I sat by her, alternating between holding her hand and placing wet towels on her forehead. When Mary came in with new water and clean cloths, I helped her remove the old. Later, she came in with supper for me and broth for Alice.
“She won’t take any, but Cook insists on sending it anyway. Your mother’s been trying any way she can to get a few drops in.”
“Thank you, Mary.”
She curtsied and left. I took a spoon full of the broth, but it would never make it unspilled to Alice’s mouth. So I dipped the corner of a clean cloth in the broth, pulled back Alice’s lips, and squeezed in a few drops. She didn’t swallow.
I took her hand again. This was all my fault. If I hadn’t been so stubborn, if I’d just accepted my plight like I should have, agreed to the match and pretended to be happy about it, Alice would be laughing in the drawing room. She’d be begging to play cards or wanting to show off how much she’d progressed on her song.
But that wasn’t the whole truth. It wasn’t all my fault. It was as much Lord Williams’s fault as mine. His and Mr. Northam’s and that stupid wager.
I stood and walked to the window, pulling back the drapes just enough to see out. The sun was setting, casting brilliant colors across the cloud-laden sky, as though waving a farewell for the night. Or as though saying goodbye.
Was Lord Williams standing in his breakfast room, eyes on the sky? Or standing by the river, a frown on his face? Or had he decided to attend a different party, try again with a different woman, over and over until he finally won his wager and kept his promise to his father?
I dropped the drapes and returned to my vigil, again taking up Alice’s hand. If I could just feel sorry enough, could just regret enough, could just be strong enough, perhaps I could change back the clock and make it so none of this had happened. I could heal her, put color back into her face, infuse her with laughter and love and everything she’d been before.
But no amount of hand pressing nor soft cajoling seemed to make any difference.
Eventually Mary retrieved the dinner tray. I picked up the book on Alice’s nightstand, the one we’d been reading together at night before I’d left for the Hickmores’, and, flipping back a few chapters, began to read. When I’d read to the point she’d marked, I closed the book and sat on her bed, telling her of the changing colors of the leaves, of Daniel’s idiocy, of what she and I would do once she regained health, all in the hopes that something—a touch, a word, a feeling—would sink past her sickness and bring her comfort.
When I’d run out of things to say, I returned to the chair and rested my head against her hand. I must have dozed, for a pounding on the front door startled me upright. The pounding sounded again, then went quiet, voices replacing the noise. Who had come? Was it Lord Williams?
I stood. Heavy footsteps led across the hall and up the stairs. Father pushed the door open but remained in the hall.
“Margaret, a doctor from London has arrived.”
“London?” I looked past him to the unfamiliar face of a middle-aged man. Not Lord Williams. I stepped aside.
The man came in, cast me a dismissive glance, and sat in the chair I’d just vacated. “You say your country doctor has been attending to her?”
“Dr. Johnson. Yes,” my father replied.
The man nodded. He examined Alice, opening her eyelids, her mouth, feeling her throat, inspecting the wound from the letting. Then he inspected the different bottles on the side table. “He seems to have been thorough, though that letting wound doesn’t look deep enough. Aside from another letting, I am not certain there is more I can do. I’d like to discuss what he’s done with him before I arrive at anything definitive.”
“Of course. We shall send for him immediately.” My father gestured back out of the room, shutting the door again as the heavy steps retreated.
I sank back into the chair and glanced around the small and now quiet room. My father must have sent for the doctor shortly after we’d returned home. Or perhaps even before we’d left Lord Williams’s.
And I’d thought Lord Williams had come. To what? Sit with me? Mumble apologies?
Hold me and tell me it would all be well?
What a fool I was. What a fool my heart was.
I shifted Alice into what I hoped was a more comfortable position, rewet the cloth, and placed it back on her forehead.
An hour later, both doctors visited again, letting more blood. Afterward, the house fell into silence.
When the large house clock struck one in the morning, I resettled into the chair and took Alice’s hand in mine. “Alice, I’m so sorry. I would trade all my pride, all my promises, my very heart if need be, for you to live.” I could have prevented it, if I’d only known. No harm would have come from letting either of the men steal a kiss. Well, only another mark on my reputation, but I had dealt with that before. It wasn’t right that my family was suffering—that Alice was dying—because of Lord Williams and Mr. Northam. How would we ever be happy again?
Anger, fiercer than I had ever experienced, rushed over me. “Alice. Wake up. You have slept long enough. Do not give those men the satisfaction of seeing that their actions affect us. Be strong. Alice!”
She didn’t stir, didn’t give any sign that she had heard me. I pressed her hand with my own. “Alice, please wake up. You are being incredibly selfish. You have always been given everything you want. It is time to give something back. Wake up!”
Nothing.
This wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to have turned out. I clenched my teeth. “You cannot go. You cannot leave us. I will not let you!”
But where was the authority of an empty threat shouted into the night? I had no power: no power over my past, no power over my future, and no power over Alice’s life. My words were as meaningless as Lord Williams’s had been when he’d stated he would never allow love to die.
My throat closed and my eyes stung. There was no one to see the pain now. There was no reason to be strong any longer.
I laid my head next to hers. “I love you,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. So very sorry. I was wrong to not hide my emotions. I was wrong to be so openly defiant of Mother and Father. Please don’t die. You mustn’t leave us. We need you. I need you.”
Intertwining my fingers with hers, I gently squeezed. “Please, Alice. If you get better, I promise—I don’t know what I promise. I’ll do anything. Only, please, get better.”
Thirty-Seven
I awoke and glanced around, disoriented. The room was completely dark except for the glowing embers in the fireplace.
The fire. The closed curtains. The body next to me.
Alice.
Nothing indicated whether it was still night or early morning. I shifted, wanting to move farther from Alice so I could rise without disturbing her. But as I moved, a freezing fear seeped through me.
Alice’s hand was cold.
I sat up and stared at her. There was no movement in her chest, no trace of color in her face.
She had died while I had slept. I hadn’t even noticed.
Anguish wrenched a convulsive sob from my chest. I gently untangled my fingers from hers.
She didn’t look at peace, as I had been told people looked once they passed. Her arms lay unnaturally straight by her side. Clasping her hands, I crossed them over her chest. Then I pressed my lips to her face.