowed his head. “Your Graces, I’m truly sorry.
I wish I had better news. Only time will tell. I’ll be back on the morrow.
Force the liquids and give him both medications every four hours. Good day.”

Good day?
Was he serious?

“We must inform
the others,” Emma’s mother-in-law said between sobs.

“Yes,” Emma
replied, refusing to cry. Refusing to believe what the doctor said.

Thomas would
not die. Not if she had anything to do with it. She would spend every moment of
every day seeing to it that he lived.

“I’ll go down
and tell them; please stay here with your son,” Emma offered.

Though she
desperately wanted to remain at Thomas’s side, it seemed her feet moved away
from the bedside of their own accord.

Emma wondered
how she would break the devastating news to Amelia, Bella, Myles, and Amesbury.
First she needed to wash her face, change her clothes, and settle her nerves.

A while later
Emma entered the bright cream and peach breakfast room. As was usual for this
time of day, sunshine entered the room through the tall windows. On any other
day the room would lift her spirits, but not today.

Fortunately,
she found the room empty. She was not yet ready to face the others and pass on
the discouraging news. Approaching the sideboard, she filled a plate with eggs,
fruit, and sausage, then sat down at the table. A servant, anticipating her
needs, brought her a cup of chocolate, and Emma sipped it appreciatively.

Closing her
eyes, Emma let the warmth of the liquid soothe her as it traveled down her
throat. Then she thought about Thomas, lying ill in his room, until her body
convulsed and tears burst from her eyes. They ran down her face while she
hugged her waist and rocked back and forth on the chair. Sobs escaped her and
she could do nothing to stop them.

The servant
approached her, a worried expression on his face. She waved him from the room.

“No . . . No .
. . No . . .” She shouted between sobs. “He will not die. I will not let Thomas
die. P . . . Please, my Lord. Do not let Thomas die.”

When the sound
of Emma’s sobs hit Myles’s ears his heart stopped beating and he stood
transfixed in the doorway, unable to move. His mind thought the worst. Could
his friend be…? He refused to complete the thought.

All etiquette
was lost to him as he rushed forward, dragged Emma’s chair back, and pulled her
up into his arms. Myles hugged her tightly and rubbed her back, trying to
soothe her––and maybe himself.

“Tell me what
happened,” Myles coaxed her. The trembling of her body and her quick breaths
from sobbing had him on the verge of panicking. He did not think it would be
wise to lose his composure with Emma. She needed his support now. When she
remained silent, it took all his will power not to ask her again.

Myles took
deep, calming breaths and waited for her. Finally she calmed down, and
eventually he felt her breathing change.“I’m sorry I fell apart.” Emma stepped
out of his arms and sank down on her chair. His chest pained at the sight of
the raw anguish and fear in her eyes.

“Thomas has a
fever.” She hiccupped, then continued. “The doctor said he has a serious
infection because of his diseased appendix. He said to be prepared for the
worst because he could die.”

Myles felt
blindly for the closest chair and sank his shaky and suddenly weak body into
it. “No,” he murmured. The single word was followed by several colorful curses
he would not apologize for saying. He knew Emma would understand.

“I need to see
him.” Myles stood slowly, walked up the stairs and down the long corridor to
his friend’s rooms. He knocked quietly and entered. Wentworth’s mother sat in a
chair, positioned beside the bed, holding her son’s hand as Myles approached.
“Do you mind if I visit?”

His friend’s
mother looked up with tears in her eyes, and Myles swallowed the lump forming
in his throat. Dear God, she seemed to have aged years since yesterday at the
wedding. He too fought the burning tears threatening to escape his eyes. “How
is Wentworth?” The dowager duchess shook her head and dabbed at her eyes with a
lace handkerchief.

“I understand.
I can see for myself.” And Myles could. Wentworth’s sweating brow showed he
burned up with fever. His breathing was rapid and labored, and he moved restlessly
in the large bed. Moans escaped Wentworth’s mouth time and time again. Myles
thought he recognized several words but could not be sure. His friend was
delirious with fever.

“I can stay
with him, if you would like some time to yourself or to spend time with the
girls,” Myles offered.

Once again she
shook her head and didn’t move.

“Why don’t I
send Isabella and Amelia in then?” Again Myles received no answer.

Out in the hall
again, he leaned back against the wall and tried to catch his breath. His
throat burned and tears leaked from his eyes. Myles closed them to wipe out the
picture of Wentworth, lying sick and delirious in his bed. How could this man
face death when Myles needed him? When others needed him, too?

“Dear God,
don’t take him. Wentworth has so much to live for. He is the most honorable
person I know.”

The sound of
soft footsteps, shuffling down the hallway though muffled by the thick rug, had
him opening his eyes and stepping away from the wall. Myles came face to face
with Amelia, Bella, and Amesbury. By their worried expressions he assumed Emma
had spoken with them.