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Violet was vaguely aware there was someone in the room with her. A large, dark presence that hovered beside her .

I ought to be afraid , she thought, but she wasn’t.

Not when whomever it was sat beside her and talked. His voice was low and growly and comforting. It grounded her in this room and in this life. And when it told her she would get better, she believed it.

She sighed, contented. And then she slept, comforted for the first time since her fever began. When she awoke again, she was glad to find the dark, comforting presence still with her.

She wondered if he was an angel but knew immediately that was wrong. Angels were glittery, effervescent things.

He was something different than that. Rooted to the ground like an enormous tree trunk and whispering in her ear. It was all that kept her from slipping back into delirium.

“You’ll be fine, Violet,” the voice told her, and she felt her body try to roll toward it, a balm in the haze of her fever dreams.

“I command it, and even if you’ve never followed a single command in your entire bloody life, you’ll follow this one.” A pause. “Please.”

She slept again for a little while. And his voice was with her. She was certain now it belonged to a man.

“You will be well, and you will practice medicine, and you will have everything that you want,” the man said. She smiled softly to herself while he talked. “Including me. Barnacle-like, pressed to your side. Married or not. However you desire.”

She jolted at those words.

But they didn’t make her afraid or worried or guilty or any of the other things she’d often thought of when she thought of marriage. They made her happy. They made her want to live.

“Do you hear me, Violet?” Alistair asked.

“You beautiful, obstinate, brave, cowardly creature. Your fever will break, and you will wake up, and you will understand that you love me as I love you. As I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you three years ago out on that balcony.

And you will understand that I will be with you in whatever way you will have me for as long as you will have me. ”

The midwife, Mrs. Weatherington, worked around him while he spoke. Cool linen cloths were draped over Violet’s forehead, and willow bark tea was eased down her throat.

Alistair sat by her side with the window open and linen covering his face as ordered.

“Why don’t you go have a brandy, my lord? ‘Twill settle your nerves while I work on your missus.”

“I’ve given it up,” Alistair said. “And I won’t leave her.”

“All right then, lad,” Mrs. Weatherington agreed. She knew a man who would not be budged when she met one. “You carry on. I suppose it will do her good to hear you talking.”

Alistair nodded and continued his steady stream of words to bring Violet back to him.

“We can live in New York if you’d like. I’ll learn to say asshead and knickers.

I won’t ever step foot on a ship again if you don’t want me too.

I’ll do anything, Violet. Anything. You just have to tell me.

And come back to me. I swear to Christ I’ll never leave again.

I will hold onto you with both hands, and I will not ever let go. ”

A soft knock on the door interrupted him. “Son,” his mother said. “You’ve a visitor.”

McGann paced the circular garden path while Alistair leaned against the rim of the fountain. He’d taken the meeting outside of Rosehips, presuming that if an open window was good to stop a fever, fresh air was better.

“I take it you received my note,” Alistair said.

He’d sent word to McGann when he’d left for Kent and again when Violet had fallen ill.

“Aye. Missed the departure of your own ship, you did.”

“I’m aware. Seems you missed it as well.”

“I would not leave without you, Crawford. Not unless you want me to. Do you?”

“I’ll be here until Violet has recovered.”

“And then?”

Alistair sighed. It was time to tell McGann the truth. “And then I still won’t leave. Not if she doesn’t want me to.”

McGann only nodded. “‘Tis the first intelligent thing I’ve heard you say, man. That and when you agreed to be my partner. That still holds, does it?”

“Yes.” Alistair was pacing again, unable to stand still. “It does. I’ll make it work. From here. Or from New York. Or hell, from the Spice Islands if that’s what she wants.”

He stopped and turned back to McGann, holding out his hand. “Is it enough for you?”

“Aye. It’ll work.”

McGann shook his hand, and Alistair felt for the first time like they were the partners they’d been calling themselves for weeks.