She laughed again without looking at him.
“A marriage works in two directions,” he said. “I am your husband, Sybil. You are pledged, too, to do all in your power to secure my happiness. Would it not give your mind something to focus on, trying to please me? I would not be hard to please. I would be satisfied with a little kindness, a little companionship.”
This time she looked at him as she laughed. But the laughter turned to prolonged coughing.
He went down on his knees in front of her, set his hand over the back of her head, offered her his handkerchief. She pushed his hand away.
“On Monday,” he said when the coughing finally stopped, “we will leave for London. In three days’ time. Instruct Armitage to start packing your trunks.”
She laughed again. “You can keep your doctors, Adam,” she said. “No doctor can do anything for me. I want nothing to do with them.” She unfolded her handkerchief and smiled at him as she revealed the bright red spots of blood on it.
He stared at them, felt the blood drain from his head, and lowered his forehead to rest against her knees.
“You must have known,” she said. “If you did not, you must be remarkably stupid. Go away, Adam. I want nothing to do with you or with any of your doctors.”
He raised his head and looked into her face. “Sybil,” he whispered. “Oh, my poor dear. Why have you not said anything before? Dr. Hartley knows? Why did he not tell me? You should not have been going through this alone.”
“Why?” she asked. “Do you plan to die with me, Adam? Or will you just hold my hand through it all? No, thank you. I would prefer to do it alone.”
She turned her head away sharply as her face crumpled before his sight.
He was on his feet instantly and drawing her up and into his arms. He held her close to him, rocked her against him, kissed the top of her head.
But she pushed away from him as soon as she had regained some control. “I want to be alone,” she said. “I want to die alone. If Thomas is not here to hold me, then I will die alone. No!” She turned sharply as he moved his hand toward her. “You do not have to do the generous thing and send for him. That is what you were about to offer to do, isn’t it? I can read you like a book, Adam.”
He said nothing.
“I know he would not come,” she said. “He would not come if I were healthy and you offered me with a million pounds. Do you think he would come to help me die?”
“Sybil,” he said, reaching out a hand to her.
She laughed more harshly than she had laughed before. “Do you think I do not know the truth?” she said. “Do you think I have not always known it deep down? But it does not make me hate you any the less. I hate you for being so noble and so understanding. I hate you for being always so willing to take the blame. I am glad I have consumption. I am glad I am going to die.” She turned her back on him.
“I will not let you go without a fight,” he said. “There are treatments that can help your condition. If only you had told me sooner, or the doctor had—I suppose you swore him to secrecy—we could have been doing something already. A warm climate helps, so I have heard. I shall take you somewhere where it is warm. Spain, perhaps, or Italy. We will go there for the winter. By next summer you will have recovered. Sybil, don’t give up hope. Don’t give up your will to live.”
“I want to lie down,” she said. “Pull on the bell rope to summon Armitage, Adam. I am tired.”
He did so immediately and turned back to her. “I am going to nurse you back to health,” he said, “whether you like it or not. And whether you hate me or not, I am going to keep you alive and with me. And with Pamela. Think of her, Sybil. She needs you alive. She worships you.”
“Poor little darling,” she said. “She will be an orphan indeed when I am gone.”
“She will always have me,” he said. “Her father. And she will have you too. I will have Houghton work on arrangements for a removal to Italy for the winter.”
The maid came into the room at that moment.
“Her grace is unwell and tired,” the duke said. “Help her to her bed, if you please, Armitage.”
He watched his duchess, fragile and lovely, lean heavily on her maid’s arm as they disappeared into the dressing room. He resisted the impulse to scoop her up into his arms and carry her to her bed. He knew that such a gesture would not be appreciated.
TWO DAYS AFTER THE duke’s return, Peter Houghton was sent to London to consult with the duke’s lawyer and Lord Brocklehurst’s to see what he could arrange for Fleur’s comfort. And he was to purchase a pianoforte to send her as a gift to the school. Fleur must have a pianoforte, his grace persuaded himself.