“No.” James spoke up, though his voice was so lacking in power it scarcely sounded like him. “No doctor.” He looked at Laura. “Keep them away from me.”
“Yes, of course, if you don’t wish him here,” she said mildly, taking his hand.
“I wish him to the devil. I wish everyone to the devil.” His hand tightened on hers. “Not you.”
She glanced at him, surprised, and once again felt tears burning at the backs of her eyes. “My. High praise, indeed.”
Demosthenes padded over and reared up, planting his paws on the bed, and stretched his head toward James. James patted him. “It’s all right, Dem.” To Laura he said, “Get Owen to take him out; he’s the only one not scared of him.”
“Yes, sir.” The footman came around the bed. “That’s me, ma’am. I’ll take him.”
It took some persuasion from Owen, but finally the big dog followed him from the room. Laura turned to the butler. “Sir James had a high fever last night. I think perhaps he simply fainted because he’s weak from that. Why don’t you bring him a cup of broth or maybe oatmeal? Something strengthening.”
“I don’t want it,” James said behind her.
“Of course not, but I think you should have a little anyway.”
“Then doubtless I will.” He pushed himself up to a sitting position. “I must use the breathing treatment.”
“I can help.” Unexpectedly Walter spoke up. “I know where the tonic is. I picked it up at the apothecary.”
“Why don’t you rest for a bit first?” Laura suggested. “Have some of the broth.”
James shook his head. “I’ll wait on the treatment. But I must clean up and dress. Mother will be here soon.”
“He’s right,” Walter agreed, turning and rummaging through the dresser. “Word will be all around the servants’ hall. If Simpson doesn’t tell her, her maid certainly will. Here’s a fresh shirt.”
“But she won’t care that you’re rumpled, surely,” Laura protested.
Walter snorted. “James? Rumpled? She’ll be certain he’s at de—” He stopped abruptly, turning brick red.
“Death’s door,” James finished for him.
“I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean—of course you aren’t . . .”
“Stop yammering, Walter, and give me the blasted shirt.” James began working on his buttons.
“Yes, of course.”
Laura watched the two men in amazement as Walter helped James replace his shirt. There was the sound of agitated voices, then a rush of footsteps in the hallway. James let out a curse and stood up just as Tessa flew into the room.
“James!” She stopped in the doorway, her eyes huge in her face, her hands clutched to her heart.
“Mother.” James gave her the ghost of a smile.
“Darling! The maid said—oh, God! It’s true!” Tears welled in her eyes and she wailed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Tessa started forward in a rush, arms extended, as if to throw herself against James, but Laura, with visions of Tessa knocking him over, nimbly stepped in front of the other woman and took her arm, pulling her to a halt. She leaned in, saying in a low voice, “Don’t. He’ll fall. He hasn’t the strength.”
Tessa rolled her eyes toward Laura. “No . . .” It was more a moan than a word. She looked over at her son. “James, no . . .”
“I’m sorry,” James said inadequately, and sat down on the bed.
Tessa burst into sobs and threw her arms around Laura. Laura had no doubt that Tessa’s distress was real; she saw the stark terror in the woman’s eyes. But she could understand why James found Tessa’s emotions exhausting. He shoved one hand back through his hair, looking helpless, his face bleak.
“I can’t. I can’t.” Tessa pulled back, her gaze pleading. “He must get well. I can’t bear to lose another son.” She turned to James, but apparently saw no help there, for she swiveled back to Laura. “What’s wrong with him? I thought . . . people get better from consumption.”
Laura linked her arm through Tessa’s, steering her toward the door. She cast a speaking look at James’s brother. “Walter . . .”
“What? Oh! Oh, yes.” He came up on the other side of Tessa. “Don’t cry, Mama.”
Tessa patted him on the arm, giving him a tearful smile. “Why didn’t he tell me? I’m his mother.”
“I’m sure he didn’t want to alarm you,” Laura told her as she led her into the corridor. “I know it’s hard, but you must be strong. For James. He hates to see you cry.”