Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

Colin’s body turned to ice as he watched Mercy hit the ground, her body slumping onto the wooden floor just beside the rug. Time was sluggish and his ears rang. He blinked, immediately rushing to kneel at her side.

“Mercy,” he said, his heart pounding in his ears. He wiped the white dust from her cheeks and eyes. Even her copper lashes were dusted white. He didn’t know if her face was pale from the plaster or the fall, but her freckles were covered, so he hoped it was the former.

“Wake up,” he repeated, pleading.

She stirred, the line forming between her eyebrows giving him great relief. If she was to wake so quickly, the injury could not be too dire.

“Colin?” she asked, blinking.

“Do not speak. I am going to carry you from the room so you do not sustain further injuries. Will that be all right?”

She moved to nod but stopped herself, her scowl deepening.

Colin slipped a hand beneath her back and the other under her knees. It took a bit of maneuvering to rise from his kneeling position with her in his arms, all the while doing his best not to jostle her too greatly. He felt relief when he made it through the open doorway and away from further danger. Where to take her? It would be better if he did not need to move her again.

To a bedchamber, then. Colin mounted the stairs and turned down the corridor, Mercy’s head resting in the hollow of his collarbone. Her forehead pressed against his neck, the touch of her skin warm against his.

He passed Dorothy, who sucked in a quiet gasp.

“Send for the doctor immediately. Mrs. Birchall has been hit on the head.” His tone betrayed the depth of his concern.

“Right away, sir,” she said, hurrying away.

“You are going to give the servants leave to think I’m terribly injured,” Mercy mumbled, her voice lacking all venom.

His stomach clenched, and his hands tightened around her. “We do not know the extent of the damage yet. You were unconscious, Mercy.”

“Not for long, I hope.”

It had only been a minute, perhaps less than that, but it had felt like an eternity. Hopefully that boded well for her. “Not long at all,” he promised. “Though you might be able to understand why the situation is no less frightening for the brief duration of your unconsciousness, Mercy. You fainted.”

The image of her falling lifeless to the floor replayed in his mind as he made his way down the corridor. He skipped her door and nudged his open, then crossed to the bed. He was gentle, but it was not easy to pull back the blanket without jostling her a little before he could lay her down on the mattress .

“My shoes,” she complained, her voice quiet. “They will dirty the linens.”

He moved to the foot of the bed immediately, bending to unfasten her shoes and slipping them from her feet. He tucked them on the floor beneath the bed and moved to her head again. “Does it hurt?”

“The room is spinning, but I do not believe I am in danger of fainting again, if that is what worries you.”

“I am relieved to hear it,” he said.

She opened her eyes, rubbing more of the dust from them, before settling her gaze on him again. “I am sorry, Colin. I spent a good deal of time in that room this week and nothing of this sort happened. Not even a little dust.”

“You needn’t speak of it now.”

“But I was wrong. You were right.”

There was no sense of justice or reward in her admission. He hadn’t wanted to be right. He would have been much happier had nothing occurred.

“The servants’ rooms are above the drawing room, so I did not think the roof repairs would have any bearing?—”

“They are not repairing the roof any longer,” he said. “They were replacing waterlogged boards from a leak in one of the old servants’ rooms. The same leak that caused all the damage in the drawing room.”

She blinked, seeming to understand what he was saying.

“You had not experienced the decay of the drawing room’s ceiling all week because they had not yet reached that servant’s room. Not until today.”

Mercy closed her eyes. “I feel so foolish, Colin.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over her. “Headstrong, perhaps. You are anything but foolish.”

“Are you trying to make a joke? ”

He realized how she could take it. Headstrong.

“You sound like my father,” she muttered, fluttering her eyes open and sparkling up at him in amusement.

He could not help but smile at that. She was so beautiful. “There are worse things than sounding like the esteemed Mr. Caldwell.”

Her expression dropped. “Most people would disagree with you.”

Colin reached up and brushed more plaster powder from her forehead, revealing more of her freckles. “Your father is a good man who loves you very much. I have misjudged him, I think.”

“Most people do.”

“I hope to correct that in the future.”

Joy lit her face. “You mean it?”

“Of course. I thought to invite your family for Christmas dinner, but I’m unsure if Mrs. Johns has enough?—”

“She has plenty. We’ve planned a whole goose dinner. Even if we use it to feed the servants as well, there will be more than enough.”

Of course she had. His Mercy thought of everything.

There was a knock at the door and Colin rose to find Flint standing there, his worried gaze dropping to Mercy. “Dr. Vance has come.”

“See him in,” Colin said.

Flint stepped aside and Dr. Vance approached, a leather bag hanging from his hand. His white hair was combed neatly and his spectacles clear. He was a man of order, and Colin trusted him implicitly.

“Good evening, Mr. Birchall, Mrs. Birchall. Now, who would like to tell me what has happened?”

The doctor only remained for a half-hour, long enough to examine Mercy and determine that she would not sustain lasting injuries. Her head was bound to ache for a day or two, and she ought to spend the remainder of the day resting to avoid dizziness, but all told, it was not a great injury.

Colin disagreed with the last bit. Watching his wife fall to the floor had been a great injury to both his feelings and her head, but he understood—in the grand scheme of the situation—he should be grateful it was not worse. He sent word to Mrs. Johns to prepare broth for dinner, as Dr. Vance had explained Mercy might feel nausea for the next few hours, then settled himself on a chair he had dragged close to the bed.

Mercy laid in bed, her back propped against stacked pillows. She brushed her copper hair away from her face, her coloring somewhat restored. “You needn’t remain here, Colin.”

He very much disagreed. He didn’t want to leave her sight. Their argument felt so trite now, so ridiculous. Both of them had been correct, if he was being honest with himself. Because of that, he knew he owed her an apology—he had for some time now.

“What is it?” she asked, pushing to sit up, her eyebrows pulling together.

Colin laid his hand over where hers rested on the mattress. “Do not trouble yourself. It is nothing.”

She didn’t believe him. “You look upset.”

“I am, but not at you. I feel like a fool for caring so greatly for things of little consequence. I am sorry, Mercy.” He squeezed her fingers, pleasantly surprised when they curled around his own. “You were right. I was holding you to a standard set by my mother and not giving you any allowance to be different. She was the only mistress of Winterbourne I knew. I have been in this house alone for four years, so it was what I expected things to return to.”

“That is understandable.”

He felt a surge of affection for her sensible frame of mind. “Perhaps, but I should have seen my errors much sooner. You had pointed them out well.”

Mercy blushed. “Your mother and I do not always handle things the same way, but I do not believe either of us to be wrong, Colin. Merely different.”

“I came to the same conclusion. You are smart and practical. I ought to be grateful you see what needs to be done and take action. It is admirable, Mercy.” He held her gaze until she dropped her eyes. He feared that perhaps he should have waited to foist this conversation upon her until she was recovered and her headache gone. Pushing from his chair, he shot her a smile. “I will leave you to rest. Is there anything I can fetch for you?”

“You can help me to my room, Colin,” she said, her cheeks growing pink.

He looked down at her, the implications of his actions taking full root in his mind. He hadn’t brought her to his bedchamber for any other reason than because he did not want to be separated from her—both while she was being seen by the doctor and for the remainder of the night. He needn’t search his mind too heavily for an explanation. It was clear he cared for her.

No one had thought of him so deeply in as long as he could remember. His family was gone, his father dead, his friends—well, he didn’t have many of those, did he? Keeping his estate from utter ruin had consumed him for years, and he was tired. Mounting the stairs in search of Mercy earlier and finding the railing swathed in greenery, holly berries, and Christmas cheer had initially filled him with an overwhelming sense of joy—until he’d found her in the drawing room and concern had smothered all other feelings.

Mercy was a paragon, as Lady Edith was apt to say. The act of considering others was a simple gift but among the most powerful. Mercy’s charitable mind was not limited to sick baskets and lending assistance; it was richly embroiled in the way she carried herself and thought of others. She had consistently proven this, caring for people regardless of their status—servants and husbands alike. Which gave Colin pause, because he could not assume her kindness meant she felt anything out of the ordinary for him.

But he knew what he felt for her. He loved his woman. He would do anything for her. And that meant explaining himself without frightening or overwhelming her with his bursting feelings. “I hoped to keep watch over you this evening,” he said gently. “If that makes you uncomfortable, I will help you across the corridor.”

She peered at him, searching his face as though attempting to read his thoughts. “I am not uncomfortable with you, Colin.”

His heart felt as though it had lifted, as though his entire body had filled with a cloud. He moved closer, lowering himself to perch on the edge of her bed. Laying his hand over hers, he held her green-eyed gaze. “I have not been an understanding man, but I promise to do better.”

She let out a soft breath. “I have not taken your warnings to heart, and I will do better as well. We both could have listened better to the other person, I think.”

“That we could.” His gaze dropped to her lips, so pink and full. He wanted to kiss her, the urge to lean forward and close the gap pressing into his heart. But he could not be the one to make the first step, not when he had given her that power shortly after their wedding. It wasn’t right to take advantage of her freshly on the heels of her distress and injury.

With great restraint, Colin tore his gaze from her lips and leaned back, offering his best version of a smile. “Rest well, Mercy.”

She seemed to sigh and nestled back against the pillows. “Thank you, Colin.”