Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

It might have been a lifetime before he vaulted over the wall or a moment, all Ian knew was he had to reach Charlotte.

Snow and ice swirled around as black clouds raced over the forest overhead. He threw off his jacket and dove into the water, cutting through the current to reach her.

“Charlotte!”

He gently reached under her body and flipped her, cupping his hand beneath her head. Blood stained his hands, her face was pale, and his stomach twisted at how blue her lips were tinged.

“Answer me, answer me. Charlotte.”

That water was too cold, and she wasn’t speaking.

“Open your eyes. Can you hear me?”

He wrapped his arms around her body and floated her to shore. When the horse threw her…

“Charlotte, wake up.”

He rolled her onto her side and struck his hand against her back, gently, uncertain if she had swallowed any water. She was so cold beneath his touch, so still…

When she didn’t respond, he positioned her onto her back and tilted her chin, his eyes surveying her body. Charlotte must have struck her head. Her blonde hair was sticky with crimson blood. Her arm appeared as if it was broken, and between the cuts marring her skin, he was certain she was bruised.

But she would wake up.

She must.

“Charlotte, you need to answer me. You can’t run off like that. Can’t…” his voice caught in his throat as the ice lashed against his skin. “You never should have jumped.”

He didn’t know where to place his hands. He needed to stop the bleeding. He needed her to wake up.

“Help!” Ian screamed up into the sky. Up into the far-stretching reaches of Cumbria with the way the words ripped from his lungs, and still it wasn’t enough.

Charlotte couldn’t leave.

Not like this.

It was never meant to be like this.

“If we stay here, you may die,” he said, his voice shaking. “I need to fetch the surgeon, but I must bring you with me. Charlotte, don’t you dare die, do you hear me? We aren’t done yet. You can’t leave me. I forbid it.”

He draped his jacket over her and gently lifted her into his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder. It had been years since he last held her, and he refused to let this be the last.

His mind raced ahead as he focused on returning to Stonehurst. He rode hard, yelling for help the entire way, even as the snow and ice turned to rain and soaked him to the bone.

“You are furious with me,” he said to her, talking to her as if she were awake. She must wake up. He wouldn’t accept otherwise. “So, wake up and yell at me as you wish. You’ve already burned my damn suits.”

He should be furious, but that wasn’t the startling truth settling in around him. Not as Stonehurst emerged in the distance and he cried for help while riding hard toward the stable.

“Your Grace?”

“Send someone for the surgeon now,” he yelled. And rode the horse passed the stable to the house. A few of the footmen rushed outside.

“Gently, don’t hurt her,” he barked, handing down Charlotte to them so he could dismount. “Hurry, bring her to the bedchamber. Make sure someone fetches the surgeon.”

“Your Grace, come inside,” someone said to him, but he pushed everyone aside, his eyes locked on Charlotte as they carried her up the stairs.

“Which room, Your Grace?”

“Mine.” When the footman looked at one another, he nearly growled. “Now.”

“What happened?” another asked as he raced up the stairs, pushing around others to keep an eye on her.

“Don’t move her head,” Ian demanded. “Is she breathing?”

“Your Grace?”

If he heard one more question, he might lose his mind.

“What is it?” he snapped.

“You’re covered in blood. Are you sure you haven’t been injured as well?”

He briefly glanced down at his shirt and hands stained with blood. Her blood.

And all because of him. He hadn’t even heard her scream. It happened so fast.

“See that the doctor is summoned immediately,” he continued yelling, rushing into his room. He pulled down the bedsheets and saw her settled on the mattress.

She remained motionless.

“Your Grace, let’s help you clean up…”

“No!”

He spun around and gripped the wall, certain he would toss up his accounts. She wasn’t dead. He was far too stubborn to allow her to slip away that easily. But she…

“Don’t move her,” he growled again, his head bent. He had no choice but to ride her back to the estate, but if she had injured her back or her neck, it might be too serious of an injury to overcome .

Damn it. “I need clean bandages and warm water. We need to find the cut on her head and stop the bleeding.”

“They’ve been ordered, Your Grace,” the butler added. “And should be here shortly.”

The housekeeper, Mrs. Canfield, swept into the room next, gasped, and held her hands up to her mouth. “Oh,” she cried. “Oh, the duchess!”

He pushed back from the wall and marched over to the bed. Blood seeped into the sheets now, stretching out toward him.

“Someone, help,” he whispered, staring. He froze, couldn’t swallow, could hardly breathe.

He was losing her.

She would bleed out in front of him.

He would never see her beautiful eyes again, never hear her laugh, never feel her touch.

“Come wait out in the hall, Your Grace,” Mrs. Canfield said, trying to steer him away. “We will watch over her?—”

“I can’t leave her.” He gently shook off his housekeeper’s touch, pushing toward his bed. The bed he and Charlotte had intended to share as husband and wife.

The same bed she lay in now, dying.

“Why are you here?” Ian asked.

Nathaniel rushed in with Monty close on his heels. With one look, Nathaniel charged Ian, throwing a fist into his left jaw, nearing toppling him over.

“I told you not to hurt her!” Nathaniel yelled, trying to hit Ian again as Monty pushed between the brothers.

“Stop, stop now.”

“What did you do to her?”

Ian shook off Monty’s touch, furious. He wiped his throbbing lip, furious that Nathaniel landed a punch. “I didn’t do anything. She tried jumping the wall?— ”

“It needed to be repaired,” Nathaniel said, shutting his eyes and tossing his head up toward the ceiling. “I told her not to jump that wall.”

Guilt sank in Ian’s stomach. She wouldn’t have attempted it if it hadn’t been for him. If he hadn’t arrived, if he hadn’t confronted her.

If, if, if…

“You left for London,” Ian said, his hands on his hips. “Why are you here?”

“We stopped at the tavern in the village,” Monty answered, “So we hadn’t made it far when we saw the stable hand race by on horseback, shouting Stonehurst needed a surgeon. I thought it best to circle back.”

Nathaniel reeked of alcohol. The very smell of it turned Ian’s stomach. “You will only get in the way. I don’t need you here.”

“I’ll punch you again, Brother, but it will only waste our time. For now, let’s agree to focus on Charlotte. I will see if there is anything else that needs to be done. You’re welcome to stay here and wear a hole in the hallway while you wait for the surgeon.”

The surgeon arrived nearly thirty minutes later and examined Charlotte.

Ian paced the hallway outside of his bedchamber. He would stop now and again to listen, waiting for the doctor to finish his examination of Charlotte. He had scrubbed his hands, but still they were stained. Her blood hid beneath his fingernails, reminding him he had failed her.

The door cracked open, and the doctor emerged, clutching his bag in his hand. “Your Grace, I will be back tomorrow morning, but the duchess is seriously injured. She dislocated her shoulder, bruised several ribs, and suffered from a significant head injury. I’m not certain if she will regain consciousness.”

“You are not certain?” Ian growled.

“Listen to the doctor,” Nathaniel said, clapping a hand over Ian’s shoulder. He shook off the touch, certain it stung. He didn’t want to be touched. He wanted Charlotte to wake up.

“It will be of the utmost importance that she is monitored closely. I have cleaned and bandaged her wounds, but there is still a risk of a fever.”

Ian shook his head, placing his hands on his hips and hanging his head. “No. She will overcome this. I am certain of it. I will send for nurses to come and help with her care. I will…”

Nathaniel approached again. “You can do everything, and we may still lose her. Let’s see how she is in the morning.”

Lose her ?

No, she wouldn’t leave him. Ian wouldn’t accept such a possibility.

Ian tossed another book over his shoulder, threw his hands on his hips, and squinted in the dim light in the library. He couldn't find what he needed.

“What are you doing?” Nathaniel burst through the door. “You should be sleeping. You need some rest.”

Ian scoffed, ignored his brother, and pulled another book from the shelf.

He flipped through the pages urgently, tossing it behind his shoulder onto the floor.

“Ian?” Nathaniel asked. He slapped a hand over Ian’s shoulder, and he tensed, throwing off the touch.

“Go away,” he mumbled, thumbing through the book’s index.

“You need rest. The surgeon says it'll be a long road, but there’s good chance she’ll recover. All will be well.”

Ian didn't want to hear it. His stomach was sour, his heart raced in his chest, and he couldn't find the damn book. He was certain she must have one somewhere in this godforsaken house.

His brother studied him, his brows pinched with seriousness. Ian could still smell the port waft from him, and that only spurred on his anger.

“Why aren't you in London?” Ian snapped, his posture straightening.

Nathaniel sighed. “I'm here for you. For you and Lottie. ”

“Don't call her that.” Ian barked a heartless laugh and glanced off to the side before returning his stare at his brother. Nathaniel’s eyes reminded him of his mother's, the same disappointment ringing hollow in them.

"You can leave," Ian said. “That seems to be a common theme in this family."

As soon as he said it, regret washed over him. He didn’t mean it. Nathaniel more than anyone knew what it was like to be left alone. Ian grabbed yet another book, racing his finger down the table of contents, then cursing under his breath when he saw there still wasn't anything listed about taking care of orchids. He tossed it over his shoulder.

"Jesus," Nathaniel exclaimed. "What are you doing? You're going to ruin the library."

But there was no time, and Ian couldn't sleep. And Charlotte could be lying in his bed at this moment. Dying.

“I can't let her plants die,” he said.

Nathaniel placed his hand over the section of books on the bookshelf, blocking Ian from grabbing another. “What do you mean?”

“Her orchids. I need to take care of her orchids,” Ian explained. “They’re important to her.”

“Susan knows how to take care of them,” Nathaniel said. “She’s usually the one in charge of them when Charlotte goes to Town.”

Ian spun, glancing around the library. Books were scattered all over the floor, the botany section nearly completely upended. “I can't find a damn book on orchids. In the morning, I need to write to the bookstore in London and have them sent here. By that time,” he said, his voice cracking, “she'll likely be awake. She needs time to recover is all.”

Nathaniel looked as if he would say more, but maybe for the better, he shut his mouth. “I'll help you pick these books up,” he said. “Then you need some rest. I'll make sure to keep an eye on her. And I'll wake you if anything changes. Now, come on, give me that book there. ”

Ian reluctantly bent down and handed the book to his younger brother.

“I can't lose her,” Ian said. “A book will not fix that, Nate. She’s upstairs, and I’m searching for a damn book, and she could die.”

“The surgeon is caring for her. But you’re right, finding a book on orchids at nearly two in the morning won’t help.” Nathaniel shrugged. “I don't know what will. I know she loves you still. And I know that, whether you wish to admit it, you do, too. For now, you’ll need to trust that’s enough.”