Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

S o much in Alex's body still did not feel right. His arm was sore, his chest still tight, his throat still burned, and his mind was muddled. He knew he was not thinking clearly or possibly even seeing clearly. He had jumbled memories of teas and tinctures, coughs and blood… was he dying? Is this what dying felt like?

The angel beside him was an indicator that yes, he could very possibly be dying.

He had never woken in bed with a woman by his side, snuggled next to him so close they were sharing the same air. When he reared his head back, despite the pain in his body shifting, the sight before him robbed him of breath in a way that wasn't nearly as unpleasant.

God in heaven. What was this?

Emily Westcott. The name reverberated over and over again in his mind. It was clear that he recognized her as his wife, but she looked so different. Eyes closed, blonde curls lightly tousled against his pillow, her lips parted and releasing the smallest of steady breaths. Compared to the vibrant demeanor and angry tirades he was familiar with, in this soft morning glow, she now seemed more ethereal and captivating.

He wanted this forever.

With his mind still foggy, Alex lifted a shaky hand and managed to reach out to brush the locks of hair from her face, the backs of his fingers brushing against her cheek. The corners of her lips turned upward, and she let out a sleepy sigh, cuddling closer to him.

His heart rate heightened to a gallop, and Alex worried something new was going wrong. He didn't want to cough or sneeze or even breathe if that meant she would wake. He wanted to keep this view of her, just like this. He didn't know what their future would bring, but he wanted more of this, if he could help it. In his deliriousness, his eyes closed in a desperate prayer.

"Please, God. Do not let me lose out on a chance to live a life with my wife."

Emily folded her arms across her chest and bit her lip. The more she watched her husband, the more dissatisfied she became.

He was steadily getting worse. His breathing did not sound as labored as it used to but now, he was coughing up blood, which increased her anxiety. It was the same with all her friends who had died at the boarding school, the last indicator that their bodies would fail, and she couldn't fathom letting him go. Not yet. If there was any way she could save him, she would do it.

"There must be something," Emily mumbled to herself. "Something else we haven't done yet. Something more that would help. "

"The doctor has assured us he's tried everything," Nielson said, while Mrs. Barnes wept in the corner.

Emily shook her head, returning to her seat on the bed and using a cloth to clear the sweat from his face. "This fever is going to burn him alive from the inside. Perhaps we need to remove the treatments. The tea does seem to help his cough, but no more leeches, no more laudanum."

The butler nodded solemnly.

Unable to remain still a moment longer, Emily stood and took to pacing the room. The lack of sleep and abundance of worry had surely altered how effectively her mind worked, and it frustrated her to no end. How could she care for her husband if she couldn't use her own faculties on his behalf?

She thought back on everything he had told her. He had always been sickly as a young boy at Markham Estate. When he said he did not wish to return, she had assumed it was the unhappy memories he did not wish to remember, but now she was coming to learn it something far beyond that alone. Something about this place made him ill. It could not be that it was unclean, for Emily had seen firsthand just how hard Mrs. Barnes and the maids worked. She could never mention such a thing, but perhaps she did need to discuss the possible idea of getting him away. Perhaps he would heal with better surroundings. But where?

They could return to his townhome in London, and there would be more doctors accessible there, but would they say the same thing as this country doctor? Or where had he said his family was—in Bath? It was common to take the waters there to improve one's health, but perhaps it wasn't water he needed, rather clean air. And would his family have space for the both of them? Could she impose on them having only met the mother once? Would they know what to do when he was sick like this ?

Emily froze. What had his mother said when she met the woman before? Something about the sea?

"What was the seaside town that the young master frequented as a boy?" Emily turned, searching for Mrs. Barnes.

The housekeeper sniffled, stepping forward. "Brighton, madam."

Confirmation burned in Emily's chest. She had to do it. It might be the only thing that would save him.

"Do you know the inn where he frequented?" Emily asked urgently.

"I do, and we sent an inquiry recently, but have not yet received word back. I think the master suspected it had closed in his absence."

"He had inquired about Brighton?" Emily asked, her mind reeling. Yes, he had mentioned something about it before.

Nielson nodded. "I believe he had hoped to take you there, madam."

Recognition dawned, and Emily wanted to double over for the regret in her stomach. That first dinner together, he had been trying to invite her to Brighton. And she'd been too focused on her plan to leave him to see anything clearly. Anything beyond her own selfishness.

"But he can't go to Brighton now. What will the doctor say?" Mrs. Barnes asked. "What if Mr. Westcott is too ill to travel?"

Emily shook her head. "If he can rest in bed, then he can rest in a carriage. It might be difficult, but the seaside air will do him good, I'm sure of it. It will be worth the struggle if it means we can save his life."

She did not want to consider if he did not survive the journey.

Of course, the doctor might object. In fact, Alex himself would probably object, if he had enough mind present. But she could only rely on herself now, and she would do everything within her power to save her husband.

"Call for the doctor if you wish, but we're going no matter what he says."

Nielson frowned but nodded. "Very well. Shall I make ready to leave by the end of the week?"

"No." She could not guarantee they would have that much time left. "We're leaving first thing tomorrow morning."