Page 13 of The Viscount Needs a Wife (All for Love #2)

T he day of the picnic dawned bright, clear, and sunny, bidding fair to be a hot day.

The plan was to assemble out the front of the house at eleven o’clock.

All the adults were coming to this event and Annis had spent some time with the housekeeper and the cook (with the duchess’s permission) organizing the lunch hampers, blankets, and sunshades required for the comfort of the company.

The servants were sent in advance to set up the picnic site for their comfort, and the children were beside themselves with excitement, having been promised the opportunity to paddle in the lake, given the heat.

Annis was vastly pleased with herself when they arrived at the site to see the blankets, tables, and chairs set out under the trees by the shore of the lake and the servants ready to serve wine for the adults and lemonade for the children.

The lake was an irregularly shaped, circular body of water, greenish in color, with rushes at the edges, and a particularly large-trunked tree with branches stretching over the water, standing like a guardian on the left side of the lake.

There was a slight breeze across the lake to temper the heat, and the sun shone brilliantly on the surface of the water.

Insects buzzed and the serenity of it was breathtaking.

Until of course the shrieks of happy children shattered it.

The children splashed and played in the water, getting themselves thoroughly wet and muddy, but none of them ventured far from the edge on pain of the viscount’s wrath.

The adults lay about on the blankets or occupied chairs, eating cold chicken, fresh bread, cheese, and cake.

The ladies held parasols to protect their complexions and wafted fans to keep themselves cool.

The duke and viscount eschewed jackets and neckcloths and removed their boots.

A post luncheon somnolence came over the party in the dozy heat, and it was only a shriek followed by a splash that roused Annis to the knowledge of danger.

Sitting up, she saw to her horror little Ewen struggling in the water below the branches of the large tree.

Rising and kicking off her slippers, she ran straight at the lake and plunged into the chilly water.

Catching her breath at the sudden change in temperature, she launched herself toward the child, thankful that she had learned to swim.

Behind her, she heard the calls of distress from the ladies of the party and a bellow from the viscount, followed by a splashing behind her.

She didn’t turn to look, all her concentration on young Ewen, whose head had just disappeared below the water.

She struck out harder and reached the point at which he had vanished.

Taking a breath, she dived and groped about, unable to see anything in the murky water.

Her hands grasped an arm, and she tugged, kicking her feet to push herself to the surface.

She broke the surface and, treading water, kept young Ewen’s head above the waterline.

In the next instant she was engulfed by the solid, hard heat of the viscount’s body as he reached them and hauled them both toward him.

“He went under,” she panted. “Go! Get him to the bank—I can manage.”

“Thank you,” he said shortly and set off, stroking strongly to the bank with one arm, his son in the other. She followed, emerging a few moments behind him, panting and spent, water pouring off her gown, which was filthy, streaked with green slime and weeds.

“Ewen?” The viscount was working over his son. The little boy suddenly coughed up a quantity of foul water and began to cry. “Ewen!” The viscount’s voice cracked with relief as he held his son on his side while the paroxysm passed.

Sarah had rushed to wrap a blanket around Annis, and before she could say anything, the duke swept her up in his arms and set off after the viscount who was headed for the house with his tiny burden. Sarah and Ava began rounding up the children and reassuring them that Ewen was perfectly safe.

Annis, who was shivering with reaction more than any chill left over from the water, murmured, “I can walk, Your Grace.”

“Nonsense,” snapped the duke, striding purposefully toward the house. “You are a heroine, Miss Pringle. You just saved that boy’s life!”

In short order she was deposited in her room to recover. After changing out of her wet clothes, Annis ventured to the children’s rooms to find out how Ewen was. She found the little boy tucked up in bed with his father in attendance.

The viscount, seeing her, left Ewen and came toward the door. They stepped out into the anteroom off which the children’s rooms all ran, and he said quietly, “He is sleeping for the moment. The doctor has been sent for. Are you well, Miss Pringle?”

“Yes, perfectly,” she said.

“I cannot thank you enough for your quick action,” he said, clasping her hands tightly. “If you hadn’t—” He stopped, visibly overcome. “I blame myself for taking my eye off him. He should never have wandered off like that.”

“We were all remiss!” she said quickly. “He must have climbed that tree and fallen in the water from there.”

“Yes, I assumed as much.” He swallowed hard and wiped his eyes. “Forgive my excessive emotion, Miss Pringle, but if I had lost him—”

“Please, do not apologize, my lord. Your emotions do you credit,” she said swiftly. “Indeed, I am so glad I reached him in time. I feel equally responsible, if not more so. Today’s venture was my idea. If I had thought there was any danger to any of the children—”

“The responsibility is mine and mine alone, Miss Pringle. He is my son!” He spoke vehemently.

“The truth is I have not been myself lately. Not paying sufficient attention—to anything. So damned self-absorbed I—” He stopped, closing his lips as if biting off whatever else he would have said.

“They have lost their mother; they must not lose me as well.”

“They have not lost you,” she protested.

He grimaced. “I’ve been here in body, but my spirit has been somewhat absent.”

“Papa?” A plaintive cry from the bedroom sent him back into the room, and she left.

Annis took supper in her room that night and retired to bed early.

*

Lizzie and Charlie came to say good night, and Emrys had to reassure them that Ewen would be well soon. They each gave him a kiss on his hot forehead and let Emrys take them to their beds and tuck them in. It was a reminder to him that they needed him, too.

Emrys had a truckle bed set up in his son’s room, preparing to spend the night with him and was alarmed when it became clear at around nine o’clock that the little fellow was running a temperature.

The doctor had warned him this might happen.

The poor lad had been sick a couple of times from the foul water and the doctor had said he might have contracted something nasty from it.

He had left a paregoric draught to administer in the event of fever and Emrys gave it to him, but it came up again almost immediately.

After that, Emrys spent his time sponging the hot little body down and feeding him small sips of water, trying to keep the covers on his shivering form and holding his hand when Ewen bleated “Papa?”

“I’m here, Ewen, and I will not leave you,” he said steadily, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. “You will be better directly. The fever will pass.” He hoped and prayed it would. He couldn’t lose his son like this. It would, he thought, overset his reason.

It was after midnight when he heard a noise at the door of Ewen’s room and turned to see a robed figure standing there.

He blinked at this vision of a woman. Her hair was confined to a thick plait over her shoulder and her robe was tied about her waist, a plain white nightgown visible beneath.

For a moment, past and present merged as he recalled another long, dark night, when Lizzie was sick of a terrible fever, and he and Caro had stood vigil by her side in the darkest hours before dawn.

But of course, this wasn’t Caro, because she was gone, and in any case this figure was taller and more solid than Caro. It was Miss Pringle. She trod softly into the room and stood beside him, gazing down at the little boy, who tossed and turned and whimpered.

“Do you need to be relieved for a little?” she said. “I can sit with him.”

“This is not your responsibility—” he began.

“By my calculation you have been with him for over eight hours straight,” she interrupted.

“I am accustomed to nursing children through illness. I grew up in a school for young ladies, I think I told you. I sat with many girls through fevers and tummy upsets in my years at the seminary. I assure you I can be trusted with him.” She smiled sympathetically.

He swallowed and nodded. “Very well, thank you. I—I won’t be long.”

He took a few minutes to relieve himself and wash his face and hands, change his shirt, which had become drenched with sweat from his worry and the heat, and drink a long draught of water, suddenly realizing how thirsty he was.

He returned to the room and found her sitting on the narrow bed, holding Ewen’s hand and singing to him softly. Her voice was sweet and the song soothing. It certainly seemed to be soothing Ewen, who lay still and quiet, no longer tossing and whimpering.

His heart swelled at the sight and his vision blurred with the tears that seemed never far from the surface with him lately.

He came softly to stand behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.

She finished the song, touching her hand to his where it rested on her shoulder.

He turned his, clasping her fingers and squeezed them with gratitude.

Letting go reluctantly, he took his seat in the chair by the bed. He ought to relieve her, send her back to bed, but selfishly he wanted her to stay. In silence, they kept vigil together for another hour or so until Ewen woke, distressed and hot.

She fetched cold water and wrung out cloths for cold compresses, and he bathed his son’s burning body trying to bring the wretched fever down.

Toward dawn, it began to ease again, and he sent her back to her room firmly.

“You must go, it is unseemly for you to be found with me like this. For your own sake go, but know you have my undying gratitude.” He kissed her hand, and she left.

Full daylight found him nodding in his chair, bleary eyed and exhausted, but Ewen slept peacefully, and he hoped the fever was broken.

The promised nanny arrived midmorning. She was a pleasant woman in her forties, with a cheerful smile, restful manner, and generous bosom.

She came with excellent references and, upon learning that her youngest charge was ill, took control immediately of the situation.

The weary viscount, assured that the woman knew what she was doing and that Ewen seemed happy enough under her care, relinquished his post and sought his bed.