Chapter 23

Philip sat in the corner of Lydia's bedroom, watching as the doctor leaned over her.

"Yes… she's been very lucky. Any more of those foul things and she'd be dead," the doctor said, looking up at Philip, who drew in a sharp breath.

"I can't believe it," he whispered, shaking his head.

He had not imagined Lydia would eat from the box of sweets, and after reading the note from Edward and Caroline, he had intended to tell the maid to dispose of the sugared almonds. Elspeth was weeping by the door, but Philip held no animosity towards her—the fault lay entirely with his cousin and his wife.

"I'm so sorry, My Lord," the maid sobbed.

Philip shook his head. "You didn't know, Elspeth. You did as I asked you to do—you put the box downstairs. If only I'd read the note when it arrived, I'd have had you dispose of them immediately," he said, shaking his head sadly.

Lydia had fallen into a fit of convulsions, saved only by the swift thinking of the maids, who, upon rushing into the room, had picked her up from the floor and hurried her off to bed. The doctor had been sent for, and his ministrations had prevented the poison from taking hold. But as he had said, Lydia had been lucky…

"Keep her well rested in the coming days. I'm afraid there are two invalids in this house now," the doctor instructed after he had finished his examination.

Philip nodded. His own injuries were superficial compared to what had now happened to Lydia, and if any doubt had remained as to Caroline and Edward's intentions, that doubt was now gone. The sweets had been poisoned, and if the sweets had been poisoned, Philip had no trouble believing the carriage had been sabotaged and the horse deliberately cut to make it bolt.

It was a terrible thought—a set of actions driven by jealousy and desire. It made him shudder to think what his cousin had become, but still, the question remained as to what to do about it.

In all three circumstances, there was no evidence to connect Caroline and Edward to the crime. The horse could easily have bolted of its own accord, the carriage might well have needed repairing, and a box of sweets could be tampered with by anyone. Philip knew he would have to take the matter into his own hands if he was to resolve it.

He pushed himself to his feet, approaching his wife's bed as the doctor packed up his medical bag.

"Lydia?" he said, looking down at her.

Her eyes were closed, her face pale, and her lips bright red. She looked peaceful now, but the memory of her terrible convulsions was imprinted in his mind. For a moment, he had thought he had lost her, and the memory of that feeling was too awful to bear.

"Philip?" she croaked, her voice weak, as he took her hand in his.

"I'm here, Lydia. You're going to be all right. That's what the doctor says," Philip murmured soothingly, glancing at the doctor, who nodded.

"I'm sorry… I was a fool to eat those sweets," Lydia whispered, opening her eyes.

Philip shook his head. "No, you weren't. How were you to know where they came from? You thought my mother sent them. But you must rest now, my love," he said.

His final words caught him by surprise. But to look at her, so fragile, so close to disaster, was to look at the woman he had vowed to protect, to cherish, to love…

"What about you?" she asked.

"I'll be all right. I'm on my feet now. A few aches and pains, but that's about it. But please, you have to rest now. Elspeth can stay with you. I have to… see to something."

His mind was already made up—resolved to put an end to what was happening between them and his cousin and Caroline.

Philip knew it was an extraordinary claim to make, but the events of the past few weeks pointed towards the truth, and now he intended to confront his cousin over the matter and settle it once and for all.

"But… where are you going?" Lydia asked as Philip gently put his hand on hers.

"I'll be back soon," he replied, and then, leaning down, he kissed her gently on the cheek.

* * *

As Philip left the house a few moments later—hobbling as best he could—he realized what he had just done. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world to kiss his wife, and yet it was the first time he had done so since their wedding day. They had not shared such intimacies, even though there was no reason for them not to do so.

Philip blushed to think what he had done, but as he climbed into his waiting carriage—summoned earlier—he knew he had no reason to feel embarrassment or regret.

I kissed her because I'm falling in love with her. Or perhaps I've always felt something for her—hidden away but there.

Philip was not entirely certain of what he was going to say. Would he openly accuse his cousin of attempted murder? It sounded extraordinary when put like that, but there was no question now that his suspicions were true—Edward and Caroline had tried to kill him on three separate occasions.

"It's quite extraordinary,"Philip muttered to himself as the carriage drew up outside Edward's house.

Philip got out, trying not to show the extent of his injuries as he climbed up the steps to the front door. His heart was beating fast, and as he knocked, he knew there could be no going back.

To his surprise, the door was opened by Edward himself, and he seemed somewhat surprised to see Philip—perhaps believing him to be already dead.

"Cousin…" Edward trailed off.

Philip drew himself up and fixed him with a defiant glare. "How dare you," he growled.

Edward was taken aback for a moment, before narrowing his eyes as a defensive look came over his face. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"You know very well what I'm talking about—the bolting horse, the carriage ‘accident,' and now the poisoned sweets," Philip snapped.

Edward's eyes grew wide with astonishment, but he made no immediate attempt to deny Philip's accusations. "Poisoned sweets? The carriage? A horse?" he exclaimed.

Philip nodded, scowling. "I know what you're trying to do. You're jealous, and you know if something happens to me, you'll inherit the title."

He had not dared to believe it at first—he had not wanted to believe it—and yet now there could be no denying the truth of what Lydia had suspected all along.

His cousin's face turned red with anger.

"I've never been so insulted in all my life. How dare you accuse me… after everything…" Edward snarled, his voice trembling.

But Philip was in no mood for games, or denials.

"I demand satisfaction," he said, holding Edward's gaze.

The thought of a duel had occurred to him in the carriage. He knew Lydia would be horrified at the thought of it, but to have seen her so close to death—to know he was partly responsible for her current condition—had driven him to seek revenge. If Edward wanted to kill him, he could attempt to do so honorably, and in defense of his own honor, too.

"Satisfaction?" Edward exclaimed.

"A duel, yes. I challenge you—in Royal Park, tomorrow morning at nine o'clock," Philip hissed.

His cousin drew himself up, glaring defiantly at him as he nodded. "Very well, I accept your challenge," he replied.

With that, he turned and slammed the door in Philip's face.

Philip breathed a deep sigh of relief. He had feared his cousin would not accept, preferring more subtle attempts on his life to an all-out engagement. He had never fought a duel before. He had had no reason to defend his honor. But this was different. Lydia had almost died. Philip himself had almost died, and to think of Edward and Caroline plotting their demise was too awful to comprehend.

I won't let it happen.

Philip hurried home to Lydia, and to prepare for the duel.

* * *

When Lydia opened her eyes, she was uncertain where she was, her thoughts confused, her head aching.

"Am I… oh…" she breathed, trying to sit up.

The face of her maid, Catherine, appeared, looking down anxiously at her as she took Lydia's hand in hers.

"It's all right, My Lady. You're safe."

"Philip?" Lydia asked, still uncertain what was happening.

"He'll be here soon, My Lady. Do you remember what happened? You ate the sweets and fell ill," Catherine said.

At the mention of the sweets, images of eating almonds and collapsing on the floor flashed in Lydia's mind.

"I feel… terrible," she groaned, for her stomach was aching dreadfully. She tried to sit up, struggling to make sense of what had happened.

"My Lady, please, you've got to rest. His Lordship won't be long," Catherine pleaded.

"What time is it?" Lydia asked, for she did not know if it was morning or evening.

"It's early morning, the day after you ate the sweets," Catherine replied, and Lydia realized she had been asleep for hours.

But just then, the bedroom door opened, and Philip appeared. He was dressed as though he was going out, in a frock coat and breeches. He approached the bed, smiling as he looked down at Lydia, who returned his smile, glad to have him at her side.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, taking her hand in his.

"Oh… a little better, I think," Lydia replied, though it was perhaps an exaggeration.

In truth, she felt decidedly unwell, but she did not want to worry him, knowing he, too, was far from feeling his best.

"I'm glad to hear it. But I want you to rest, Lydia. Stay in bed. Catherine can look after you."

"But where are you going?" Lydia asked, for she had hoped he would remain at her side, as she had done during his convalescence.

He smiled at her and squeezed her hand. "I've got some business to attend to. But fear not, I won't be long. I'm going to put an end to all this nonsense, Lydia—Edward and Caroline, it's got to stop," he promised.

Lydia was confused. She did not know what he meant by putting a stop to her cousin's and Edward's murderous schemes. It seemed an astonishing thing to say, even though she could do no more than lie there and accept his words.

"I… You will be careful, won't you?"

He nodded. "Don't worry, Lydia, it's all in hand," he reassured, then he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.

Lydia smiled at him. It felt right to share a kiss. They were married, but to feel his lips on her cheek was an intimacy they had not yet shared, yet one she was glad of as she clasped his hand in hers.

"Please, don't be long. I want you to sit with me," she said.

Philip smiled. "And that's just what I want, too. I won't be long, Lydia. I promise," he replied, and with that, he left the room.

"You're very lucky, My Lady, if you don't mind my saying so," Catherine commented, coming to rearrange the blankets on the bed.

Lydia smiled. "Yes… and I think I've come to realize that now."