by Vikki Vaught
When he awoke a few hours later, sunlight filled the room. His head no longer felt as if it were in a cloud, and when he tried to sit up, the pain wasn’t as extreme as earlier. Thank the good Lord.
His valet came over to the bed and asked, “How are you feeling this morning, my lord?”
“Much improved, much improved,” he replied. “Where’s my wife? Has she been in this morning?”
While the man fussed with the pillows, he told him, “Lady Billingsley went to breakfast. I will send the footman to get her. She told me to send for her when you awoke.”
“No, not yet, Ensley.” His bladder felt ready to explode. “Can you help me get up? I need to use the chamber pot.”
“I shall bring it to you, sir. I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to get out of bed yet. At least, not until the surgeon sees you. He should be here within the next hour.”
“Balderdash! Don’t mollycoddle me, man. Now, help me,” he demanded in a commanding, powerful voice, sounding much stronger than he actually felt, but he was determined to get up and begin getting his strength back. He had a wife to woo, so he could win her love.
“As you wish, my lord.” The valet came forward to do his bidding. Offering Andrew his arm, he suggested, “Pull, your lordship. You don’t want to put any strain on your wound.”
Andrew grabbed it, and then Ensley pulled him into a sitting position. He gritted his teeth and sweat dampened his brow, but he did not let the pain stop him. After he inhaled and exhaled deeply a few times, he swung his legs off the bed and allowed the man to assist him to his feet. His head spun, and he blinked his eyes, refusing to give up. He sucked in another deep breath and took his first step forward. Although the pain slammed through him with each step he took, he finally made it to the chamber commode behind the screen. He shooed the hovering Ensley away and took care of his business.
He was completely done in by the time he made it back to the bed, but he felt a huge sense of accomplishment as he settled against his pillows. He steeled his features, not wanting his valet to know how much it had taken to accomplish his first foray out of bed. “I’m hungry. Bring me some breakfast. Oh, and none of that pap Lady Billingsley fed me last night. I want eggs and sausages, kippers and fried potatoes. I need my strength to return.”
“Certainly, sir. Right away.” As his valet rushed from the room to get the food, Andrew overheard him mutter in a low tone, “Of course, I don’t know what her ladyship will say. She told me to bring him porridge and buttered bread.”
As soon as the door shut behind Ensley, he slumped and a groan escaped. A ball of fire roared in his stomach and side. His face broke out with sweat and nausea rolled through him, to the point he bit his lip to keep from crying out. He had never experienced pain such as this before, and he certainly hoped he never would again. Damnation, it hurt like the devil.
By the time his valet returned with his breakfast, he had regained some of his composure. However, when he looked at the food, his appetite deserted him and the nausea roiled in his gut, yet determined, he forced himself to eat most of the eggs and potatoes. However, the kippers and sausages were more than he could handle.
“I’ve had enough. Take it away.”
Ensley lifted the tray and set it on the table. “Of course, my lord. The footman should be here with your water shortly, then I will give you a bath and a shave.”
A knock sounded at the door and the valet went over and opened it. The footman entered and put the water on the washstand, then left the room. With his usual efficiency, Ensley made short work of his bath and shave. It felt heavenly to get rid of that scratchy beard. How some men wore them remained a mystery to him.
When another knock sounded upon the door, Ensley opened it, and the surgeon entered.
Mr. Sanders bowed. “Good day, Lord Billingsley. I must say, you look much better than yesterday. I am astonished at the difference. I hope you feel as well as you look. Now, if I may, I shall take a look at your wound.” He pulled back the bandage and when Andrew saw his belly, he could barely keep from gagging. There was a grotesque hole in his stomach…raw, exposed flesh greeted his perusal.
“Mr. Sanders! How in God’s name will you ever close this horrid wound?” His heart raced and his pulse pounded. For the first time in his life, he became truly scared for his life. He met the surgeon’s gaze. “Can you repair this?”
“I know it looks bad, my lord. Since the infection is now gone, I can close your belly. You will recover, although, the scar shan’t be pretty. The most important thing…you survived.”
“When can you do it?” he asked. While certainly no coward, he dreaded what that would entail. His palms grew clammy thinking of it.
Mr. Sanders changed the bandage as he told him, “If it looks this clean again tomorrow, I will stitch it closed.” The surgeon met his gaze. “I must tell you, my lord…it will be painful. I suggest you take a large dose of laudanum thirty minutes before I perform the surgery. Shall we say nine o’clock in the morning?”
“The sooner the better. I need to get well, so I can move forward with my life. I shall be ready in the morning.”
“Very good, your lordship. I shall see you on the morrow.” Then after the surgeon bowed, his valet escorted him from the room.
Andrew prayed he would be man enough to tolerate the agony he was sure to experience the next day…and without screaming. If he ever found the bastard who did this to him, he would take immense pleasure in dealing out a slow death to him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
When Kathleen left the breakfast room, the surgeon was descending the stairs. Once he made it to the entry hall, she gave him a polite smile. “Good morning, Mr. Sanders. How did you find my husband this morning?”
He smiled as he gave her a courteous bow. “Good day, your ladyship. I’m astonished at Lord Billingsley’s improvement over the last couple of days. I have wonderful news. All sign of infection is gone. As long as he continues to improve, I plan to close the wound in the morning.”
“Oh, thank goodness, Mr. Sanders,” she exclaimed. “I want to thank you for saving my husband’s life. Your skill insured his survival from his ordeal. I shall always be grateful to you.”
Mr. Sanders assured her, “His lordship’s strong will pulled him through, ma’am. I’m sure you’re anxious to see your husband. I shall take my leave until the morning.” Then with a bow, the butler showed him out.
Once the surgeon left, she hurried upstairs to Andrew’s bedchamber. She had peeked in on him before she went to breakfast and was glad to hear he was now awake. After giving a quick tap on the door, she opened it and stepped into the room. Her eyes drank in the sight of her cleanly shaven husband with his bright blue eyes shining. It was wonderful to see him sitting up and alert.
She rushed to his side and kissed his cool brow. “Darling, I spoke with the surgeon. Mr. Sanders told me he will stitch you closed tomorrow as long as the wound remains clear of infection. Isn’t that wonderful news?”
He grabbed her hand and pulled it to his lips. “It is. Ah, my sweet. You look beautiful as always. I’m glad you found your rest.”
“Knowing you are on the mend helped me sleep. Have you eaten your breakfast yet?”
“Ensley brought me a big breakfast, and I ate most of my eggs and potatoes.”
“I told him to give you porridge and toast,” she huffed indignantly. “I shall rain a tirade over his head for bringing you such a heavy meal.”
Andrew guffawed, then screwed up his face. “Please, do not make me laugh. It hurts. Don’t be angry at my poor valet. I threatened to sack him if he didn’t bring me that food. I need hearty nourishment to build my strength. Now, my beautiful wife, what are you planning to do today?”
“I shall be taking care of you, of course, and I need to write Deborah. She promised to look in on Arianna each day while I’m away, and I want to let her know you are recovering.”
“How is my darling girl? I’ve missed seeing her so m
uch. I’m sorry you have to be separated from her, my dear.”
“Oh, Andrew,” she bemoaned, “It’s my fault you haven’t seen her.” She dropped her head on the side of the bed to hide her tears. It wasn’t like her to be such a watering pot.
He lifted her face and wiped her cheek. “Tut, tut, I shall have none of that. We agreed neither of us were at fault. We shall go to her as soon as I can manage the trip. Now, why don’t you read to me for a while?”
“I would be happy to oblige.” She picked up a book of poems on the bedside table and began to read. After an hour, Andrew fell asleep and when Ensley returned, Kathleen went to write her letter. When she returned later, she read a few more chapters and they talked, but kept the conversation away from any serious topics.
That evening Renwick came to visit and Kathleen left them alone, giving them a chance to talk. After his friend left, her husband was obviously exhausted. She told him she would see him in the morning and kissed him goodnight.
Kathleen arose early the next morning, determined to be present when the surgeon performed the surgery. After hurrying through her toilette, she went through her dressing room and entered his bedchamber. Andrew’s face lit up when she walked over to the bed and leaned in to kiss him.
He clasped her hand and kissed her fingers. “Good morning, dear heart. You look lovely this morning.”
Andrew’s endearments always sent a thrill through her, making her feel cherished. Surely, his feelings had grown stronger, or he would not be using them so often. She caressed his clean-shaven jaw. “Your color is better than yesterday. How do you feel?”
He met her gaze and smiled. “Stronger every day. I’m ready to get this over, so I can heal and be restored to my former health.”
“You will be well before you know it.” Then, changing the topic of conversation, she told him, “I wrote Deborah yesterday afternoon, letting her know we should be returning home soon.”
He touched her cheek. “I know you’re missing Arianna. I am too.”
“We shall be with her in a fortnight, if not sooner. What’s most important is getting you well.” When she heard a tap on the door, they both turned their heads as it opened and the butler escorted the surgeon in.
Mr. Sanders bowed. “Good morning, Lady Billingsley, Lord Billingsley. I hope you slept well last night, sir. Let me take a look at your wound, and if all looks well, I will proceed as planned.”
Kathleen moved to the end of the bed while the surgeon uncovered Andrew’s abdomen. It took every bit of her strength to maintain a calm, untroubled demeanor when she saw the wound. Even though she’d seen the injury the other night, it still jarred her senses and tugged at her heart, knowing how much pain her husband had endured, and how the upcoming ordeal would hurt him.
Mr. Sanders looked up. “It remains clear of any sign of infection. I shall administer a dose of laudanum, then in thirty minutes I will begin the procedure.”
Andrew swallowed the laudanum with a grimace on his face, then leaned against the headboard. After engaging in superfluous conversation for thirty minutes, he told them, “I’m as relaxed as I can be under the circumstances. Let us get this over with.”
“Certainly, my lord,” the surgeon replied. “If you will lie flat, we can begin.” Ensley stepped forward and helped him into a reclining position.
After running the needle through the candle flame, Mr. Sanders threaded it. “I have no idea why this seems to help, but ever since I started making sure my instruments are thoroughly cleaned, my patients are less inclined to develop ill humors.” The surgeon leaned forward to take the first stitch.
Her husband sucked in a breath as the needle pierced his skin, but remained still. Kathleen inwardly cringed as the surgeon wove his needle in and out over and over again. Although she wanted to scream each time the needle entered, Andrew stoically bore it without making a sound. She could tell he was in a great deal of pain though, because sweat dotted his forehead and his fists clutched at the covers with each pull of the thread.
When the surgeon took the final stitch, he remarked, “All finished, my lord. I shall return tomorrow to make sure you have suffered no ill effects from today’s surgery. I should be able to remove the stitches in a week. Please curtail your activities until then. That means remaining in bed and no sudden movements.” He turned to Kathleen and added, “I know I can depend upon you to keep his lordship entertained during his convalescence.”
“I shall do my best, Mr. Sanders. Although, my husband is an impatient man.” She sighed. “I may need to tie him to the bed before the seven days have passed.”
The kind man glanced her way and chuckled. “I have no doubt you will…if it’s needed, your ladyship.”
Andrew spoke through gritted teeth, “I shall be a model patient. Anything to speed along my recovery.”
After the surgeon left, she plumped the pillows and wiped Andrew’s clammy face and neck with a cool cloth. He let out a loud groan. “God’s teeth,” he swore. “Beg your pardon, Kathleen. I should never have sworn in your presence, but that hurt worse than the stabbing itself. I think I shall rest for a while.” And then he closed his eyes and all the tension left his body as sleep claimed him.
Her husband slept most of the day, only waking long enough to take another dose of laudanum and eat a meal. In fact, Andrew slept quite a bit over the next few days. By the beginning of the week though, she was ready to tie him to the bed. She caught him walking his bedchamber that morning when she returned from her room.
She did not want to worry Andrew needlessly, but she was growing concerned. Every morning for the past week, she had lost her breakfast, and she could barely keep from falling asleep in the afternoon as she read to him. By the time she sought her bed each night, she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. It was the strangest illness she’d ever had. When the duchess came for tea that afternoon, she would ask her if she knew what could be wrong with her. Possibly something might be going ’round.
When Jarvis showed her friend into the drawing room later that day, Kathleen rose from the sofa. “Thank you for coming.”
Her grace hugged her. “When I received your missive yesterday telling me what happened, I wanted to give you some much needed support. How is Billingsley feeling today?”
Kathleen sighed, showing her exasperation. “He’s doing much better, but now I’m having trouble keeping him in bed. I caught him walking the floor of his chamber this morning. The surgeon told him he needed to stay in bed until the stitches are removed on Thursday. I greatly fear he will pull some of them out.”
The duchess reached over and touched her hand. “At least there are only a few more days. I very much doubt a bit of walking will hurt. I am sure if it were Barrington, he would be fighting the confinement as well. It is such a miracle he survived from what you wrote in your note. Is there any progress in finding the men who did this?”
Kathleen shook her head. “Renwick has searched the area and asked questions. He’s trying to find someone who witnessed it happening and might know who the blackguards were. Thus far, he doesn’t have any leads. We may never find the men. I’m just thankful my husband is alive. We’re sure it was a random act of violence. There is no concern that the men will try to come after him again.”
“I am greatly relieved to hear this,” she replied. “Now how are you? You look tired. I am sure this ordeal has been difficult. What with traveling here, then nursing him back to health, I imagine you have not gotten much sleep.”
This was the perfect opening to share her concerns. “This has been hard, and I’m exhausted much of the time. I think I may have caught something. I’m feeling sick each morning and can barely hold my eyes open in the afternoon when I read to my husband. Another strange symptom—,” her cheeks grew warm. Dare she presume and mention her other worry? If she worded it carefully, she should not offend. “My, umm…chest is sore. Do you know what could be wrong with me?”
The duchess looked up from her teacup and gave h
er a knowing look, then smiled. “My dear.” She hesitated. “Kathleen…those symptoms…they are indicative of a condition many women have suffered from. These issues will usually go away after a few months.”
She absently stirred some sugar into her cup as she asked, “What condition would that be?”
“Hmm,” her older friend demurred, “I don’t mean to pry…Kathleen, when did you have your last monthly complaint?”
Her heart jumped in her throat and with trembling hands, she slowly set her cup on the table, trying to avoid rattling it and spilling her tea. Her mind raced over the past couple of months. Her gaze met her friend’s and her voice shook. “Oh, dear Lord. I…I haven’t had it since shortly before we wed in May. I-I’ve never missed one…not since I had my first complaint at fourteen. Could I…am I…with child?”
Her Grace beamed at her. “I think it’s highly possible. I suspect you will be a mother by the middle of March.”
Hopeful tears formed in her eyes as a thrill raced through her. “What should I do? How can I know for sure?”
“I suggest sending a note round to my midwife asking her to pay us a visit. She should be able to tell you how far along you are, but I have no doubts…you are going to have a little one.”
“Oh, please, can we send the note now, Your Grace?”
The duchess patted her hand. “Of course, my dear. I know you have not wanted to use my first name. Under the circumstances, I do wish you would dispense with the formality.”
“If you insist…Sylvia.” She hoped she would not become too comfortable and forget to call her by her title when others were around. Of course, as her friend said, they had become much closer, and she was now a matron instead of a young girl.
Kathleen asked Jarvis to bring her some foolscap and a quill. When he returned with the writing elements, Sylvia wrote the note, and then she sent it off with one of the footmen. They spent the next hour discussing Arianna and what both of them had done over the summer. Her friend told her they were leaving for the country next week, since Parliament would be taking a recess for the rest of the summer and throughout the fall.