Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

A lex did not improve. In fact, he grew considerably worse.

His cough had grown more difficult and strained, his breathing more labored. He couldn't lay down for any long period of time without triggering the tickle in his throat all over again. He had no control over his sneezes or the headache that consistently lingered. It was as if all his abilities to breathe had been compromised and there was no deliverance.

Just as it had been before.

He could recognize it as his childhood illness from the very first day they returned. Something about this house, this place, had always been against him. He thought perhaps he had overcome it, for after he'd left Wiltshire, he'd grown into a man and considered himself strong and healthy. The mystery illness had no longer plagued him. If his father were alive, it would have been the one thing he perhaps could have taken pride for in his son. But here Alex was, full-blown disease all over again, and somehow worse than ever before. Perhaps he wasn't as strong as he thought he was.

Alex sat on the edge of his bed in a sleep-deprived daze, wheezing into the darkness of the night. Morning would not come for some time yet, and he would remain in this misery. There was nothing anyone could do to fix him, and he would not deprive his wife of the one happiness she'd finally found since being shackled with him. He would have to find a way to endure, to suffer through it for her.

Another cough attacked from within, throat burning and chest tightening from the strain. He wanted to collapse on the bed from fatigue, but being prostrate would only make it worse, so he simply crumbled to the floor.

He rested his head against the bed, and dozed into some dreamlike state, though he didn't know for how long when he woke to the sound of his name.

"Alex," a quiet voice sounded in the distance.

When he looked up, he was robbed of any remaining breath at the sight. A woman stood before him in a long, white robe with blonde curls cascading down her shoulders. She held a gilded candlestick, the only source of light in the darkness that surrounded him. Was she an angel, come to deliver him to heaven?

"What the devil are you doing on the floor?" she asked.

No, indeed. That would be his wife.

He let out a laugh that turned into an unsteady cough.

"I thought you said you would never use that connecting door," he said, hardly any voice left in him.

She glared down at him. "I will not let you die alone while I listen on the other side."

"I will not die," he said, his head lolling to one side.

"That is correct, you will not die. At least not while I am here. Now up with you."

Wrapping her hands around his arm, she pulled him up, and he tried to help her with what little strength he had left. He sat himself on the bed, and when she pushed him back, he shook his head .

"I cannot lie down, for it only makes the coughing worse," he insisted.

"Very well." She set down the candlestick on his side table. "Then we will prop up the pillows."

She moved around to the other side of his bed, piling up pillows to provide a comfortable way to prop him in an upright position. Why had he not thought of such a thing himself? Perhaps he did not have enough mental power left.

"There. And if you need more, I will take the pillows from my own bed."

Alex shook his head. "But you need—"

"I do not need eight pillows. I have done very well with less for most of my life."

As he relaxed against the pillows, he realized how much he still did not know about his wife, despite how much he wanted to. He needed to redouble his endeavors to win her over, and to thank her for all her efforts on his behalf.

She moved to leave the room, but he caught her by the arm. "I'm sorry for what I said yesterday."

"It hardly matters now," she said sternly with a shake of her head.

"It does matter." The pounding in his head continued, and he regretted saying something that could have waited, but he pressed on. "I had no intention of insulting you, only to appreciate you. That because we are so similar, it might be difficult, but it is not impossible."

"Yes, Alex, all right. You are forgiven."

But he did not release his hold on her. "And I do not wish for us to seek separate lives. I know that many others do, but I do not want to have to." He hoped she understood the desperation in his voice. "We may have had a rough start of it, but I believe we can make this marriage work. We can still be happy together if we try. That is what I intended to tell you over the dinner back in London, that I am willing to try. For you. "

He hoped his words made sense, unsure since his mind was still a jumble. Her words in the stable still broke his heart, and he had to figure out a way to make her understand before it was too late.

She sighed, as if admitting defeat before him. She slid from his grasp to hold his hand in hers as she sat on the side of the bed. "I understand, Alex. We'll talk more when you're recovered, all right?"

"Very well."

She pulled her hand from his. "Now I'm going to ring for some tea."

"Don't bother, it can wait till morning."

She turned her fiery blue eyes on him, and it stilled his words.

"Do you think Mrs. Barnes would rather you suffer while she sleeps? Of course not," she said before he could respond. "I do not intend to wake the entire house, but you will have some medicinal tea. Something with chamomile and ginger, to address the cough and help you sleep. I will not have a corpse for a husband."

Alex sighed, for he did not have the energy to fight with her. "So insistent."

The position of the pillows had proved quite successful, for he finally found some peace, not knowing how much time had passed when he woke again to not only his wife but also to a concerned Mrs. Barnes.

"Here, drink this," Mrs. Westcott insisted, holding out a teacup for him.

The hot liquid burned his tongue, but it ironically soothed his damaged throat, and he let out a sigh of relief.

"Take more when you can," she urged, before turning to Mrs. Barnes. "I want someone sent immediately for the doctor. If we're lucky, he' ll arrive at first light."

Alex lifted his hand and placed it on his wife's wrist. "Don't, please."

She pulled her arm from his grasp. "Hush. I'm more stubborn than you, and right now, more able. I will do as I see fit."

Unable to bear her anymore, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Heavens above. You are the most…"

"Yes, I know. The most infuriating woman."