Page 38 of The Duke Steals a Bride (Stolen by the Duke #5)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“Y our Grace! Can you hear me? Please, say something!”

Christine heard the voice as if from the end of a long, dark tunnel. Her chest was hurting badly, as was her right wrist. Her eyes fluttered open, staring around. Her head throbbed wildly.

What happened? Where am I?

Suddenly, she saw Lady Canterfield, bearing over her. The lady’s face was tight with worry. And then, she saw two gentlemen rushing toward her. The lady was babbling, saying that she was thrown off her horse. How could it have happened? She couldn’t remember.

Everything hurt. She cried out as one of the gentlemen picked her up, as easily as if she were a broken bird, and carried her away. She heard Lady Canterfield’s voice following them.

Her eyes fluttered closed again. In that moment, before she fell asleep once more, she cried out, wishing fervently it was another man’s arms around her, carrying her to safety.

Edwin. My love. Where are you?

* * *

“Do not try to move, Your Grace,” said Lady Canterfield, when Christine next opened her eyes. The lady was sitting at her bedside. “You have been injured.”

“I have?” croaked Christine, attempting to sit up, but failing. She groaned aloud. “What happened?”

“Your horse threw you,” said the lady, in a gentle voice. “I lost you on the trail in Hyde Park. I came back to look for you…and your horse startled, and threw you off.” She paused. “The physician has already come. You have bruised ribs, a severely strained wrist, and you hit your head badly.”

Christine groaned again. The pain was overwhelming. It felt like her entire body was racked with it, as well as being black and blue all over.

“Oh, you are so brave,” sighed the lady. “But I can see how much pain you are in. The physician prescribed you a tonic for it—a mixture of laudanum and some herbs. Would you like some now?”

“Yes, please,” muttered Christine, struggling to sit up.

The lady nodded. Carefully, she picked up a brown colored vial on the bedside table, pouring deep red liquid onto a spoon, before placing it to Christine’s mouth.

Christine swallowed it, shuddering slightly. It was very bitter. The taste of the tonic reminded her of something else, but she couldn’t place it.

“You are very kind,” stammered Christine, staring at the lady. “But I am sure you have some other place to be. You do not need to stay with me…”

“Fiddlesticks,” said the lady firmly. “My place is at your side, Your Grace. I feel responsible for your dreadful accident—and I must atone.”

She paused. “Besides that, your father and sister are very grateful for the help. The earl and Lady Violet were just setting out to attend a two-day house party and could not cancel it. Lord Dunhill asked me specifically to oversee your convalescence.”

Christine blinked back tears. How typical that her father had left her here in his house, under the care of a virtual stranger, while he took Violet to a house party.

The earl was so focused on containing Violet and finding her a husband quickly that nothing else mattered. Not even when his younger daughter had been thrown off a horse and badly injured. She knew that Violet had been forced to go and would have nursed her otherwise. Her sister would not have left her side for an instant.

It has ever been thus. I should not be surprised in the least.

Her eyelids were starting to droop. She gazed at Lady Canterfield. She didn’t like the lady, but she was being very kind to her, dropping everything to stay at her side and nurse her. She knew she should be grateful.

But her heart constricted with pain again, thinking about Edwin, and the twins. They seemed so very far away. As if an entire ocean separated them.

“Will you write to my husband and tell him about what happened to me?” asked Christine, her voice faltering, struggling to stay awake. “Will you?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” soothed the lady, stroking her arm. “I will do so immediately.” She paused. “You should sleep now, and let the medicine do its work.”

Christine nodded, turning her face on the pillow. She felt as if she were being swept beneath a huge wave and dumped in the sea. Everything was spinning.

She closed her eyes, drifting into a troubled sleep, clawing at the sheets, just wanting the pain to stop…and for Edwin to come to her side, to make it all better.

* * *

Christine awoke with a start. Sunlight was streaming through the curtains. When she tried to sit up, her head started spinning again, quite violently.

Lady Canterfield was sitting by her side. The lady sat up, staring at her.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, in a kindly voice.

“Not very well,” stammered Christine, slowly putting a hand to her head. “I am not feeling well at all…”

Suddenly, she veered to the side of the bed, retching. The lady calmly held a bowl underneath her head. Christine was sicker than she had ever been in her life.

“How long have I been here for?” she gasped, wiping her mouth, when she was done. Her head was still spinning like a top. “Have you written to my husband?”

“I have informed His Grace,” replied the lady calmly. “But unfortunately, he is attending a hunting party in the next county. He does send his best wishes to you for a speedy recovery, though.”

Christine blinked back tears. Her heart contorted with pain.

He doesn’t love me. He never will. Here is the ultimate proof.

“And to answer your first question,” continued the lady, “it was four days ago since the horse threw you.” She frowned. “The physician has returned. He is worried about you and increased the dose of your tonic. Your father has written to tell me that, regretfully, the house party has been extended. He also sends his best wishes.”

She paused. “Lord Browning and Lady Ava Walford have called to see how you are faring, too. But you were asleep, I am afraid.”

“I do not feel as if I am getting better,” whispered Christine. “In fact, I feel as if I am getting worse. Much, much worse…”

“There, there,” soothed the lady, reaching for the tonic bottle, carefully measuring a spoonful of the blood red syrup, before passing it to Christine. “It is time for your medicine. It is the only way you will get better, you know.”

Christine shuddered, taking the medicine, grimacing. Her head started spinning more violently, and her stomach felt as if it were on fire, clawing with pain. She felt as weak and frail as a kitten.

She sunk beneath the blankets again, too exhausted and sick to speak any longer. Lady Canterfield’s face was blurring in her vision. A single tear squeezed out of the side of her left eye, dampening the pillow. She was too weak to even notice. Fear clawed her heart—the sudden, terrible knowledge that she was slipping, inexorably, into death.

Edwin, my love, where are you? I am frightened I am going to die before I tell you all that is in my heart…and that I will never get the chance to say farewell to you.