Olivia made quick work of the gown, cutting right through the string of Daphne’s stays before splitting her chemise and petticoats right down the middle. Adam was forced to release her hand as Maeve approached to help pull the shredded garments from under Daphne’s body. Then, together, they began bathing away the blood. There was far too much of it—more than a body ought to contain. But, it came slowly from the wound, oozing as if it had been stifled by pressure. If he and Niall had managed to slow it, she stood a chance. The injury was ugly, the bullet having lodged deep in her shoulder. Angry red lines grew away from the entry point, the flesh around it swollen and jagged. Her chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, her breath noisy as it sawed in and out through her mouth.
“What became of Bertram?” she asked while gently bathing the flesh around the wound. She needed to know that he’d pay for this as well, that his little stunt had not helped him to escape justice.
“He was taken down screaming and spitting like a madman,” Adam grumbled, unstopping one of the bottles of spirits and taking a gulp. “If Daphne had not needed me, I would have put him down myself. But he’ll face a trial for what he did to you and the other women, and probably the attempt on Daphne’s life, as well. This was what you all wanted, was it not … when you went behind my back to arrange this little coup?”
Olivia paused in her ministrations, gazing up at him with eyes she felt certain betrayed everything.
“I did not realize it beforehand,” he said. “But all the way home in the hack, I was able to think over how Daphne and Niall pulled it off. Did you think I would not realize you helped them?”
With a sigh, she went back to her work, switching her bloodied linen for a clean one to bathe the splattered droplets from Daphne’s neck and face. “Of course I helped them, Hart. Did you think I’d let you go down with him?”
“You should have!” he snapped. “If it meant you and Serena would be safe … if it meant Daphne could be free of him, too. Now look at her. She could die, and all because you and Niall could not leave well enough alone!”
Her mouth fell open, her annoyance with him warring with her pity on his behalf. He worried for Daphne, but she certainly did not appreciate being blamed for their present situation.
“Perhaps if you had not been so hell-bent on your revenge, we might have all been spared the need for secrecy and lies,” she spat, glaring at him over Daphne’s prone body. “If you had not been so bullheaded, perhaps she wouldn’t have had to go behind your back, and I wouldn’t have had to help her! Maybe if you’d listened to her, she wouldn’t have had to take a bullet to save your miserable life. Perhaps you ought to think of all she’s given up to save you, even though you do not deserve it. Furthermore, you might remember that justice for Bertram’s crimes was never yours to pursue. Justice belonged to me. It belonged to Lady Cassandra and Lady Parham and all those other women who stood up to him tonight—who will tell the world what he did to them so the other young ladies of the ton need not suffer as we have suffered. Then, you might thank us for taking him down and helping you keep your idiotic head on your shoulders where it belongs!”
Niall and the surgeon arrived just as she fell silent, the weight of Adam’s stare resting upon her, his eyes alight with shock. She did not think she’d ever spoken so forcefully to him. As she arranged a bed sheet over Daphne for modesty and stepped back to let the surgeon through, she could only hope he’d take her words to heart. If Daphne survived this, it might not be too late for Adam to make up for the hell he’d put her through.
She went to Niall as the surgeon leaned over the bed on one side, Adam hovering close by on the other. He took her into his arms, clinging tight to her. His gaze was haunted as he looked down at her, his face tight and drawn. He had to have seen Daphne get shot, and she could only imagine how distressing that must have been. She held him as tight as he held her, offering him what comfort she could.
After poking and prodding for a moment, the surgeon straightened, opening the black bag he’d laid on the bed beside Daphne. “There are far too many people in the room. I’ll need it clear to perform the extraction.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Adam snapped almost before the man had finished speaking. “The rest of you can go.”
Maeve moved by rote to obey the master’s orders, shooing the other maids from the room. Olivia hesitated a moment, even as Niall took her hand and began tugging her after them. She met Adam’s gaze and found him staring back at her, anger and grief warring in his eyes. She did not like abandoning him alone when he was in such a state.
“Go,” he urged again. “I’m not leaving her, but you should not be here for this.”
She nodded, allowing Niall to pull her into the corridor and close the door behind them. As the panel swung closed, the surgeon’s voice floated out to them.
“You’ll want to be prepared with those spirits, my lord. When I go in for the bullet, the pain will awaken her, and she’ll be grateful for a little something, I’m sure.”
Adam’s deep voice rumbled through the closed door, and a moment later, Daphne’s sharp scream rang out through the house loud enough to wake the dead. Olivia flinched, her legs going weak as she wailed like someone being stabbed in the heart. While she was glad Daphne had lived, she did not know which was worse—her silent unconsciousness, or her present state.
“Come, Livvie,” Niall urged, trying to pull her away from the door. “There’s nothin’ we can do but wait and pray.”
And wait they did, after looking in on Serena to ensure the commotion hadn’t awakened her. Seeing she still slept soundly, they retreated to the drawing room where Niall paced and swigged brandy from a tumbler while Olivia sat before the harp. Desperate for a diversion, something to keep her mind off the screams of the woman being tortured upstairs and the stains of her blood upon Niall’s clothes, she played. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the music, finding succor in it and hoping it gave Niall something to focus on, as well.
She strummed the harp for what felt like hours, playing every composition that came to mind, then pulling her own music out of thin air, stringing together notes and chords until she nearly collapsed from exhaustion. By the time she came to, the sun had just begun to rise over the windowsill, setting the room aglow with orange and pink light. Niall had laid upon a settee and fallen asleep, his empty tumbler resting on a side table. The surgeon appeared in the doorway just as she stood from her stool, back aching, legs screaming in protest, fingers cramped.
She came forward to meet the man, her palms breaking out in a sweat as she awaited the news. “Well?”
“I was able to successfully remove the bullet and staunch the flow of blood before sewing the wound. Because the shot was not through and through, she was able to sustain in time for me to get to her. From here, you can only wait … keep the wound clean, change the bandages frequently, give laudanum or spirits for the pain. We will not know until she awakens, but there could have been damage done to her nerves. It could mean she’ll lose use of the entire arm, or limited dexterity. It is better than death, I daresay. The earl is with her now … I will return in a few days to look in on her. If she remains abed to allow the injury to heal, I predict she will regain her strength in time.”
Olivia breathed a heavy sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging and her head growing light. Fatigue slammed into her in an instant, having been held at bay until she knew what would become of Daphne.
“We are grateful for your help.”
“Tell His Lordship to send for me if he has a need. Perhaps you ought to rest now.”
She nodded, watching numbly as he turned to leave, accepting his coat and hat from a waiting footman before stepping out into the dawn. The closing door snapped her out of the daze, and she set off toward the stairs. Niall should be allowed to sleep as long as he needed. She would not wake him, not even to give the good news. It could wait until he’d had some rest. For now, she needed to see for herself that Daphne was all right.
She
passed Maeve along the way, the maid sporting dark circles beneath her eyes as she carried an armful of pink-tinged linens to be disposed of. The poor girl likely hadn’t slept a wink, either, too worried over their mutual friend.
Finding the door to the bedchamber open, Olivia peered inside, her heart wrenching at the sight she found. Daphne lay abed, freshly washed from head to toe, a sleeveless nightgown covering her. Clean white bandages wrapped around her injured shoulder, and her braided hair rested upon the pillow. She was still paler than Olivia would have liked, but her breathing had quieted. She found Adam wrapped around her, taking up the other half of the bed. He lay with his face buried against the curve of her neck, chin rested on her good shoulder, one arm draped carefully across her body.
It seemed Daphne was in good hands at the moment, and would continue to be until she woke up. As there was nothing else for her to do here, she stepped back out into the corridor and closed the door, going off to seek her own bed.
Three days passed during which the entire household seemed to hold its breath waiting for Daphne to awaken. Niall accompanied Olivia to the sickroom often to find Adam either seated in a chair at the bedside or laying with her, fast asleep. He barely ate, slept for only a few hours at a time, and guzzled brandy from the decanter Niall ensured never went empty—as much for Daphne’s sake as for his. It shocked him to realize how much Hart cared about the chit, considering how much he’d hated her in the beginning. But, she’d proved herself to not only Adam, but to him and Olivia time and time again, showing them that she was not like the family she’d been born into. No, she was a warrior who had fought to get justice for his Livvie and nearly died in the process. For that, she’d always have his unwavering esteem.
It was also clear that Adam cared for her more than he’d wish to admit. Because the man had lost nearly every person he’d ever loved, Niall prayed Daphne wouldn’t be next. Hart was resilient, but this loss, he might not survive.
Fortunately, their worry did not last long. On the third day, Niall walked past the open door of the study to find Adam seated at the desk. He faltered in the doorway, shocked to find him here instead of tethered to Daphne’s side as he had been for the past three days. He had bathed and changed clothes, his hair brushed back from his face, his jaw sporting a fresh shave. The quill in his hand moved rapidly over a sheet of paper.
Niall leaned against the doorframe and cleared his throat, waiting for him to notice he was no longer alone. Adam straightened and met his gaze, leaning back in his chair and setting his pen aside.
“You may as well come in,” he said, his voice still heavy with exhaustion as well as resignation. “I’ve just sent for Livvie, and this concerns you as much as it does her.”
He frowned. “All right. What of Daphne?”
“She awakened this morning,” he replied, folding his hands over his abdomen and leaning back in his chair. “From the look of things, she’ll be just fine. We, however, are vacating this house first thing tomorrow.”
Niall’s scowl deepened, but before he could ask why, Olivia entered the room.
“What’s going on?” she asked, glancing back and forth between the two of them. “Why would we go back to Dunnottar now, with Daphne still recovering? She won’t be fit to travel for weeks.”
Sighing, Adam ran a hand over his weary face. “Come in and sit, both of you … and close the door. There are things we must discuss.”
Niall and Olivia traded questioning glances. She seemed to know as little about what was happening as he did, so he simply urged her into the room with a hand at her back, then pushed the door closed before following her inside. They took the pair of armchairs facing Adam’s desk, waiting silently to hear what he would say.
“Firstly,” he began. “Daphne will not accompany us to Dunnottar. We will vacate the house and leave her here, living out the duration of our London stay in a hotel. I’ve already acquired accommodations that will see us catered to in the usual fashion. Bertram’s trial could take weeks, after which we are free to leave.”
Olivia shook her head, eyes darting as she tried to make sense of this. “Why would you leave Daphne in a townhome you purchased? Why wouldn’t we all go home together?”
“Because this is not my house … not any longer. It now belongs to Daphne.”
He produced a document and held it up for their inspection. It turned out to be the deed to the townhouse, the words written upon the parchment declaring her the owner outright.
“I don’t understand,” Olivia murmured. “Why, Hart?”
“Because this is her family home,” he said, reminding Niall that Olivia had always been ignorant of this fact. “I purchased it when her family was forced to sell it after I’d bankrupted them. Yet another way for me to publicly shame them.”
Olivia gasped, the sound heavy with dismay. “And you brought her here to live … you brought us all here as if to torment her with it? Did you know about this, Niall?”
The back of his neck flushed hot, shame hanging over his head now that all had been said and done. Safe to assume he and Adam would both struggle with their regrets when it came to their handling of Lady Daphne Fairchild—for Niall had had his friend’s back for every bit of it.
“Aye,” he said. “But that was before I knew her … before you knew her.”
“It no longer matters,” Adam declared. “I am releasing Daphne from my life … from our lives. Her place here was not willing. Not in the beginning, anyway. Letting her go and giving her back a bit of what I took from her seems as good a price to pay for her saving my life as any.”
Olivia came to her feet, hands clutched tight in her skirts. “But you cannot! Adam, she needs us … she needs you! We can’t just leave her behind, not now!”
“I can, and I will. She’s already been informed of my decision.”
“But you love her. Don’t you? I’ve seen the way you look at her, the way you hovered at her side when you thought she might die. How can you simply walk away from her now that the worst of it has passed?”
Adam slammed a fist down upon the desk, narrowing his eyes at his sister. “It is because I love her that I’m walking away! If it weren’t for me, she’d have never been shot. I’ll suffer enough guilt over that without you browbeating me, thank you very much. Now … it is done, and we are finished discussing it. Neither of you are to go into that sickroom. After this morning, I doubt she’d want to see any of us, anyway. My decision is made and is final. What I really want to discuss is you, Livvie … the two of you, in fact.”
Niall perked up at that. He did not like this business concerning Daphne any more than Olivia did, but there’d be no talking Adam out of his decision.
“What is it, Hart?” Olivia asked, her tone softening as she sank back into her chair.
“It is funny,” he began, leaning forward and bracing his elbows upon his desk top. “I’ve been so absorbed with pursuing Bertram’s downfall to the end that I missed what was happening before my eyes. You’ve blossomed, butterfly. You’ve been growing stronger each day, and I … I feel like such an ass for not seeing it until now. It means more to me that you are finding your way back to being happy than for Bertram to die. That was always the most important thing to me, and I hope you know that.”
Olivia’s anger with him vanished in an instant, and she reached over to place one hand on top of his. “Of course I know that, Hart. Even if I haven’t always approved of your methods, I always knew you were fighting for me. You and Niall did battle for me when I could not do it for myself. You cared for Serena when I was not able, and I could never tell you how grateful I am for you.”
“And, Niall,” Adam said, turning to glance at him. “You’ve been my brother in so many ways, loving my sister without fail and having my back at all times. I used to question what the two of you had. I was against the idea of you being together at all, thinking that for Olivia it was only a phase, that she’d grow out of you and find a husband here in London. But, five years of wa
tching you two together and hating that you could not be what you once were … it made me wonder if I hadn’t been wrong all these years. It made me see just how strong your bond was … is.”
Olivia was reaching out with her other hand, taking one of Niall’s while still clinging to Adam’s. “You were. I’ve always loved him, Adam. We just … we thought we’d never be together the way we wanted.”
Niall had never told him of their planned elopement, or the earl’s interference. He felt certain that even after all that had happened, Hart would kill him for having hurt Olivia all those years ago.
Adam nodded slowly, glancing back and forth between them as if searching for something. “Is that what you want now—to be together, permanently?”
Olivia turned her questioning gaze to him, the doubt in her eyes breaking his heart. Of course she looked to him for an answer to the question. She had proved to him time and again that she wanted him forever. As a young girl of eight and ten, she’d been willing to defy society and her stepfather to marry him. He had been the one to cry off. It did not anger him to see that she still had her doubts and fears. If anything, he was only furious with himself.
“Aye,” he replied without taking his gaze away from hers. “It’s what we want. Isn’t it, mo gradh?”
She smiled at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. A little laugh escaped her when she nodded, her fingers tightening around his. “Yes.”
Adam cleared his throat, pulling his hand away from Olivia to rise. He took up an envelope, as well as a small wooden box—an ancient-looking thing carved with vines and scrolls along its edges.
“Then, I believe you’ll be needing these,” he declared, handing both items to Niall.
His heart stuttered to a stop as he set the box upon his knee, opting to open the envelope first. When he found what was inside, he glanced up at Adam in shock, then turned to Olivia, who sat looking at him with curiosity furrowing her brow.
“It’s a special license.”
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