by Joyce Alec
“Now, Aunt, you just rest here and—”
“You’re on her side!” his aunt screeched, stepping back and raising her hand. “There is a sickness in this family, and it all stems from her.” Her hand slammed across his face, her nails digging into his skin, and Charles felt a strong hand grab his arm and pull him, bodily, out of the door before Lord Walton slammed the door shut behind him.
Seeing Walton turn the key in the lock, Charles slumped against the wall, hearing his aunt ranting from within.
“Thank you, Walton,” he muttered, pressing one hand to his cheek. “Her mind is lost. I can do nothing for her.”
“You might want to go and clean that,” Walton replied, frowning. “And one of the maids sent me to tell you the doctor is finished with Miss Docherty.”
“Is she well?” Charles asked, a surge of energy racing through him. “Can I see her?”
Walton said nothing, but gestured along the hallway, another lopsided smile on his face as Charles practically ran the length of the hallway, desperate to see Isabella again.
Knocking once, Charles entered the room, seeing it lit with many candles. The doctor was busy tidying up his things, glancing up at Charles from under bushy brows.
“Ah, Lord Sutherland,” he said, gruffly. “This lady is under your care?”
“She is,” Charles replied, walking over to the bed at once and looking down at Isabella. Her eyes were closed with exhaustion written all over her face.
“She is very tired, of course,” the doctor murmured quietly. “But with rest, she will recover. She has not woken yet, but she will, in time.”
Charles picked up Isabella’s hand and squeezed it gently, awash with relief. “Was she badly injured?”
“It was a bad wound, yes, but it is a flesh wound only. It is as if she dodged the attempt made to stab her, but caught the edge of the knife instead.” The doctor looked up at Charles in question. “It was an attempt to rid her of her life, yes?”
“Yes,” Charles muttered, shaking his head. “Have no fear, the culprit is safely under guard.”
The doctor nodded. “Very good. Now, I have stitched and wrapped the wound, and your maid knows how and when to change the poultice and the dressing. Make sure she rests and remains abed for at least a week.”
“A week?” Charles repeated, knowing that his plans for Christmas were now going completely awry. “Then it shall be a very quiet Christmas indeed.”
Chuckling, the doctor put one hand on Charles’ arm. “Have no fear, my lord. She will make a full recovery. You will see her smiling face very soon, I promise.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Charles said fervently. “Send me the bill, and I shall pay it at once.”
The doctor nodded and, picking up his bag, left the room. Charles, wanting to spend some time alone with Isabella, sent the maid away to fetch him a tea tray. He had no intention of leaving Isabella’s side again.
Once the door closed, Charles looked down at Isabella and felt his heart squeeze with pain. He had been so foolish. If only he had listened to her concerns sooner, then he might have discovered his aunt’s intentions earlier and kept Isabella safe.
He pressed her hand to his lips, kissing it gently. She was the woman he needed in his life, the one who would show him how to live a life of kindness and generosity. He wanted to become the man she thought he could be, to become worthy of her—if she would have him.
Charles could not deny that his growing affection for Isabella had been swift and sweet, as if reawakened simply by her presence. He had tried to deny it, but his heart had refused to listen. Now, seeing how close he had come to losing her, Charles knew that he loved her.
She had endured so much, and he simply could not send her away again. The idea he had suggested to her, of settling her far away in a little home of her own, was now repulsive to him. He could not have her living apart from him. He had to have her by his side and in his life. There could not be any parting from her, not again.
“Isabella,” he whispered, desperate for her to open her eyes. “Isabella, come back to me. I need you. I…I love you.”
There was no reply.
Chapter Fifteen
Isabella frowned, her body aching. Pain filled her whenever she tried to move, and over and over, all she could hear was Charles’ insistent voice. He kept asking her to open her eyes, but everything was hazy. It was as if she were surrounded by a thick fog, one that sapped her strength and demanded that she keep her eyes closed. Tired of fighting, Isabella gave in, drifting back into obscurity.
Eventually, Isabella stirred once more and found that things were not as cloudy as they had been. However, there was no insistent voice calling her name any longer. Had she dreamt it all?
Isabella managed to open her eyes, blinking to clear her cloudy vision. She saw that she was in a large, four-poster bed, and sitting in the chair next to her was Charles.
He was sound asleep, his face pale and dark rings under his eyes. Dressed in only his shirt and pantaloons, his hair in utter disarray, he looked the least distinguished Isabella had seen him since arriving at his estate. Something burst in her heart as she tried to sit up, a sharp gasp catching the back of her throat at the pain radiating from her side. Charles did not move, evidently exhausted.
“He’s been like that for some time,” came a quiet voice, and as Isabella managed to push herself back up on the pillows, she saw Lord Walton come towards her. “I told him I would keep watching you so that he might get some sleep, but he refused to move.”
“How long have I been asleep?” Isabella asked, her voice hoarse and throat scratching. The pain in her side burned, but she did not give in to it, refusing the laudanum Walton indicated to her.
Lord Walton poured her a glass of water and handed it to her before settling down in another chair opposite Charles. “A day and a half,” he said calmly. “The doctor was surprised that you were out for so long, but he put it down to your injury and the cold, as well as the shock of what occurred. However, you are healing well by all accounts.”
The memory of Lady Johnston’s actions hit Isabella in the stomach, tension rippling through her.
“All is well in that regard,” Walton continued calmly. “Or as well as it can be. You need have no fear about your safety.”
“I see,” Isabella responded, her gaze returning to Charles. “And what of Charles? Is he well?”
“Exhausted, but otherwise in perfect health,” Lord Walton said dryly. There was a twinkle in his eye as he leaned forward, as though about to impart a remarkable secret. “He has not told me much about you, Miss Docherty, but I must say that I have never seen someone have as big an effect on him as you have.”
She stared at him, wondering what he meant.
He continued, obviously seeing her disbelief. “I mean that you have made him question almost everything about himself. Perhaps it is that you remind him of the man he used to be, the child he used to be.” He shrugged. “Obviously, that did not particularly please the guests, but that cannot be helped.”
“He sent them all away,” she whispered, remembering how astonished she had been to discover such a thing. “I can hardly believe he did that.”
Lord Walton chuckled. “I believe it goes to prove just how much he wishes to change his selfish habits. Not for me, of course. I quite enjoy my own self-indulgence and hope to spoil myself for as long as possible.”
Isabella was not sure what to say to this, wondering whether the glint in Lord Walton’s eye meant that he was entirely in earnest.
“Now,” he said, standing up. “I shall go in search of tea tray for you, for I am sure you are in need of replenishment.”
Heat hit Isabella’s cheeks as she realized he meant to leave her alone with Charles.
“I will be back momentarily,” Walton finished, walking to the door. “I am sure Charles will be very glad to see you awake again.”
Isabella was about to respond, only for Walton to slam the door closed with such force that Charles j
umped from him his chair at once, his eyes wide and staring.
“What…?” He looked around, only to catch sight of Isabella. “Oh, my,” he breathed, sinking slowly back into his chair and reaching for her hand. “You are awake.”
Such was the look of relief in his eyes that Isabella did not know how to respond. “As you see,” she replied eventually. “Thank you for waiting on me with such patience.”
“How do you feel?” he asked, his eyes searching her face for signs of pain. “Are you in discomfort?”
She lifted one shoulder, only to wince. “I will not pretend it is not painful, but Walton told me it is healing nicely.”
He dropped his gaze, his expression growing sorrowful. “I am only sorry I was not able to prevent your injury,” he said quietly. “Had I taken your concerns with more severity, then I might have discovered the truth about my aunt’s intentions earlier.”
Whilst that was true, Isabella found herself wanting to relieve Charles of the burden of guilt he carried. “I think your aunt would have found a way regardless,” she replied truthfully, trying to push herself up in bed a little more.
Pain had her sucking in air, and Charles immediately rose to assist her, his every gesture radiating concern. Once she was a little more settled, he sat down again and, to Isabella’s surprise, reached for her hand. She found that the warmth of his skin against hers was both a comfort and a reminder of all they had shared as children and, now, as adults. It sparked the same feelings that she had been trying to hide from herself for the last few days, but this time, Isabella chose not to fight them.
“My aunt had a knife, it seems,” Charles continued, his eyes searching her face. “She is mad, I believe. Had she managed to…to...” He twisted his head away, not able to complete his sentence.
Isabella squeezed his hand gently. “Do not think such things, Charles. I am alive now, am I not?”
He looked back at her, agony on his face. “What would I have done without you?” he whispered, his eyes piercing her. “You have come back into my life and shown me how utterly selfish a creature I am. I feel as though I am only just beginning to discover myself again, and to have lost you would have brought that to a shattering close.”
“You need not distress yourself so,” Isabella returned, her voice beginning to grow hoarse again, as the effort of speaking began to tire her out. “It did not happen, Charles, and I think I shall make a full recovery.”
“Of course you will,” he said firmly, pressing her hand. “You are to stay here with me until you are well enough to rise from your bed.” A somewhat curious expression came over his face, as he looked at her. “I hope you do not mind spending Christmas here with me. Lord Walton intends to remain I think, for I cannot get rid of him, and my parents shall be arriving from London shortly.”
“What of your aunt?” Isabella bit her lip, a swirl of anxiety in her chest.
Charles shook his head. “She will be taken care of by my uncle. You need not have any fear.”
“I should not wish to see him, or her,” Isabella said, hurriedly, not wishing to set eyes upon the man who had attacked her mother.
“Of course not,” Charles replied at once. “Do not think that I have any strong connection with the man, Isabella. The only reason he has come is to fetch his wife, and my father will assist him in making arrangements for her. You must not worry.”
Settling back against the pillows, Isabella felt her eyes drift closed. A feeling of relief and safety rested all through her, making her limbs heavy.
“Rest,” came Charles’ whisper as he released her hand. “I shall see you again very soon.”
Isabella tried to answer but was too tired. His gentle kiss to her forehead brought a smile to her lips before she, once more, drifted off to sleep.
***
By the time Christmas day arrived, Isabella had already been up and about for two days. Her side, whilst still healing, did not pain her half as much, and she had made her way to the kitchens to help with all the preparation, much to Charles’ dismay. She had merely laughed and told him that he needed to remember that she was not of his station, and he had lapsed into silence.
Christmas came and was a very jovial affair, and Isabella could not remember the last time she had laughed so much. Lord Walton, for all his egotistical nature, was a remarkably humorous man.
They had shared a wonderful meal together, and Isabella had very much enjoyed spending time with Charles’ mother and father, who, to her very great delight, treated her as though she was a long-lost relative. They had always been kind to her and her mother when Isabella had been a child, so it came as no surprise that that generosity and interest was still evident.
Charles, however, was a different matter. He said very little, although, whenever Isabella looked up, his gaze was firmly on hers. His eyes were warm, although his mouth did not smile, nor was there any kind of joviality in his expression. She could not understand why he looked so, although an uncomfortable feeling told her that she was the cause of it.
He had not taken her hand or even attempted to show her any kind of affection since the day she had woken. They had spent time conversing, and he had been more than attentive, having rarely left her side, but Isabella felt as though much was left unsaid.
Could it be possible that Charles was, truly, a changed man? Such a pronounced change would take time, but he was evidently in earnest. Isabella could not help but allow her heart to soften towards him, and with that softening came the first awakening feelings of love.
However, her future still remained unknown. Had Charles managed to secure her a small cottage somewhere, as he promised? He had not said a single word about it, and she had not wanted to raise the question, given just how happy and content she felt with him. However, Isabella knew that their current state could not last forever. Was that why he looked so troubled? Did he know that their friendship must, once again, be broken apart?
Come the end of the day, the family was tired. Lord Walton was busy playing cards with the duke, whereas the duchess retired to bed at an early hour. Isabella too, rose to excuse herself, exhausted from the day’s events. There had been singing, games, gifts, and the most wonderful of dinners. Isabella could not have asked for more.
“Charles?” she asked softly, seeing him sitting by the fire. “I think I shall retire. I wish to thank you for such a wonderful Yuletide celebration, for I have very much enjoyed it.”
He looked up at her, as though startled to see her standing before him. Clearing his throat, he rose, and to her surprise, took her arm and threaded it under his.
“Let me escort you to your room, my dear,” he murmured. “You look pale, and I would not want you wearying yourself on the stairs.”
Isabella was about to retort that she was more than capable of doing such a thing alone, but the sparks shooting towards her heart at his touch rendered her speechless. They left the drawing room together and walked in silence for a time until they came to the staircase. Isabella was just about to take the first step when he came to a sudden stop, dropping her arm and grasping her shoulders.
“I cannot do it.”
Startled, Isabella stared at him, her breath catching in her chest at the need in his eyes.
“I cannot lose you again.”
“Lose me?” she repeated as his hands dropped from her shoulders. “Charles, whatever are you talking about?”
“I am talking about you and me,” he replied at once, the words tumbling from his mouth. “I know you slapped me good and hard the first time, but Isabella, you must know how I feel about you.”
Her throat constricted as she tried her best to breathe, a burst of happiness in her chest.
“I am not worthy of you, I know,” he continued, with a desperate tone to his voice. “But I am trying to become the man I ought to have been, pushing my selfish nature as far from me as I can.”
Hardly able to get the words from her mouth, Isabella brushed his cheek, her touch stunning him int
o silence.
“Charles,” she said hoarsely. “I have seen the way you have tried to change, and I admire you for it.”
The hope in his eyes faded. “Admiration is not what I wanted,” he muttered, his head dropping a little. “You have always reminded me that you are not of my station, but that is not in the least true.” Raising his head, he looked at her again, his gaze focused. “You have shown me that title and fortune do not matter, for they can do more damage to one’s character than one realizes. Kindness and compassion, such as my father and mother have shown and such as you have in abundance, are what matter. In that regard, you are of a greater station than I will ever be.” Shaking his head, he caught her hand. “I have so much to learn from you, Isabella. Say you will not leave me.”
“I…I…” Isabella’s mouth was dry, her mind whirling with a thousand thoughts. “I have nowhere else to go, Charles.”
That was not the answer he was searching for, it seemed, for his shoulders slumped as though she had killed his very last hope.
“I want you to know of the affection I have for you, Isabella,” he murmured, making to turn from her. “The cottage in the country shall be yours as soon as I can make the arrangements.”
Suddenly terrified that he was about to leave her forever, that they were never to share their innermost thoughts and feelings, Isabella did the only thing she could think to do. Grasping his hand, she pulled him back to her, and practically throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed him.
It was a startling revelation.
Having never kissed anyone before, Isabella was unprepared for the stars that seemed to break into brilliant light around her. Charles froze for a moment, only for his arms to slip around her waist as he returned her kiss.
It was one of the sweetest moments of her life.
It was only when Charles’ arms tightened, and Isabella let out a squeak of pain, that she pulled her lips from his, his expression filled with apology.
“I am terribly sorry,” he said, hastily dropping his hands from her waist. “I forgot your injury.”