I t was Cymbeline’s turn to pace.
Usually, every evening after coming home from whatever social engagement that she and Callum had, they would spend time in each other’s arms. But today had been very different.
Something had changed drastically in Callum’s behavior, and here in his beautiful ducal mansion in West London, near the park, she felt as if the ground was being ripped out from underneath her feet.
It did not matter that it was a beautiful ground, a polished wood floor with an Axminster carpet woven in blues and greens beneath her slippers.
Her dressing gown was wrapped tightly about her, as were her arms, as if she could ward off her concerns.
Some hours ago, she had come up to bed. He had not followed. As a matter of fact, he had gone to his own personal work chambers not long after they had come back from Parliament.
He had looked pale, a strange thing for such an active man, and there had been a sheen of sweat on his forehead that she had not seen before.
His conversation had also been listless, and she had not been able to drive how unlike himself he had been from her thoughts.
And now as she strode back and forth between the empty fireplace—because the summer weather was so beautiful—to her door, she felt a chill travel down her spine.
She should go and check on him. She was his wife.
She knew that she should, and yet he did not like to be disturbed when he was working because he was so absorbed.
Even at night, sometimes he had people coming in from all parts of England and London to bring him information and to help sort things out. Oftentimes, those people did not wish to meet anyone but Callum.
But she could not shake the notion that today was different, that today she had to take matters into her own hands. And a terrible thought slipped through her, recalling the night that she had danced for him, the night when he had said that the doctor had advised him to rest.
And he had refused. And when she had pushed…
No, she would not allow herself to live in fear.
The feelings racing through her were merely her making something out of nothing! She was letting fear get the best of her because she had finally found the man of her dreams. Some strange part of her must be convinced it couldn’t last. Which was ludicrous!
But perhaps because she had always had so much happiness and had gained even more of it with her marriage to Callum, she was afraid it might suddenly be ripped away from her.
But it was the cough that truly frightened her.
In the coach, he’d started coughing, and coughing hard. When she’d tried to help him, he’d pushed her away.
She’d always known that he pushed himself too hard and did not value his own health. Or he believed that his health would not be affected by how much he worked.
She’d married him knowing this. She had known that she could not dissuade him from acting thus. She’d defended her decision not to confront him about it by telling herself that she was accepting who he was.
Now, her stomach was sinking and waves of regret were crashing over her.
Something was not right.
So, as she slipped out of her room and methodically made her way down the stairs to where his study and office were, she willed him to be fine… Even as a voice inside her grew and grew, telling her that he was not.
She forced herself to go step after step, even as she felt her heart grow cold in her chest, her body becoming heavy with dread. Each step became more measured as if dread dogged her heels. She forced herself through the dark hallways until, at last, she came to his study door.
Holding her breath, she waited to hear his footsteps. She waited to hear any sound at all. But there was none. She knocked on the door because she knew that disturbing him at a crucial moment could be difficult. There was no reply. She swallowed, waited a moment, then knocked again.
Perhaps he was not in there. Perhaps he had gone for a walk. She knew that sometimes he did walk the city at night to think and clear his head. But she was not taking any chances. So she put her hand to the door handle, turned it, and pushed the panel open.
She slipped into the quiet room, filled with desks and tables and chairs. Each surface was stacked with files and books, but her eyes scanned over those items quickly, since she was looking for him.
When she spotted Callum, a cry of fear burst from her throat.
He was slumped in a chair by his desk, his head tilted to the side and resting on the table.
Her hand flew to her mouth, and her heart slammed in her chest. She was terrified he was on the verge of death, for he did not appear to be in regular sleep.
No, he appeared to be in great distress.
His chest was straining as he struggled to breathe. His throat and lungs rattled as he drew in air.
It was the most terrifying sound she’d ever heard.
She raced to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. He let out a low moan, and she nearly cried out when she felt the heat radiating off of him.
“Callum,” she called. “Callum.”
She tried to help him sit up, but he was so heavy.
She pressed her hand to his forehead and was shocked to find that not only was he hot, but he was also sweating profusely, and his skin had turned a most horrifying, sallow color.
His clothes were drenched through, as if he had been running for hours.
“Callum, my love. Do you hear me? Do you hear me?”
He made no reply, but a moan slipped past his lips. She raced to the fire and pulled the bell pull, desperate to get him help, desperate to save him.
She could not believe that she had allowed this to happen. And she knew she had. This was her choice. Her fault. She had let him keep working!
Her family had seen these consequences.
Apparently, his doctor had too.
Oh, what a liar she was. She had seen the consequences too, but she had chosen to ignore them, accepting him as he was, afraid to lose him if she confronted him about it.
And now, because she had not forced him to rest, to make him see?
Now, they were going to pay the price.
He would be fine. She tried to convince herself of that as she raced to his side, watching his back struggle to expand as he breathed.
He was strong. Of course he would be fine. But tears filled her eyes, and she knew in her heart that he might not be.
The butler raced into the room, and what he saw caused his face to turn white with horror.
“Please,” she called, “send for the duke’s physician at once and send word to my family. They are needed immediately. We must take care of him.”
But she was terrified… Terrified she was about to lose him. For illness did not care if one was a duke or a peasant. A fever like this? Lungs struggling like this? Such conditions had stolen the lives of thousands in mere hours.
Suddenly, she knew that Callum was standing at a door to a place she could not follow, and she prayed that he did not walk through.