Chapter Seventeen

B lessing held tightly to Lady Roslynn's hand as their carriage rattled through the streets. A queasy lightheadedness had her gulping for air to keep from casting up her accounts. This could not be happening. Today was her wedding day, her and Thorne's. She swallowed hard and gasped, drowning in her fears. They should have gone to Gretna Green, should have left London, then Thorne would be at her side, safe, charming, and as frustrating as ever—instead of shot while standing in front of his home.

Serendipity reached across and tapped her knee. "I know it must be an almost insurmountable task, but you must try to calm yourself, Essie. Breathe slowly, else you may swoon again."

Swoon. Blessing had always scoffed at females who succumbed to such dramatic silliness, but never again. Not after her world had spun into darkness and tossed her into a bottomless pit when she heard Thorne had been shot not once, but twice.

She closed her eyes and forced herself to ease the air deeply into her lungs, held it for a count of five, then released it once again. She needed to be strong. For Thorne. No more fainting.

Lady Roslynn squeezed her hand tighter.

Blessing opened her eyes and met the poor woman's teary-eyed gaze. "He will be all right," she said as much to herself as to the dear lady. "We must not consider otherwise."

"He has to be," Thorne's mother whispered. "I cannot bear it if he is not."

Neither can I, Blessing thought as she looked away, unable to endure the terror on the woman's face.

"Will we never arrive?" Fortuity asked while leaning out the window in a very unladylike manner.

Blessing wondered the same, but knew that a large part of the problem was because Chance and six armed footmen surrounded the carriage on horseback as they made their way to the Knightwood townhouse in the heart of Mayfair. Her brother could be an irritating fool at times, but he would protect his sisters as long as he drew breath. He had left an additional line of defense at Broadmere House to ensure the rest of their sisters remained just as safely guarded.

"We should not have bargained with that devil," Blessing told Serendipity.

"We feared he would bribe his way to freedom, remember?"

"You and Tutie should have shot him when you had the chance."

"That particular thought has crossed my mind," Serendipity said while scowling out the window.

"Are we certain it was Montagne?" Lady Roslynn asked while clutching a lacy handkerchief to her chest.

Blessing cast a pained glance at Thorne's mother, unsure exactly how much Lady Roslynn knew about her son's rather indelicate notoriety. After all, the woman's hearing loss was quite pronounced. Perhaps that had proven to be a blessing for her, rather than a curse, and protected her son's image in her eyes.

Lady Roslynn gave her a quivering smile and patted her hand. "I know what my son was," she admitted softly. "That is why I asked. Are we certain it was not another enraged husband seeking revenge?"

With a defeated shrug, Blessing shook her head. "I do not know, my lady. All I know for certain is that he must be all right—and hopefully, quite angry about having our wedding day ruined." She needed lightheartedness right now. They all did. But she found it impossible to hold a smile for long. She would do better once she saw Thorne and knew him to be safe.

As the carriage stopped, she found herself on the edge of the seat, ready to bolt out the door, but forced herself to wait until Chance offered to help them all out.

"Well done, Essie," he told her as he held tightly to her hand while she stepped down to the walkway. "Take heart now. You are not alone."

Not trusting herself to answer, she ran up the steps and burst inside. "Take me to him," she told the wide-eyed butler. "Now!" she added when the man failed to move.

"Lord Knightwood needs his rest," said a short, barrel-shaped man with wild white hair as he ambled down the stairs with a black leather satchel in one hand and a glass of some golden beverage in the other. "I do not recommend disturbing him at this time."

"I do not recommend your standing in my way, sir." Blessing charged past him, then paused at the top of the stairs. "Which room?" she shouted down to the butler staring up at her in even wider-eyed wonder. "And if you do not see fit to answer me, I shall search every one of them until I find him."

The white-haired man pointed his drink at her and puffed like an insulted toad. "Who is that young woman?"

"Lady Blessing Abarough, Lord Knightwood's betrothed," Chance answered tersely. "My sister—and I am the Duke of Broadmere. Who the devil are you?"

The gentleman backed up a step and offered a proper bow. "Dr. Sebastian Tattersol." He lowered his voice. "Lord Knightwood suffered two very severe wounds, Your Grace. It is imperative that he rest."

Blessing descended a few steps, jabbing the air and shaking her finger at the irritating little man. She halted midway down the staircase. "Do not whisper your information to my brother as if I am some sort of ninny incapable of understanding you. Lord Knightwood and I were to be married today until this…this…hell storm. I demand to know his condition before I go to his bedside and see to his care. You will speak to me directly, sir. Now!"

The physician glanced at her brother.

"Tell her," Chance ordered the man.

Dr. Tattersol nodded, then turned and gave Blessing a conciliatory bow. "His lordship was shot in the left shoulder and quite high in the back of his right leg." He paused and made a face as if finding it extremely distasteful to speak to a lady in such insensitive detail. "I repaired the damaged tissue as much as possible. He was very fortunate in that the bullets passed through with no damage to nearby bones. His extreme loss of blood, while quite concerning, will, hopefully, have flushed out the wounds properly and prevent infection from setting in. Therefore, I did not bleed him further. All we can do now is keep the wounds clean, change the dressings as necessary, and see that he rests." He glanced at Blessing's brother again, then turned back to her and dipped another nod. "Whisky and laudanum are at his bedside. Administer as needed for his pain."

"Thank you," she forced out even though she'd had to wring the information out of the man. She shifted her glare back to the butler. "Take me to him. Now."

The servant bowed, then hurried up the stairs. "This way, my lady."

Blessing followed, finding herself almost breathless with worry, fear, and dread. "Calm down," she told herself. She had to be the strong one now. Thorne was alive. That irritating doctor had seen to him. Now she would nurse him back to health. Serendipity and Fortuity could help her. Between the two of them, they had taken care of Mama—the very best of care, their dear mother had often said. They would do the same for Thorne.

The butler opened the door to a darkened room that reeked of an almost choking smokiness that Blessing immediately recognized. She wrinkled her nose and pointed at a table bearing a brazier of smoldering coals ruining the air. "Get that mess out of here," she said. "Burning wet herbs and whatever else is mixed in there to create that stench will only cause him to choke and breathe shallower." She hurried to the window, yanked open the curtains, and pushed up the sash as far as it would go.

"But Dr. Tattersol insisted it would help his lordship balance his humors," the butler said.

Blessing turned from the window and advanced upon the man. "What is your name?"

"Cadwick, my lady."

She pointed at the brazier again. "I know of what I speak. My mother suffered with consumption, and one of those braziers nearly took her from us sooner rather than later." She took another step closer, not allowing herself to look at Thorne until she had the air of his room cleared and put in order. "I am the lady of this house now. Or soon will be. I suggest you decide at this very moment if you wish to remain in my employ. Understood?"

The butler hurried to do her bidding.

Only then did Blessing allow herself to look at Thorne. The unnatural frailty of his appearance made her head swim and threatened to throw her to the floor. She steadied herself by grabbing hold of the bedpost, breathing deeply, and holding the breaths to a count of five. Scolding herself for such weakness, she forced herself to stand straighter and made her way to his side.

He lay too still among those pillows, looking as though his wounds had drained him of every last drop of his blood. His left shoulder bulged with layers of dressings secured by bandages wrapped around his bare chest. Unable to resist, she combed her fingers through his dark hair, raking it back from his face. Angry red scrapes on his chin and cheek made her bite her lip. Had he done that when he fell to the ground after the bullets cut through him? She kissed his forehead, pressing her lips against his skin and staying there, not only because the touch of him brought her comfort but because Mama had always said that was the best way to check for fever. Praise God Almighty there was none. "Thank you, Lord," she whispered against the coolness of his flesh. She prayed it stayed that way.

She pulled a chair closer and settled down beside the bed with her gaze fixed on his slow, steady breathing. After checking the bandages to ensure that fool doctor had not wrapped them too tight, she sat back in the seat and folded her hands in her lap. She scowled at the residual smoke still hanging in the air. Burning herbs and what had smelled like horse dung for gunshot wounds? "I mean, really," she muttered. If Thorne had suffered from an ailment of the lungs, burning sage to create a cloud of smoke to ease him would have made sense. She blinked hard and fast against the sting of tears as she remembered reading an herbal aloud to Mama, and how they had worked their way through the many remedies to try to find her any relief possible.

"Put in a good word for him, Mama," she whispered. "He is much too young to die—and…and I love him."

The draperies fluttered as a stronger breeze shushed its way into the room. Blessing smiled. "You put in a good word for him too, Papa. Please?" Her parents had always lovingly vied for their children's attention—each wanting to be their offspring's favorite.

She leaned forward and rested her hand on Thorn's forearm. His muscles flexed and rippled beneath her fingers as if sleepily recognizing her touch. He was so nicely made. She let her gaze travel across him and suddenly wished for her fan.

The bedclothes had been folded back and allowed to rest across his stomach, revealing his broad chest and abdomen covered with dark hair that seemed to sweep into a ridge down his center and point lower like an arrow guiding her to…

She rose, wrung out the cloth in the bowl of cool water, and pressed it to her throat before dabbing it across his forehead and cheeks.

"Oh dear heavens," his mother said from the doorway. "Has fever already set in?"

Blessing turned to Lady Roslynn so the matron could read her lips. "No. I just thought it might let him know I was here while he slept."

Thorne's mother moved to the end of the bed and fixed a worried frown on her son. "He seems so…vulnerable."

On impulse, Blessing gently raked her fingers through his hair again, then paused and pressed her palm to his cheek. Without removing her hand, she turned her head and faced Lady Roslynn. "We will be strong for him. Protect him. As he would do for us if the situation were reversed."

Lady Roslynn studied her for a long moment, then wiped her eyes and sniffed, fighting against tears. "He told you."

Blessing had a fair idea of what the lady meant but didn't wish to betray Thorne sharing his mother's hearing difficulties unnecessarily. "He loves you very much, Lady Roslynn. Your happiness and comfort mean the world to him."

"You are a kind girl," the lady said, her sad smile returning. "I am grateful my prayers for my son were answered."

Blessing couldn't help but smile back at her. "Mind you, my papa always teased I was sometimes a curse rather than the blessing I was named for." She twitched a little shrug. "Something about my obstinance."

Lady Roslynn laughed softly. "I am sure I have no idea what he meant by that."

"Neither do I." Blessing settled back down into her chair. She fixed her gaze on Thorne's sooty lashes resting on his pale cheeks, willing him to heal quickly so they could hunt down Montagne and give the evil cove a proper thrashing.

Lady Roslynn drew another chair over to the other side of the bed and lowered herself into it. "I shall help you keep watch—if you do not mind?"

"You are his mother. You have every right to keep watch over your son."

With a nod of thanks, Lady Roslynn shifted her focus back to her son's face. "He is nothing like his father," she said as if speaking more to herself than Blessing. "That is his greatest fear." She huffed a silent laugh. "Or it was until he thought he had lost you." She tore her gaze from Thorne and locked eyes with Blessing. "Please be kind to my boy. I beg you."

Blessing rested her hand over her heart. "I will, my lady. I promise."

Someone lightly tapped on the bedroom door. Knowing Lady Roslynn hadn't heard it, Blessing told her, "I thought I heard someone at the door," then went to answer it.

Serendipity, Fortuity, Chance, and Ravenglass stood in the hallway, their expressions varying between enraged and worried.

"I wanted to check on you before I returned home." Chance took hold of both her hands and leaned in close as if determined to read the secrets of her soul by looking into her eyes. "Seri and Tutie wish to stay here and help however they can, but I dare not leave the others to themselves until the reprehensible devil responsible for this has been captured." He flinched with frustration. "I shan't attempt to get you to come home, because I know you too well. But please take every precaution, Essie. I beg you. Seven sisters can be a chore, but I cannot imagine my life without each and every one of you nettling me to the ends of the earth." He pecked her cheek. "I love you, Essie. Send for me immediately if—"

"I will." She couldn't bear for him to finish that sentence. It held too much darkness and pain. "And thank you, brother. I would never say this in front of the others, but I do not know what I would do without you."

Chance grinned, then turned and shot Serendipity and Fortuity a smug look. "You heard her."

Both sisters feigned wide-eyed innocence.

"I heard nothing," Serendipity said, before turning to Fortuity. "Did you hear anything?"

Fortuity shook her head. "Not a thing."

Chance turned to Ravenglass, who lifted both hands and backed away while shaking his head.

Surprising herself, Blessing laughed. "Hug the precious ones for me," she told her brother. "And apologize to Felicity for all the wasted treats, and ask if she will help Cook with another wedding luncheon once Thorne heals enough for us to say our vows."

"I am certain she will not mind." Chance gave her an up-and-down scowl. "I do not like leaving you here unprotected."

"I am staying here, Your Grace," Ravenglass told him. "And I have already sent word to those I trust the most to assist me in guarding the premises."

"Good man." Chance gave the viscount a grateful bow, then nodded to his three sisters. "I pity the unsuspecting oaf who believes he can outwit these three." He shook his head and blew out a disgruntled huff. "And there are four more at home who are just as cunning."

"Be safe, Chance," Blessing called out as her brother turned to leave. "You are the only brother I have."

He winked and shook a finger at her. "Remember that the next time I vex you."

She blew him a kiss, then turned back toward the bedroom, but paused with her hand on the door. "I should tell Lady Roslynn that her household has increased."

"Before you do," Ravenglass said, "you should know that we are almost positive it was Montagne. My contacts who watched to ensure he left England confirmed that the man never showed to board the ship crossing the channel."

"I knew Seri and Tutie should have shot the devil when they had the chance." She barely opened the door and peered inside. "Forgive me, but I must get back to his side. I know his mother is there, but I want him to know I am as well."

Ravenglass bowed. "I understand, my lady, and rest assured, you shall be informed of any new developments."

Blessing looked to Serendipity and Fortuity, who both gave her reassuring smiles and nodded.

"Pray for his recovery," she told the three of them, "or all the protection in the world is for naught."

*

He had to get to her, but he couldn't move. Darkness swirled around him. Muddled images, faces blurred by he knew not what, danced around him, taunting that his darling Blessing was about to die. He heard them chanting it in their deadly song.

Thorne thrashed, or tried to, fought to push himself to his knees so he might escape the strange place, but his limbs didn't respond. Something had bolted his arms and legs to the earth with the heaviest of iron shackles.

"Blessing!" he roared. "Blessing, I am coming!"

A gentle coolness pressed against his burning flesh, dabbing as though attempting to ease him. "Free me," he begged the tender touch. "Release my bonds. I must save her."

"She is safe," an angelic voice told him. An angel. It had to be an angel that had somehow found him in this hellish place. For only an angel could be heard above the din of the demonic furor howling for Blessing to die.

"Go to her," he begged the angel. "Please—keep her safe until I can get to her."

"Blessing is safe," the angel said as the cool wetness touched his forehead again.

"Swear it," he demanded. If an angel swore something to be true, then it had to be, or the Almighty Himself would cast it out of heaven. Or so he thought. That had to be right. Surely God would not allow them to speak falsehoods. "Swear my precious Blessing is safe."

"I swear on everything I have ever loved that your Blessing is safe."

Thorne found it easier to breathe now, but it troubled him that the angel sounded sad—even tearful. "Why do you weep?"

"I weep to make you stronger," the angel said, "to heal you with my tears. Your Blessing waits for you. She needs you to return and hold her in your arms."

Thorne wasn't sure, but it felt as though a smile pulled at his mouth. "I will return to her," he promised softly. "Tell her so—and tell her that I love her."

"I will tell her," the angel whispered close to his ear, then pressed a kiss to his temple. "And she loves you too."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

*

In a dress splattered with whisky, bone broth, and a dose of laudanum Thorne had thrashed out of her hand, Blessing sagged back into the chair beside the bed. She prayed that he fought the fever as hard as he fought her whenever she tried to minister to him. She rested her hand on his arm, his flesh so hot it was a wonder he didn't burn her. She had finally managed to get a little willow bark tea down him, but who could say if it was enough to break the fever? At least, it hadn't yet.

Ravenglass, Lady Roslynn, and that useless physician assured her his wounds had not turned putrid, nor appeared inflamed. She had shocked them all by getting Serendipity and Fortuity to help her change his bandages so she could see for herself. The wounds did look to be healing with an acceptable level of redness and bruising, but if that was the case, what was the root of this terrible fever? It had to be something to do with the bullets. She had read somewhere how the metal of the projectiles, even once they were removed, could still taint the flesh and cause sickness.

And poor Thorne most assuredly had sickness. Moaning. Shouting. Thrashing and cursing.

She raised a shaking hand to her head and massaged her throbbing temple. Her poor sisters. A silent yet almost hysterical laugh shook her. They could now say they had seen a man fully naked. And so could she—but somehow, it hadn't mattered because all she cared about was getting him well. She reached out and gently stroked his forearm, hoping that the violence of what had to be horrible dreams had passed. Laudanum could be a curse that way. It helped him escape the pain but tormented his mind. Mama had hated it and refused to take it until her suffering became more than she could bear.

Blessing sagged forward and rested her cheek on his arm, soaking in the feel of him and willing him to heal. Bone-deep weariness nagged at her, but she refused to leave his side. She closed her eyes and sent up yet another silent prayer. Heal him. Save him. Make him all right. Disjointed words, but Mama had always told her it was the heart behind the prayer that mattered.

She vaguely heard a light tapping on the door but ignored it. Thorne was finally still and seemed to be resting peacefully for a change. She refused to move or speak out of fear that it might jostle him back into the terrors of one of his inner battles.

"My lady?" Meggie called out softly. Chance had sent the girl over from Broadmere to help his sisters and, if Blessing wished, to stay on as her lady's maid. "I brought some tea—for you, my lady. To keep up your strength."

Blessing forced herself to sit up and wearily motioned her into the room. She tried to smile but failed. "Thank you, Meggie."

The maid hurried in, set down the tray, poured a steaming cup, and brought it to Blessing. "Extra sugar and cream, my lady. I know you rarely take it that way, but, begging your pardon, you look as though you need it." The girl twitched her small, upturned nose, making Blessing envision her as a thoughtful rabbit. "I can have you a bath drawn right quick, if you like. Lady Serendipity said she would sit with Lord Knightwood so you could have a nice, hot soak and rest for a little while."

Blessing sipped the sweet concoction that resembled treacle and tried not to gag at the cloying sweetness. "I do not wish to leave him that long." She turned and stared at Thorne. With each passing day, the sickly, dark circles under his eyes became worse.

"His breathing is easier than yesterday," Meggie said. "That right there is a grand sign, I tell you."

"He does seem more at peace, but that fever…" Blessing shook her head. "Nothing we do seems to break it."

"Mam always used feverfew or willow bark."

Blessing forced down another sip of the syrupy tea, then rubbed her gritty, burning eyes. "Seri and I tried both, but with him like this, it is difficult to get enough down him to do any good. If only he could become lucid enough to drink without us having to pour it down his throat."

"Shall I at least help you change into a fresh gown for when he wakes?"

Blessing knew the girl was only trying to help and lift her hopes, but she merely wished to be left alone with Thorne until he opened his eyes and recognized her through his feverish haze. "Perhaps later, Meggie. Thank you, that will be all."

"Yes, my lady." Meggie dipped a nod and left the room.

Blessing slid the teacup onto the bedside table, then combed her fingers back through Thorne's hair. Some of the unruly strands insisted on sticking to his damp forehead, so she wet a cloth and washed them aside. "You need a hair trim, my lord." She tipped her head to one side and smiled at him. "Although I must admit you cut quite the dashing figure with your long black hair and chest only covered with bandages." She washed his face, then ran the damp cloth down his arms, praying the stubborn fever would loosen its hold. "You could be a pirate. All you need is a cutlass and a black beard."

"And a ship," came his weak, breathy reply, even though his eyes were still closed.

She stared at him, wondering if she had wanted so badly for him to speak that she had imagined it. "And lots of rum," she said quietly. "Pirates are reported to love rum."

He twitched his upper lip into a sneer. "I would rather have port, my lady." Then he slowly forced his eyes open as though the effort cost him everything. "And your kisses," he said in a raspy whisper. "I would give my soul for your kisses."

A cry burst from her as she cradled his face between her hands and obliged him, tenderly pressing her mouth to his poor lips, all dried and cracked from the high fever no matter how many salves she had applied to them. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks, and she sobbed unashamedly as she touched her forehead to his. "Praise God Almighty—you have come back to me."

"I missed you," he said softly with the barest touch of her cheek. "So very much."

"And I you." She hugged him to her breast, then released him. "Forgive me! Did I hurt your shoulder?"

With a sleepy-eyed look, he slowly shook his head. "No, my treasure. The joy of seeing you makes all else disappear." Then a sternness came across him. "Has that bastard been captured yet? No one else has been hurt, have they?"

"No one else has been hurt," she told him, then debated on sharing the latest news they had received that very day.

"Tell me, Essie. I see trouble brewing in your eyes."

"Lady Myrtlebourne has escaped. It is thought that Montagne aided her."

To her immense relief, Thorne reacted with a lopsided smile. "They deserve each other. Any word on whether they left London?"

"None as yet." She supported his head and held a cup of water to his mouth. "We need to get this and plenty of broth into you to help you fight the return of the fever." As she eased his head back down onto the pillow, she noticed how he flinched. "More laudanum. You are hurting."

He barely shook his head. "No more laudanum. I do not wish to return to that hell." He shifted his head on the pillow and stared at her with so much love in his eyes that it made her catch her breath. "The pain is not so bad," he said. "I can bear anything now that I know you are safe and here with me."

She hugged his hand to her chest, a joyous storm of renewed hope surging through her. "I am here, and here I shall stay."