Page 40 of Love Thy Enemy (The Vaughns #4)

T he sky stretched above her—vast and rippling like someone had thrown a stone into a pond.

Bright puffs of white hung in the unending blue, but when she looked at them closer, they weren’t clouds but billowing smoke.

Inching forward like a worm, it swallowed the sky and then the ground at her feet.

Soon, the miasma enveloped her, but when she screamed, dried rose petals fell from her lips, floating in the air around her.

Then the world shifted, and she found herself in a boat, the water pouring over the lip and filling the bottom no matter how hard she bailed.

A distant voice called her name, but it came from the white-capped waves, the mists in the air, and the very wood beneath her feet. It echoed beneath her skin.

Tessa’s eyes opened. The world was cloaked in darkness, though candles and lamps did their best to stave off the black, and she felt like a pudding left to steam for too long.

“Mama?” A young lady appeared before her, and a smile tugged at Tessa’s lips.

She knew that face. Knew that voice. Joy sparked in her chest, adding to the flush of heat burning through her, but when she tried to reply, her mouth was so dry, and her tongue refused to work.

A cup was pressed to her lips, and though it helped some, Tessa couldn’t form the words she needed to speak.

“Hush, Mama,” whispered Daphne. “Rest.”

And with that, Tessa’s eyes slid closed, and the bed beneath her crumbled into ash, the world flaking away until there was nothing but sky once more.

As she stepped into the blue, her skirts brushed the edges of clouds, and somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled.

The deep, mournful sound echoed in her chest.

Looking down, she found herself wrapped in lengths of black crepe, the fabric crinkling as she tried to free herself of it.

The more she pulled, the tighter it clung, winding about her arms and waist like mourning ribbons come to life.

The sky around her dimmed, the colors leeching out, and with them, her strength.

She called out, but no sound came. Then a child’s cry reached her ears, faint and familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Couldn’t move toward it. Her feet sank into the air like mud, and behind her, the tolling bell rang again. Closer this time.

The sky twisted, and in the distance, she spied a shape. A small boy, perhaps? But when she blinked, he was gone, and all that remained was the sound of dripping water and the scent of lavender.

Sunlight peeked through her eyelids. Tessa strained to block it out, but when Clark’s face came into view, she ignored the burning and forced her eyes open. But it couldn’t be.

“Clark?” she whispered, reaching up for him.

But darkness filled Tessa’s vision once more, and when it cleared, she found herself in a garden she almost recognized.

As though she had visited once before, though she couldn’t say when or where.

The plants were in full bloom, the flowers garishly bright with petals as wide as dinner plates, and their sickly-sweet scent coated her nose like tar.

She tried to move toward the shade, but the path twisted into a maze, the hedges growing taller with each turn as it doubled back on itself.

A laugh—mocking and sharp—echoed from the greenery, and the rustle of paper filled her ears.

Then the world tilted, and she fell through the sky, the wind slicing past her as books flapped through the air like birds.

Tessa woke with a gasp, the ceiling swaying above her, her skin damp and leaden. The world felt too loud, too close, too bright. Holding up a hand, she tried to shield her eyes from the afternoon glow.

“Mrs. Stuart?”

Cracking her eyes open, Tessa turned to see Mr. Vaughn seated at her bedside.

The gentleman reached forward, taking her hand in his, but just as she was about to revel in the feel of his fingers, they shifted, reaching for her pulse in her wrist. And Tessa groaned—though she couldn’t say if she was mourning the loss or bemoaning her silliness.

“Clark?” she asked, though the word grinded in her throat like the rusted gears of a steam locomotive. Tessa tried to swallow, but the skin was so rough and dry, and she hadn’t a drop of moisture in her mouth.

Mr. Vaughn drew near, lifting her for a drink, but he didn’t answer the question. Surely Clark hadn’t grown worse. Tessa’s pulse quickened, her hands reaching for the gentleman, though she didn’t know what she intended to do.

“How is he?” she croaked. “Tell me. Please say he is well.”

Just the thought that matters had worsened for him brought tears to Tessa’s eyes. Her chest ached as her ribs constricted around her heart.

And just as she was about to demand an answer, Mr. Vaughn pointed to the foot of her bed.

Blinking heavily, Tessa turned her gaze in that direction. Wrapped in blankets, Clark was seated in one of the library’s armchairs with Daphne beside him, their gazes fixed on her. A smile drew up the corner of her lips as she met their gazes, and she tried to speak, but no words came forth.

Tessa shifted to rise, but gravity’s pull was too strong, and she fought against the darkness as it stole away her strength, forcing her eyelids to close once more.

It was a nothing sort of day. The sort of afternoon that begged one to slough off the work to be done and escape to a meadow for a picnic.

The weather was an impossibly perfect combination of warm and cool, suitable for lounging about or active sport.

Food was abundant. Conversation, even more so.

All her beautiful children were present, seated alongside her and Mr. Vaughn.

Enjoying one another as they hadn’t in so very long.

A hand wrapped around hers. So real and tangible that Tessa swore it wasn’t just a manifestation of the dream—for, though she wished to believe this perfect moment was true, her consciousness now recognized the vision for what it was.

Yet as the image faded to gray, she swore she felt the fingers wrapped around hers. Tessa didn’t open her eyes, but she considered its owner, certain it wasn’t Mr. Vaughn’s. It was much smaller than his.

Reveling in the contact, Tessa feigned sleep until curiosity got the better of her, and she forced her eyes open.

The hand jerked away, slipping out of reach as though it had never been there.

Turning her head in that direction, she spied Clark seated at her bedside, picking at the peeling skin on his palms—a sign that he was truly out of danger and the disease had run its course.

“You should be in bed,” she whispered.

Clark shrugged. “Mr. Gregory said I could leave my bedchamber, but this is as far as I can manage.”

The dismissive tone stung, but with the memory of his touch still fresh in her mind, Tessa brushed aside his excuse. Whether he was ready to accept it or not, she spied the glimmer of concern in his gaze.

“How long have I been in bed?” she asked, struggling to sit upright, and Clark snapped up from his seat, helping to settle her more comfortably. Though Tessa refused to be undone by that act of kindness, tears tingled in the corners of her eyes. Now was not the time for that!

“Four days. Mr. Gregory said you were worn out and needed the rest.” Clark’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“I am sorry if I frightened you,” she whispered.

With the sort of feigned disinterest that only a lad of fifteen could manage, Clark shrugged it away, though his eyes held his heart. Whatever he may say, the boy had been worried. About her.

The realization settled over her with a weight both tender and unbearable.

It caught in her throat, made her vision blur, and for a moment, she could do nothing but stare at him.

Perhaps it was foolish to hope, but if there was a morsel of affection still lingering in his heart, was it so terrible to try?

Swallowing hard, Tessa steadied herself. Maybe, just maybe, it was worth pressing her luck. “Would you please do me a favor?”

Again, Clark shrugged the question away, which she supposed was the best answer she would receive.

“I had a reticule with me. Can you fetch it?”

Casting off his blankets, Clark strode to where her gown sat neatly folded, her shoes standing beside it, and he grasped the small pouch from atop and brought it to her.

Tessa could feel her weary body yearning for more sleep (though she didn’t know how it could require more after so much), but she tugged open the strings and reached inside.

“This belongs to you,” she said, handing him the pocket watch.

Clark’s brows rose as he turned it about in his hand. “But…I…”

With a sad smile, Tessa nodded. “Yes, that one was broken beyond repair. However, I spoke with a watchmaker, and he was able to salvage the case and put new working parts inside it. So, it is a bit of your grandfather, and a bit of you.”

Staring at the watch in his hands, Clark pinched his lips together, his shoulders tensing.

“I’ve been carrying it about in hopes that I might be able to return it to its proper owner,” she added.

His left leg, perched on the ball of his foot, bounced as his gaze fixed on the watch, but otherwise, Clark sat there like a statue for several long moments. He coughed, though it sounded strained, as though covering for something else, and then he sniffed, turning his face out of view.

Another cough, and another sniff. And Clark’s leg bounced all the faster.

Tessa yearned to tell him to let out the tears but remained silent, choosing instead to reach for his arm, tugging him toward her.

The move was impulsive. Careless. Had Tessa been in her proper mind, she wouldn’t have been so bold as to attempt it.

But Clark leaned into her, accepting her embrace as he shook.

“I am sorry,” he whispered.

“As am I,” she replied. “I love you so very much, and I am sorry to have caused you pain. And I am sorry if I frightened you.”

Clark’s arms tightened around her, and Tessa held him close. Together, they sat there for an age, simply existing in that moment, and Tessa was quite happy to hold him forever.

Giving another discreet cough and a sniff, Clark straightened and pulled back, turning his face away as he rose, muttering something about needing to be in bed so he could rest and return to school and his friends.

For all that he blustered about, feigning that nothing was amiss, Tessa spied the redness in his eyes.

And he still held the pocket watch.

When he reached the doorway, Tessa spied Mr. Vaughn standing there. He clapped the lad on the shoulder and moved to let him pass before coming over to sit in Clark’s abandoned seat.

“He is like his father,” whispered Tessa with a slight smile. “Doesn’t care to be emotional in front of others.”

“True, but he is a good deal like his mother,” said Mr. Vaughn, settling into the chair. “The moment he was allowed to leave his bed, he came here.”

The gentleman watched her with that intensity that was so synonymous with Gregory Vaughn. As though he saw right into the heart of her, knowing her as no one else ever had, and that slight smile on his lips made her feel as though he liked every bit of it.

But that was when Tessa realized he was seeing her exterior as well. Her cheeks were clammy, and she could well imagine her skin was ruddy. To say nothing of the wisps of hair that were cemented to her neck and temple from the sweat that had gathered there.

Patting at her hair, she didn’t need a looking glass to know that her plait was in disarray—which was also the moment she realized that she was clad in a nightgown, not the dress she’d been wearing.

Despite having seen her clothes neatly stacked on the other side of the room, the implications hadn’t struck until now.

Good heavens! Praying with all her might, she hoped Daphne and Mrs. Ferrell had dressed her.

“Don’t fret,” he said. “Mrs. Ferrell and my brother have been on hand to play chaperone while you were ill.”

For all that Mr. Vaughn was a clear-sighted man, that had not crossed her mind, though knowing that did give her a dash of peace.

“You ought to rest,” he said, helping her settle into the bed once more.

And though her pulse quickened, Tessa felt the truth of his words as her eyes began to droop.

“We will be here when you wake,” he whispered.