The Reluctant Duke (A Seabrook Family Saga)(73)
If not called back sooner, the doctor promised to return in the morning and left, carrying his valise. If His Grace worsened they were to send for him immediately. Emma vaguely remembered asking to be alone with her husband.
Emma approached the bed, her hand resting on her stomach and her heart pounding in her chest. She stared down at Thomas, her love. Her knees buckled as she sank down into a chair by the bedside. Her body quivered. It hurt to see Thomas lying in bed, pale, weak, and sleeping an unnatural sleep.
He truly did not resemble the vibrant, larger-than-life man she had fallen in love with. His helplessness plagued her. What could she do to help him? How did she keep him from getting an infection? Too many things swirled in Emma’s mind, overloading her senses. She rested her head on the side of his bed. Her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing steadied and slowed as she drifted into an exhausted and worried sleep.
“Emma, my dear, wake up.” She fought the voice calling to her, but it was no use. It would not go away.
Where was she?
Disorientated, she lifted her head, sat up, and stretched her arms over her head to work out the stiffness. The sun had set, turning the room into near darkness. One oil lamp illuminated Thomas’s body lying still as death in his huge bed. He appeared small and frail, when in reality he was anything but. She fought down the scream forming inside her lungs.
This is no dream.
“I’m awake,” she choked out as she noticed her new mother-in-law standing at the foot of her son’s bed. Her features appeared washed out with worry. “Has he awoken yet?”
Thomas’s mother shook her head slowly from side to side. “No.”
“How long did I sleep?” Emma asked, trying to get a handle on the time.
“Two hours. It is half-past-eight in the evening. You should get something to eat. I will stay with my son.”
“I don’t think I could eat anything.”
“I understand, my dear, but you must keep up your strength. You will be no good to your husband otherwise. I have the feeling he will need you in the days to come.” She did not like the ominous sound of the dowager’s voice.
Pushing off the side of the bed, Emma stood up and stretched out her sore and stiff body. “I’ll go get something.” She shuffled to the open door then turned back, her heart barely beating. “Please, will you send for me if he wakes?”
His mother promised she would. Walking down the stairs, Emma heard quiet voices coming from the drawing room. Upon entering, she eyed Amelia and Bella sitting side by side on the velvet settee. Myles and Amesbury sat leaning forward on chairs facing them. A table covered with a tray of chilled meats, cheeses, and fruits and a tea service sat between them.
“May I join you?” she asked, suddenly feeling like an intruder.
“Please do.” Myles said, while he and Amesbury stood and waited until she took a seat next to Bella on the settee.
When they were settled, Amesbury asked, “How is he?”
Emma swallowed and tried to ignore the fear and worry on his face––on all their faces. “The same as before; he has not woken up yet.” Then so many questions pelted her from every direction she did not know who asked what.
“Is that normal?”
“Does he have a fever?”
“Does he still moan in his sleep like he’s in pain?”
“Do you think he’ll get an infection?”
“What did the doctor give him for medicine?”
Emma covered her ears and shook her head, helpless. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” She sucked in a sob, then gave up and lowered her head into her hands and cried.
“Emma…” Bella wrapped her arms around Emma and held her gently. “Go ahead and cry. You deserve it. Myles, would you be so kind as to pour our Emma a cup of tea, with milk and two sugars?”
Emma pulled herself together, took the handkerchief Amesbury offered her, dried her tears, and blew her nose. She forced herself to sit up straight and sip the tea Myles handed her in a lovely china cup.
“I’m sorry. I’m usually not one for such teary eyes.”
Myles nodded his head. “No need to apologize. You should have seen the four of us; we were watering pots earlier. We could have flooded an entire flowerbed with our tears.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Leave it to you, Myles, to lighten the mood. Thank you. It helps.”
He held up a plate of fruit. “You should eat.”
She shook her head. “No, I can’t. The tea tastes good, though. It soothes my nerves. I’ve never felt so useless. Instead of watching over Thomas, I slept. Some nursemaid I make,” she murmured over the top of her teacup.