Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

A nthony held Eliza tightly in his arms as they approached the grand entrance of Redfern Castle. The storm had reduced to a light drizzle, but the journey back had been harrowing, with the relentless rain beating down on them as they made their way through the stormy night.

Eliza had grown weaker in his arms with each passing minute, her head resting heavily against his chest, her breaths shallow and ragged. The weight of her limp body pressed against him, driving home just how fragile she had become.

As the horse slowed to a stop in the castle's courtyard, a group of anxious servants rushed out to meet them, their faces etched with worry. The butler, flanked by two footmen, hurried to Anthony's side.

"Your Grace," the butler began, his voice steady despite the tension in the air, "allow us to assist you with Her Grace."

"Careful," Anthony ordered, his voice tight with barely suppressed panic. "She's injured."

The servants moved swiftly, their hands gentle as they eased Eliza down from the horse. Anthony dismounted quickly, his eyes never leaving Eliza's pale face as they carried her toward the castle.

"Send for the physician," Anthony barked, following closely behind as they entered the warmth of the castle.

The stark contrast between the damp, cold night outside and the warm, dry interior of the castle was jarring, but Anthony hardly noticed.

His entire focus was on Eliza—her frailty, the way her body barely moved under the layers of blankets they had wrapped her in.

Phoebe appeared in the hallway, her eyes wide with concern as she took in the sight of Eliza being carried upstairs. "Anthony! What happened? Is she hurt?"

Anthony barely spared her a glance, his expression grim. "She's injured. I've sent for a physician."

Phoebe reached out, grabbing his arm to stop him. "Anthony, please, let me help. You look exhausted."

He shrugged off her hand, his eyes burning with a mixture of fear and guilt. "I said no, Phoebe. I'm staying with her."

Without waiting for a response, Anthony continued up the stairs, leaving a bewildered Phoebe in his wake. He could hear her calling after him, but he didn't have time to stop and explain. Every second felt like an eternity, and he could not bear the thought of losing Eliza—not after everything that had happened between them.

When they reached Eliza's chambers, the maids were already bustling about, preparing the room for her arrival. They laid her gently on the bed, quickly stripping off her wet clothes and wrapping her in warm blankets.

Anthony stood at the foot of the bed, his fists clenched at his sides as he watched the scene unfold. She looked so small, so fragile, lying there in the vast bed. The vibrant, spirited woman he had come to know was now barely recognizable, her strength drained by the storm and her injury.

One of the maids, a young woman with wide, frightened eyes, approached him hesitantly.

"Your Grace, Her Grace has been shivering badly. We've dried her as best we can, but she's burning with fever."

The words struck him like a physical blow. Anthony moved to the side of the bed, sitting down beside Eliza as he placed a hand on her cheek. Her skin was hot to the touch, and he could feel the fever radiating off her in waves.

Panic surged through him, a sharp, icy fear that he had not felt in years.

He could not lose her—not like this.

"Get me some dry clothes," he ordered, his voice hoarse.

The maids hurried to comply, bringing him a fresh shirt and trousers. He changed quickly, never taking his eyes off Eliza, his mind racing with thoughts of what he could do to help her.

He could not leave her, not even for a moment. The guilt that gnawed at him was unbearable; if only he had been more careful, if only he had realized sooner that she was missing, perhaps she wouldn't be in this state.

The maids had gathered around the bed, unsure of what to do next. Anthony dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

"Let me know when the physician arrives," he instructed.

As they left, he turned back to her, gently brushing a damp lock of hair away from her forehead. Her face was pale, her lips tinged with blue, and she trembled under the covers. The sight tore at him, a painful reminder of his failure to protect her.

Phoebe entered the room, her eyes filled with worry as she took in the scene. "Anthony, you should rest. You look exhausted. I can stay with her."

"No," Anthony said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I am staying with her."

"Anthony—"

"I said no, Phoebe!" he snapped, his voice rough with emotion. The guilt and fear that had been simmering inside him all night finally boiled over, spilling out in his harsh words.

He saw the hurt flash in his sister's eyes, but he could not bring himself to apologize. All he could think about was Eliza, lying there in front of him, burning with fever, because he had not been there to protect her.

Phoebe took a step back, her expression softening with understanding. "All right."

"Let me know as soon as the physician arrives," Anthony told her more softly before turning back to Eliza, taking her hand in his own.

His eyes fixed on Eliza's face. Phoebe hesitated for a moment longer before she quietly left the room, leaving Anthony alone with his thoughts.

Anthony dipped a cloth in the basin of cool water that one of the maids had left behind, gently wringing it out before placing it on Eliza's forehead. Her skin was so hot as he pressed the cloth against her, willing the fever to break.

Time seemed to crawl as he sat there, monitoring her fever, refreshing the cloth as it grew warm. He could hear the rain tapering off outside, the storm finally subsiding. Occasionally, he would look out the window, wondering what was taking the physician so long to arrive.

Eliza stirred slightly, a soft moan escaping her lips as she shifted in the bed. Anthony leaned closer, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Eliza," he whispered, his voice trembling with desperation. "Please, wake up."

But she did not respond, her fevered mind lost in a world of pain and delirium. Anthony's hand shook as he brushed his fingers across her cheek, the heat of her skin a cruel reminder of how helpless he was.

He had never felt so powerless, so utterly incapable of protecting the one person he had sworn to keep safe.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, his frustration mounting. He felt as though he were on the brink of losing control. But he could not afford to break down, not now. Eliza needed him, and he would do whatever it took to bring her back.

Hours passed, the silence in the room broken only by the sound of Eliza's labored breathing and the soft rustle of the cloth as Anthony continued his vigil. His exhaustion was palpable, his body begging for rest, but he refused to leave her side.

When the physician finally arrived in the middle of the night, Anthony was still there, his eyes bloodshot and his hands trembling from fatigue. The doctor examined Eliza carefully, his expression grave as he took in the severity of her condition.

"Her fever is dangerously high," the physician said, his voice low. "But you have done well to keep her cool. It may just be enough to turn the tide."

"And her ankle?" Anthony asked. "Is it broken?"

"I do not believe so," the physician said, shaking his head reassuringly.

Anthony nodded, the words barely registering in his tired mind. All he could think about was the promise he had made to himself—to never let her go. He would fight for her, no matter what it took, no matter how long it took. He wouldn't lose her, not like this.

As the physician left to prepare some medicine, Anthony remained by Eliza's side, his hand gently holding hers. He knew he should rest, that he needed to keep his strength up, but the thought of leaving her, even for a moment, was unbearable.

He had already failed her once; he wouldn't do it again.

The world around Eliza was a blur of heat and cold, of burning fever and icy chills. She felt as though she were floating, untethered, in a strange, suffocating fog.

Her body ached, each breath a struggle, as if her lungs were filled with smoke. Voices murmured around her, indistinct and distant, like the hum of bees in a garden she could no longer see.

She tried to open her eyes, but they were too heavy. The weight of the fever pressed down on her, dragging her into the depths of unconsciousness. Yet, somewhere in the haze, she could sense movement—gentle hands touching her, cool cloths against her burning skin, the soft rustle of fabric as blankets were arranged around her.

"Eliza," a voice called to her, low and urgent.

The voice sounded familiar, but she could not quite place it. The voice was warm, comforting, pulling her back from the darkness that threatened to swallow her whole.

She tried to respond, to reach out toward the voice, but her body wouldn't obey. All she could do was lie there, trapped in a prison of fever and pain.

The hands continued their work, brushing damp hair from her forehead, adjusting the blankets, holding her hand. There was something soothing in the touch, something that cut through the feverish delirium, if only for a moment.

"Please, Eliza, hold on," the voice said again, filled with a desperation that tugged at her heart.

It was a man's voice—strong yet trembling with emotion. She could feel the anguish in his words, as if he were afraid of losing her.

Who was he? Why did he care so much? The questions floated in her mind, but she could not grasp the answers. Her thoughts were too scattered, her memories slipping away like water through her fingers.

Images flickered in her mind, disjointed and fragmented. She was a child again, standing in the rain, watching as the carriage took her parents away. Their faces were blurred, indistinct, but she remembered the feeling of abandonment, of being left behind.

Then, the scene shifted, and she was back at Mrs. West's, the stern faces of the teachers looming over her, their voices harsh and cruel as they reprimanded her for not fitting into the mold they had set for her.

"Useless girl," one of the teachers sneered in her memory. "You will never amount to anything."

The words echoed in her mind, feeding the fever's darkness.

The voice returned, closer this time, filled with an intensity that cut through her despair. "Eliza, do not leave me. Please."

She knew that voice. It was Anthony. But why was he here? Had he not been cold to her?

But there was no coldness in his voice now. Only fear, only desperation.

She tried to focus, to push past the fog that clouded her mind. She wanted to reach out to him, to tell him she was still here, still fighting. But all she could do was lie there, feeling the fever burn through her veins, helpless to stop it.

"I am here, Eliza," he murmured, his voice breaking. "I will not leave you."

She wanted to believe him, wanted to trust in his words. But the darkness was closing in again, pulling her down, away from the sound of his voice, away from the comfort of his touch.

And so, she drifted away, the sound of Anthony's voice fading into the void, leaving her alone in the silent, burning darkness.

"Anthony, you look exhausted," Phoebe said as she entered the room, her voice gentle.

Anthony didn't respond immediately, too tired to be annoyed with his sister for once. He sat beside Eliza's bed, his hand wrapped around hers, staring at the fevered flush on her cheeks. He barely registered Phoebe's presence until she stepped closer, her shadow falling over him.

"Anthony," she repeated, this time with a touch of firmness, "you need to rest. You won't do her any good if you collapse."

He finally looked up at his sister, his eyes bloodshot and filled with a mix of fear and exhaustion.

"I can't leave her, Phoebe," he said, his voice rough. "What if something happens while I'm gone?"

Phoebe sighed, placing a hand on his arm.

"She's going to be all right, Anthony. The fever has broken, and she's resting now. You've done everything you can. Let me stay with her for a while. I'll watch over her."

Anthony shook his head, his grip on Eliza's hand tightening. "I failed her once. I can't let it happen again."

"You didn't fail her," Phoebe insisted gently. "You found her and brought her back. You've been by her side every moment since. But you need to take care of yourself too. She's going to need you when she wakes up, and you can't help her if you're too tired to stand."

He looked down at Eliza, his expression softening as he watched her breathe. The fever had lessened, but she was still so pale, so fragile. The sight of her like this tore at him, guilt gnawing at his insides.

"Just a little longer," he murmured, almost to himself.

Phoebe sighed as though she realized that she would not win the argument. She stood up and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"All right. How about this, I will sit here with her while you go downstairs to eat, bathe, and change. You can come back as soon as you are refreshed."

Seeing the wisdom in his sister's words, he relinquished the bedside chair to Phoebe.

He left the room, casting a lingering look over his shoulder. As soon as he stepped into the hallway, he rushed to his chambers. Each chore felt like an eternity, from quickly bathing and shaving to dressing.

Even though he had only stepped out for a few minutes, it felt like too long. Returning to Eliza's room, Phoebe looked up with surprise.

"That was fast," she noted.

Anthony nodded absently, his focus still on Eliza. He barely noticed when Phoebe stepped back, giving him space. He could feel his exhaustion, but he couldn't bring himself to leave Eliza's side. Not yet.

A soft moan escaped Eliza's lips, and Anthony instantly leaned closer, his heart clenching at the sound.

"Eliza," he whispered, brushing a damp lock of hair away from her forehead. "I'm here."

She stirred slightly, but didn't wake. Her breathing was shallow, her skin still hot to the touch. Anthony dipped a cloth in the basin of cool water on the bedside table and gently pressed it to her forehead, hoping to bring her some relief.

Phoebe watched him for a moment, her expression a mix of sympathy and admiration.

"You know," she said quietly, "I haven't seen you like this in a long time."

"Like what?" Anthony asked, not taking his eyes off Eliza.

"Like you care," Phoebe replied softly. "Like you are letting someone in."

Anthony's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. He continued to tend to Eliza, his movements gentle and deliberate.

Phoebe took a step closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "You love her, don't you?"

Anthony's hand stilled for a moment, and he finally looked up at his sister. His expression was a mixture of fear and uncertainty.

"I don't know what I feel," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "But I can't lose her, Phoebe. I won't."

Phoebe smiled sadly, recognizing the struggle in her brother's eyes. "Then stop punishing yourself. She's here, Anthony. She's alive, and she's going to get better. Don't let your guilt and fear keep you from being happy."

He opened his mouth to argue, but the words died on his lips. She was right. He knew she was right. But the thought of opening himself up, of letting someone in after everything he had been through, was terrifying.

"I don't know if I can," he confessed, his voice cracking slightly.

"You can," Phoebe assured him, her tone gentle but firm. "She is going to be all right."

Anthony didn't respond, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. He turned back to Eliza, brushing his thumb across her knuckles. She was so small, so vulnerable, and yet she had already begun to chip away at the walls he had built around himself.

"She's stronger than she looks," Phoebe added with a soft smile. "And so are you."

Anthony gave a small nod though he wasn't sure he believed it. The exhaustion was beginning to wear him down, but he couldn't bring himself to leave her side. Not yet.

Phoebe squeezed his shoulder gently before stepping back. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything. Try to rest, little brother. She's going to need you when she wakes up."

He watched his sister leave, the door closing softly behind her.

The room was quiet again, save for the sound of Eliza's breathing. Anthony leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving her face.