Instead of letting his misery take hold, Gideon stood up and opened the door. Softly, he crept inside, his guilt grabbing hold of his heart once again when he saw Luci.
Her governess looked fire at him, but thankfully did not say anything. She did not need to, for no matter what she could say to him, it was not possible that it would hurt worse than what he was already telling himself. For her part, Mrs. Cushings appeared only some small measure more sympathetic.
“Miss Ross, if you should like to go to your rest, I will sit here in your place,” Gideon said kindly. Instead of arguing, she only rose up from her chair at Luci’s bedside and turned her back on him, leaving to go to her own quarters.
“Mrs. Cushings, if you can manage it, it would be a great comfort if you could stay. I know not what to do, I’m afraid.”
“Of course, My Lord,” she answered softly, but she too looked away in order to hide the accusation she felt.
Gideon sat in Miss Ross’ seat and took Luci’s hand. It was barely warmer than he’d remembered from the night before, and there was only the faintest hint of color to her skin now. The doctor’s stitches stood out on Luci forehead, angry jagged lines of black thread that punctuated the gash beneath. Someone, Mrs. Cushings or Miss Ross, had attempted to dry Luci’s hair and brush it back from her face, but the unkempt nature of it made her look vulnerable, every bit a woman who’d suffered a terrible ordeal.
In all, Luci looked like a sad sort of doll, a smaller version of herself. Gideon would give anything for her to open her eyes and rant at him, to call him every horrible name she could think of. He would gladly teach her a few insults she’s assuredly never learned in her privileged upbringing, insults that would make a sea captain blush and throw his hands over his ears.
He deserved every word, and more.
Within the next few hours, Luci’s fever climbed higher. She endured the strangest sort of dream state, one in which she wanted desperately to wake up but for some reason, could not. She was aware of other people in the room, even if she could not determine who they might be. Worse, she could actually hear the silence around her, punctuated only briefly by the occasional cough or the sound of a chair scraping the floor as its occupant shifted in their seat.
Her head burned ferociously with a strange sort of pain and she wanted to reach up to feel it, to see what was hurting her so, but she could not lift her arms. One of her hands was pinned in a tight grasp, and for a moment she had a fleeting fear that Bradley had returned and was holding her down. She knew that couldn’t be right, but it didn’t stop the image of his face from taking hold in her mind.
Drifting in and out of sleep and near-wakefulness, Luci also dreamed of Lord Ambergrave. Had she truly only thought a short time before that, strange though he may be, he would never actually cause her harm? Now she knew that was not true.
I had to run. She fought back the dangerous people in the dreams that still seized her unconscious mind. He would surely have hurt me, I had to.
As Luci fought to decipher truth from falsehood, fiction from reality, she knew that wasn’t correct. He had been angry and had said the most horrible things, but he had not made a move to hurt her. In fact, he had pulled Bradley away from her and beaten him. She remembered that clearly, though she wished she could not.
That only proves he is capable of such anger. What will he do the next time he is so enraged?
In some of her dreams, it was her parents’ faces that Luci saw. They had been unparalleled in their love and devotion to her all her life, her mother coddling her even when Christina would try to scold her, her father doting on her and spoiling her when he would have to leave for any length of time. They only wanted her happiness, but yet, their dream faces now twisted into macabre masks, awful creatures that mocked her and laughed with a hideous sound that she could not block out in her unconscious state.
At one point, Luci dreamed she was drowning in the river, but it was caused by a racking cough that shook her whole body. Cold hands turned her on her side suddenly and she wanted to open her eyes, to tell them that she was there. Instead, the need for air made her cough for so long that she fell back against the pillows as soon as she was able, exhausted from the effort of trying to breathe. She was asleep again before she knew it.
I wonder if I shall die? Luci thought this once, aware of her conscience and surprised at how calm the thought was. It was like wondering if she might have roast at dinner or if she might paint a picture rather than read a book, rather than wondering if her life might end.
Then, as a new labored gasp of air filled her lungs, Luci felt her first clear thought. She would not die. No, she would live through this and then she would be the one to decide what happened to her. Not her father or Bradley or the Marquess, but she alone would decide her fate.
And she would leave this place for good.
But one morning as she struggled to open her eyes, Luci managed to look out the window at the green fields glimmering below. She saw a strange movement and called out to Christina.
“What do you see out there?” she asked as her maid pushed back the curtains with her hand. “Someone is there, I know it.”
“It’s Lord Ambergrave and…” Christina pressed her hand to her mouth and turned to look at Luci in fright. “…and Jacques.”
“What? My Jacques?” she asked, her voice thin and raspy as she tried to breathe. “Why?”
“I know not. Surely he would not bring any harm to the animal?” Christina said, sounding uncertain. “Shall I go down and make sure that Jacques is all right?”
“Please…” Luci whispered, barley lifting her hand to send her. But as Christina turned to hurry downstairs, she chanced to look outside once more.
“Oh Luci, you won’t believe it,” she said softly, pressing her hand to her mouth. “Lord Ambergrave… he’s going to ride Jacques.”
“Why?” Luci gasped, but Christina only shook her head.
“I can see them, he’s riding very slowly, simply taking turns around the lawn. It appears that he is only exercising the poor creature in your absence.” Christina said, coming to sit on Luci’s bedside and taking her hand. “You know, he has been very concerned about you.”
Luci only turned her face away, letting her head fall to the side in both weakness and indifference. Without the strength to argue, she stayed silent. But a simple act of tending to a neglected horse did not begin to make up for what Lord Ambergrave had done to her.
The days ran on until a week had passed, then another. By the third week, Sir Rawlings was only beginning to sound encouraged when he reported on Luci’s condition. Pneumonia had set in, and coupled with the weeks of lying abed and not eating proper meals, he was grim-faced when he spoke of Luci’s recovery.
“My Lord, it’s as though she sees no purpose in getting well,” Sir Rawlings explained as gently as he could. Gideon looked at him sharply, so much so that the physician thought to phrase his words in a different way. “I fear she has suffered some form of grief that is preventing her from improving.”
Gideon thought to protest, but he knew he could not. He sank into a chair and let his head fall to his hands. Without looking up, he told Sir Rawlings of his abhorrent behavior towards her.
“And in truth, I spoke so harshly only out of petty anger,” he said, his explanation complete. “I had been so eager to come home, to make her happy, that when I found another man here, I lashed out. I said awful things to her, things that can never be taken back.”
“Ah, then there is cause for her suffering,” Sir Rawlings said, nodding thoughtfully. “It is her heart that is broken, above all other malady and injury. There is no desire for her body to heal so long as her spirit sees no point in the endeavor.”
“But what do I do? Surely there is some way to help her,” Gideon said, rising from his chair again and striding towards the physician. “You must help her, there must be a way.”
“I only know of ailments and their treatments, the sorts of things th
at a learned man can attempt to cure. This is no ailment, My Lord. I fear that this is your handiwork.” Sir Rawlings steeled himself for an outburst of indignation, but there was none. Gideon only looked at him sadly, his expression riddled with guilt.
“How can I mend what I am not permitted to fix?” he said, feeling all hope of saving Luci vanishing. “I cannot come near her for fear of causing her to turn from me.”
“Has she though, My Lord?” Sir Rawlings chided. “I was not aware that you had come to see her, at least not when she might be awake. Now, do not look at me with reproach, you have been most attentive… but only keeping watch in the chair outside her door. You must see her, make your apologies, do whatever you must to win her good favor once again, or else all hope is lost.”
Sir Rawlings bowed slightly and left, giving Gideon the space he required to sort through the older man’s warning.
After the physician returned to his quarters, Gideon stared upwards as though he could see through the ceiling above to where Luci lay, lingering somewhere between life and eternal sleep. She may not have the force of will to choose to live, as Sir Rawlings said, but Gideon would not sit idly by and allow her to slip away if he had any sway over her countenance.
After hurrying upstairs, his mind racing with unspoken notions of how to make amends, Gideon rapped softly at the door to Luci’s chambers. Upon hearing no sound from within, he turned the latch anyway and peered inside. Luci still lay in bed, and her very faithful governess sat at her head, thumbing through the pages of a book and looking very weary.
Gideon coughed lightly as he approached, but the governess was not one to be startled. Without even looking up from her book, she merely droned quietly, “If you are ill, be gone from here lest you further infect my mistress.”
“Has everyone in this household forgotten that I am a marquess?” Gideon asked, neither expecting an answer nor wanting it. “This is my house, if everyone does remember.”
“And when you act worthy of the title, I’m certain the servants will show you the proper respect,” Christina replied, still turning the pages slowly as she read. “Until such time, do not cough in here.”
“Miss Ross, you have been given much leeway because of your close relationship with Lady Ambergrave,” he said stiffly. “You obviously matter to her a great deal so I have no wish to end your employment. I do, however, insist upon the most basic attempt at manners.”
“I shall certainly strive to meet your approval, My Lord,” she replied in a bored voice before looking up sharply. “That is, assuming I still have employment and my mistress does not die.”
Gideon stopped short, suddenly mindful of the situation. Miss Ross might be insolent and perhaps a corrupting influence on his wife, but he could not argue that the woman did not care for Luci. She cared too much, perhaps, and he wondered again why a woman of two and twenty would still have need of such a companion, lady’s maid or no.
“I see. Then for some unfathomable reason, I shall strive to meet your approval.” Gideon bowed. “And to show my ardent desire to be a man worthy of my title, I shall relieve you now and sit by Lady Ambergrave’s side so that you might go to your rest.”
Christina glared at him again, only this time her suspicion was clear in her expression. Gideon knew she trusted him not, but he also knew that she could not refuse a kind gesture such as this. He smiled as kindly as he could when she stood up abruptly and closed her book.
“I shall be in my room—and able to hear every word—when you are ready to take your leave.” Christina strode out haughtily, leaving Gideon to simmer with a sense of having been chastised.
Pushing that sentiment aside, he took the seat that the governess had just vacated, lowering himself silently so as not to disturb Luci. Rather than the deathly pale white skin he’d seen that night, she’d taken on a more ashen hue, the certain mark of a gravely ill person.
But there was no mistaking her beauty, even in the throes of illness. Gideon stared at her, surprised to see her image swimming before his eyes as unexpected tears of longing and worry pooled in his eyes. He wiped at them quickly before hesitantly taking her hand, relieved to feel some measure of warmth there.
“Luci? Are you awake?” Gideon whispered, watching her face for any sign that she’d heard him. It took a few moments, but her eyelids eventually fluttered open to narrow slits, the effort of which seemed tremendous. “I am… I am so deeply sorry for what I’ve done. I will make it up to you, no matter what it takes.”
Chapter 17
Beside her, Luci could make out the words a man whispered, along with another sound, a softer and gentler noise that spoke of deep hurt. Who was this man, and why was he singing? No, that couldn’t be right. It was low and mournful and filled her heart with such grief. As she woke more and became more aware, Luci realized the sound was crying, but who could it be? And why?
She opened her eyes and strained to see, but her vision was blurred. She thought there was someone there, a man perhaps, and for a moment she feared that Lord Stillscar had returned.
He mustn’t be here! Luci was frightened. But the more she tried to see him clearly, the more convinced she became that it must be her father sitting with her.
But where was her mother? She had a terrible vision that her mother, having learned of her illness and this nightmarish marriage, had succumbed to some grave injury of her own. The thought panicked Luci into trying to sit up, trying to speak or call out to someone.
“Luci. Shhh, you must rest,” a man’s voice said softly.
Luci did not recognize it for a moment, but then it came back to her. Lord Ambergrave? What could that villainous, hateful man possibly be doing sitting at her bedside? Luci tried to shake her head, but the effort exhausted her and the movement made her sickeningly dizzy.
“Who… why are you here?” she managed to ask, the effort of filling her lungs to speak causing her to cough weakly.
“Luci, don’t exert yourself, please,” Lord Ambergrave begged, his plea almost tearful. “You’re still quite ill and you mustn’t strain yourself.”
“But I don’t understand,” she answered, still trying to focus on his face. “You… I was running… from you.”
The Marquess was silent, but Luci noted how he turned away and wiped at a tear. As she watched him, she was able to make out more of his appearance. His visage was haggard, desperately in want of a shave, his linen tunic was wrinkled as though he’d slept in it. But most of all, Luci gazed at his eyes, trying to make out the sentiment there.
Is it fear that I see? Remorse? Or simply pity?
“I know you ran from me,” he replied, his voice suddenly raw. “And you had every right to despise me. I did not know what business Lord Stillscar had here, and I am mortally ashamed that I misjudged.”
Lord Ambergrave stopped and closed his eyes. He shook his head and continued, “No, I did not merely misjudge. That would mean I had simply made a small error. What I have done is far worse than that, something that can never be forgiven nor would I ask it of you. Luci, I was horrid and hateful to you, all because I was emphatically wrong.”
She stared in wonder, the fog that still clung to her mind refusing to lift and allow her to make sense of it. The Marquess was admitting his mistake? To what end?
“But you were so angry…” Luci managed to reply. “I did not…”
Lord Ambergrave waited for her to finish her thought, but knew that it was of little consequence.
“Luci, you did nothing wrong, only I. Thankfully, I have a house full of servants who appear to take extreme delight in putting me in my place when I have committed some offense,” he said, smiling only slightly before looking bleak once again. “I was informed about my inexcusable error after you left. But even should you have invited Lord Stillscar here for some reason—no matter whether it was chaste or scandalous—that does not give me leave to storm at you as I did.”
Before she could think of a reply, Lord Ambergrave fell to his knees at her beds
ide, tears once again shining in his eyes. He made no move to wipe them away this time, seemingly unconcerned as to who took notice. Instead, he clung to her hand ardently and pressed it to his lips.
“I am not deserving of your forgiveness, but I shall spend the rest of my life endeavoring to be a man who is deserving.” Gideon kissed her hand again and added, “Only live long enough for me to prove my worth to you.”
Luci looked to him, her eyes finally coming to rest on his face. She could now clearly make out the pain in his eyes, the torment that darkened his cheek. In the fog of weariness that invaded her mind, she was still able to push the haze aside and focus on him, on his words.
“I forgive you,” she finally said, each word coming laboriously as she tried to breathe, “if no other reason than this… I will not die with this on your conscience.”
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