Chapter 22

In the coming days, Lydia stayed by Philip's bedside day and night. He implored her to rest, but she insisted on sleeping on the chair in the corner of the room, ready to plump his pillow or fetch him anything he desired. She was diligent in all things, and gradually, his strength was growing.

After two days, he was sitting up in bed, and by the third, he was able to stand and walk a few paces—aided by Lydia, who insisted on holding his arm the whole way.

"I feel like an old man," Philip complained as he hobbled across the room to the window.

"You had a terrible accident. You can't expect to be up and walking immediately," Lydia pointed out as they came to the window.

She had taken to opening it each morning to let in the fresh air, and now they stood looking out across the garden, where the fragrant scent of the flowers perfumed the air.

"You were almost entirely unscathed," he noted.

Lydia smiled. "I was just lucky," she said as he leaned on the parapet to support himself.

"Curse my legs," he huffed.

"I'll get you a chair!" Lydia squeaked, for she feared he was about to fall.

Philip shook his head. "No, I need to be strong. I'll stand, just for a few moments," he said, and Lydia nodded, holding her arms out in case he fell.

She knew how frustrated he was—she could imagine what any of her brothers would be like under similar circumstances. But like it or not, he had to recover his strength, and that would take time. They had received word from Berkshire of Lucy's horror at the news of the accident, but to Lydia's relief—and thanks to her mother's persuasion—old Lady Walford had agreed to remain, rather than return to London. Her presence would only add to Philip's feelings of being an invalid, and Lydia knew he did not want her to fuss over him. The sooner he was back on his feet, the better.

News of the accident had spread fast, and he had received well-wishes from across the ton. However, Caroline and Edward's absence had been most noticeable. They had not called on them, nor had they sent a letter or greeting—only silence.

"That's enough now. Your legs are wobbling," Lydia said.

Reluctantly, Philip allowed himself to be led back to the bed, where he sat down with a sigh.

"I'll stand for longer later. We'll time it with the clock on the mantelpiece. First ten minutes, then fifteen, then twenty," he suggested.

Lydia nodded. "Shall I fetch you some tea?" she asked.

He smiled wryly. "I'd prefer a glass of brandy, but I doubt the doctor would allow it," he drawled.

Lydia laughed. "Perhaps tea with brandy would be preferable," she relented.

Philip nodded. "It sounds very acceptable," he replied.

Lydia left his room, going downstairs to the kitchen to ask one of the servants to bring up a pot of tea. She intended to fetch the brandy decanter herself from the drawing room, but as she emerged into the hallway, she spotted one of the maids taking a parcel.

"What's that?" she asked as the maid closed the door.

"A gift, My Lady, from Fortnum Mason. It looks like sweets of some sort," the maid replied.

Lydia nodded. "It's probably from the Dowager Countess—she sent a hamper only yesterday. Will you take it up for His Lordship? Actually, would you mind taking the brandy decanter upstairs, too? It's purely medicinal, but he'd like some in his tea. I'm feeling suddenly rather tired," Lydia requested.

The maid nodded. "Certainly, My Lady. You must be exhausted. I'll see to it," she said.

After thanking her, Lydia made her way through the drawing room and out onto the terrace.

She intended to sit a while in the sunshine and close her eyes. She had barely slept the previous night—or the one before.

The sun was warm on her face, and the scent of the flowers in the air brought with it a pleasant calmness. She yawned, her head lolling to the side as she fell asleep.

* * *

Philip was fed up with being in bed. He was frustrated with himself and with his recovery—or lack thereof. He kept telling himself he should be stronger, more able. But the accident had been a serious one, and the doctor had told him he had been lucky to survive—a fact he had not shared with Lydia.

She had been diligent in her care, remaining constantly at his side in the previous days, ever the dutiful wife. As he had lain in bed that morning, Philip had thought more about what their marriage vows had meant. The accident had certainly brought the two of them closer, and the more he thought about the circumstances, the more he wondered if it was not a blessing in disguise.

She's certainly proved she was faithful.

But there was more to it than that. A part of him sensed a growing affection between them. He had not wanted to marry Lydia. Or rather, he would have preferred the circumstances to have been different. But now that the deed was done, Philip could not help but feel glad to call Lydia his wife.

She's a sweet creature.

He had always thought so.

As children, there had been no question of romance—how could there have been? But there had never been any doubt as to the strength of the bond of friendship between them. That bond was now rekindled, and with every passing day—every passing moment—Philip felt a growing sense of intimacy between them. He did not regret marrying her. If anything, he was growing to enjoy the fact, and could only be grateful for all Lydia had done for him.

But until I can get up and walk without her holding my arm, I'm hardly a husband.

He sat up in bed with great effort.

At that moment, the bedroom door opened, and one of the maids entered, carrying a tray with a cup of tea on it and the brandy decanter. There was a small box, too.

She set down the tray on the bedside table and curtsied. "Her Ladyship asked me to bring this up, My Lord. She's resting in the garden," she said.

Philip nodded. "Thank you, Elspeth. What's the little box?" he asked.

"A gift, My Lord, from Fortnum Mason," Elspeth replied.

Philip smiled. His mother had sent all manner of gifts from the grocers on Piccadilly.

He waved his hand dismissively, wanting only the brandy—with or without the tea.

"Just take it back downstairs, please, Elspeth. Put it with the rest," he instructed.

The maid nodded. "Shall I leave the card that came with it, My Lord?"

Philip nodded. "Just over there, thank you. I'll just have the tea—and the brandy," he said.

The maid did as she was asked, and Philip was glad when she left, pouring the tea into his chamber pot and replacing it with the more beneficial brandy.

Much better.

Then he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When Lydia awoke, she found herself sitting in the shade of the weeping willow. The sun had moved across the sky, and she now found herself in shadow. Rising to her feet, she wondered how long she had slept, fearing Philip would be wondering where she was. She looked up at the bedroom window, picturing him lying on the bed, asleep.

I should go inside. He might want something.

She made her way back to the drawing room.

The pile of boxes from Fortnum Mason had been arranged on a table—cakes and sweet, bottles and jars… all manner of treats. The small box that had arrived earlier was on top of the others, and lifting the lid, Lydia found it contained sugared almonds—one of her favorites.

Her stomach was rumbling, and she took three, savoring the taste as she remained for a few moments in the drawing room, thinking of all the things she had to do.

He'll get better, day by day.

She left the drawing room and hurried upstairs to check on her husband.

As she opened the bedroom door, she found Philip sitting up in bed, with the empty teacup on the bedside table. The brandy decanter was there, too, and Lydia noticed it was somewhat less full than it had been before.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"A little better. I've walked across the room unaided just now," Philip answered.

Lydia was somewhat taken aback. She had not thought he would be strong enough to do so, but she was glad to hear it.

"That's remarkable. You're certainly determined," she said, approaching the bed.

Philip smiled at her. "I've got to do it, Lydia. I've got to be strong. I can't rely on you all the time, and I can't expect you to oversee the affairs of the household alone. You're doing an admirable job, but I have to get better."

Lydia nodded. She admired his determination—his will to get better.

"I have to admit, I was rather tired," she admitted, for she had felt guilty for falling asleep in the garden, unable to prevent her eyes from closing.

"And you deserve to rest. Oh, I have to tell you. I received word from Caroline and Edward while you were gone," he said, holding up a card in his hand.

Lydia was curious to know what they had said. They had heard nothing from either of them since the night of the accident, and Philip now handed her the card so she could read it.

"My dear Philip, how concerned we were to hear of the accident you and Lydia had. What a terrible tragedy. We want you to know we are thinking of you and praying for your swift recovery. We do hope you enjoy this little gift from Fortnum Mason to aid you in your recovery. Sugared almonds are my favorite. With our love and best wishes, Caroline and Edward…" Lydia read, and a sudden, awful realization gripped her.

"Sugared almonds, indeed. I told Elspeth to put them downstairs. I think perhaps we might consult someone about them—perhaps there's a test that can be done. I know you're suspicious of them both, and perhaps…" Philip trailed off as Lydia turned to him, her face pale, her hands trembling.

"Philip, I…" she began, but before she could finish her sentence, a sharp pain shot through her stomach, as though she had been stabbed with a dagger.

With a gasp, she fell to the floor, and Philip stared at her in horror.

"Elspeth? Catherine? Someone, please! We need help!" Philip called out as Lydia rolled onto her back, convulsing.