Rachel Carrington (15 page)

Letta smiled and accepted a cup of the fragrant brew. “I do not blame her, Nettie. Miss Morgan has every right to be scared, but I do not believe that the Duke is the one whose life ended last night. I have too much peace inside.”

Nettie harumphed her way to the draperies. “Well, I am certainly glad someone has some peace. The wind is still howling like a madwoman out there. It would be a wonder if anyone survived were they out in those winds. I just pray that our Duke is safe and sound in town with the others. If not, may God rest his soul, then.” With tears in her eyes, she whisked her way out of the room, leaving the soothsayer alone with her thoughts.

Standing outside the door, Carla allowed the soothsayer’s words to be a soothing balm to her soul. Her heart still ached for knowledge of Sinclair, but at least now, she had hope.

She returned to the drawing room with a rueful smile at Letta. “Pardon my outburst. I was frightened.”

Letta nodded. “There is no need to explain. I saw your fear in your eyes.”

“And you’re certain it wasn’t Sinclair whose death you saw?”

There was something in the soothsayer’s eyes, just a brief flicker, that started Carla’s thoughts whirling again and moments later, she understood why.

Chapter Six

Nettie rushed back into the room and the words she spoke were delivered in a shaky tone that brought Carla and Letta to their feet instantly. “I am sorry to disturb you, Miss Morgan, but there’s a message here for you. The boy says he cannot deliver it to anyone but you. He’s under orders, he says.”

Carla’s skirts swirled about her legs as she followed the housekeeper to the front entrance. Her hand shook as it reached for the folded piece of paper in the messenger’s hand. Her fingers refused to cooperate as she unfolded the sheet. The words were simple and direct and Carla whirled around. “I must go to town at once.”

“But, Miss Morgan, it is not safe! The roads are still wet and travel will be extremely dangerous!” Nettie protested.

Carla shoved the note into her hand. “It’s the Duke. He’s come down with a fever. They have him in one of the houses in town. I have to go to him.” As she passed Letta, she stopped, grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Death has not occurred.”

Letta smiled. “It was not his time.”

Carla practically flew up the stairs to gather her things. When she returned, the young messenger waited for her, shifting from foot to foot in his impatience to be gone.

“Henry has the carriage waiting.” Nettie’s hands settled on Carla’s shoulders. “Tell His Grace that we are all praying for him. Godspeed, Miss Morgan.”

“Thank you, Nettie.” Impulsively, Carla kissed the housekeeper’s rounded cheek and dashed out into the misty air.

* * * * *

Carla found Sinclair shrouded in blankets. The air inside the tiny room serving as his hospital room glistened with steam from the boiling pots of water. Sweat beaded his forehead and dampened his hair.

Dark eyelashes rested against cheeks the color of flaxen.

His appearance should have made Carla turn and run or at the very least, cover her eyes. Instead, she headed straight to his side, reaching for his hand just to assure herself that he was alive.

The village’s doctor hadn’t given his chances of survival a very high rating, but Carla wasn’t going to give up. Letta had said that death had occurred and maybe it had, but it hadn’t taken Sinclair. And she wasn’t ready to let him go.

“He has a terrible fever, Miss.” One of the town’s ladies wrung her hands in despair as she stared down at the still form of her Duke. “He’s a quite lovely man, he is. I will miss him sorely.”

Carla still held tightly to Sinclair’s listless hand. “He’s not going anywhere. I’m not going to let him.”

“The doctor says the fever can’t be fought. There’s nothing to do but let him die in peace.”

Carla’s eyes flashed as she faced the older woman. “As I said, I’m not going to let him go anywhere. He made a promise to me and I’m going to see that he keeps it.” Releasing his hand, she reached for the basin of cool water. “Now, go tell the others that they can stop boiling that water. I need cool water, not hot. We need to bring his fever down.” Grasping the edge of the sheet, she tugged it down to his waist.

The old woman gasped and covered her eyes. “Miss, it isn’t seemly to gaze upon the Duke’s uncovered body. He would not like it.”

“You think he would like to die better?” Carla pressed the water-soaked cloth against Sinclair’s chest, bathing the dark skin, feeling the muscles yield beneath her palms. Maybe later, when Sinclair was better and they could laugh about this damnable fever, she would remember how the broad expanse of his chest was covered with a light matting of chest hair. She would recall the textured feel of his chest wall beneath the thin material of the cloth and she would never forget the gentle thrum of his heart beneath her fingertips. For now, she had a task to do.

One eye toward the door told her that the woman hadn’t moved. Hardening her voice, Carla addressed her once more. “If you don’t want to help, then leave. I don’t need someone standing there gawking at me.”

The door slammed shut behind the old woman’s nervous figure.

Methodically, Carla began to bathe Sinclair, taking care to keep her hands gentle, her movements slow.

Her hands paused at the top button of his breeches and she hesitated. Instinct and the advantage of modern-day knowledge told her that an all-over body bath would be the best thing to help bring his fever down, but she wasn’t so sure that she could follow through with her brave words.

Sinclair pulled in a deep breath, his lungs straining with the effort. His face contorted with pain as spasms racked his chest. Coughing so violently that his body lifted off the mattress, Sinclair’s hands doubled into fists, bunching the sheets in his palms. His eyes opened, tried to focus on his nurse. His lips formed a name. “Sara.” Then, he collapsed back down against the bed.

Carla shouldn’t have been surprised that he saw his dead wife in his hallucinations. She’d been the love of his life and she certainly couldn’t expect him to replace her in the short span of one week. But she couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of disappointment that swept over her and she had to admit that she wished it had been her name on his lips.

* * * * *

The fever raged on for days with no end in sight. Carla left her sentry post only for a quick meal and for absolute necessity. Otherwise, she stayed at Sinclair’s side. She slept in a chair beside the bed, her head resting against the mattress. She listened to his ragged breathing and although the sound terrified her, she much preferred it to the silence the doctor still insisted would come.

Outside the sickroom, all hope seemed lost. Villagers were planning a wake, making preparations to mourn their dearly departed Duke. Messages had been sent to Sinclair’s family and their arrival was imminent. The windows had been covered with heavy, black brocade, obliterating the sun, lending additional gloom to an atmosphere that didn’t need the assistance. And the front door of the house that had been quarantined now bore a heavy wooden cross, a sign to all passersby that a dying family member was inside. And that is exactly what the town of Heath considered their Duke…family.

Carla dabbed at the sweat on her forehead with a clean cloth, leaning back against the upholstered chair with a tired sigh. Exhaustion laid claim to her limbs. She felt weak and frustrated. When she’d arrived at the house, she’d been determined that she wasn’t going to let Sinclair go, but now, doubts assailed her, forcing her to rethink her position. Maybe, by bathing him, watching over him, she only prolonged his agony. Maybe it was his time after all.

Tears filled her eyes as she looked down into his pale face. “Sinclair, I’m so sorry. I wish I could have helped you.” She touched his cheek, the heat of his skin searing her hand. “It’s been five days now and you still don’t even know that I’m in the room with you. I think maybe it’s time that I listened to the doctor. I wish I could have done more. I never wanted this for you. I thought…well, it doesn’t matter now. You were a friend to me when I needed a friend. Thank you for that.” Leaning forward, she brushed a kiss against his forehead. “Godspeed.” Clumsily, she got to her feet, her steps zigzagging across the hardwood floors.

“C-carla.” His voice came soft, but not so soft that Carla didn’t hear him.

At the door, she stopped, one hand on the doorknob, her shoulders slumped. “Sinclair?”

“You…can’t…leave…me now.” With great effort, he rolled his head on the pillow to see her.

“Who…will bathe…me?”

With a cry of glee, Carla dashed back toward the bed, her hands cupping his face before racing over his body to make sure that he really was alive. “It’s been five days! I thought you were…well, it doesn’t matter now. You’ve got the whole town preparing for a funeral! You’re alive!” Without thought to her own safety, she pressed her lips against his, drinking in the feel of him. “I can’t believe you’re alive.”

Sinclair tried to lift his hand, but his muscles refused to cooperate. “I don’t…feel…alive.”

“Your muscles aren’t used to such inactivity, but now that you’re better, you’ll be up and around in no time.”

“You have been here.”

“Yes.”

“All the time?”

“Yes.”

“I…heard…your voice.” His eyes smiled at her. “You saved my life.”

Carla shook her head. “No, I just did what anyone would have done. I wasn’t ready to let you leave me here alone. You’re the only friend I have here.” She brought his hand to her cheek. “I should get the doctor.”

Sinclair closed his eyes. “I…need…to…sleep.”

“Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

His lips managed to form a ghost of a smile.

* * * * *

“I am perfectly fine.” After two weeks of convalescing in town and an additional three weeks at home, Sinclair’s irritation mounted with the constant fussing and watchful attitudes. Propped up on a mound of pillows on the settee in the drawing room, his brow furrowed and his temper flared. “And stop bringing me that blasted tea, Nettie! I am healed! I do not need to be coddled!”

“Well, it certainly sounds like you’re back to your old self again.” Carla replied, carrying a tray laden with fruits and cheeses. “Nettie’s bringing the tea.”

Sinclair gave her a baleful stare. “I do not want any more tea. The woman has been shoving the stuff at me since I arrived home. She thinks it is the cure-all to whatever ails a man. I beg to differ.” He swung his legs over the side of the settee and planted his feet firmly on the floor. “After today, I will return to my normal duties.”

“The doctor said six weeks. It has only been five.”

Sinclair stood, planting his hands on his hips. “What does he know? He had given me up for dead.”

Carla smiled up at him. “Well, you certainly proved him wrong.”

Sinclair tapped her lips with one finger. “We proved him wrong.”

Carla placed the tray on the table beside the settee and walked toward him. “I’m so glad you’re well, Sinclair.”

“But?”

She blinked at him. “What makes you so sure there is a but?”

“I can hear it in your voice. What is it, Carla?”

She sighed and walked around him. She stayed clear of the heat of the fire, but most importantly, she stayed clear of him. Sinclair didn’t like the sense of foreboding springing up within him. “But it’s time that I resumed looking for my way out.”

He folded his arms, his stance almost belligerent. “I see.” With just the two simple words he told her he really didn’t understand at all. “I thought you were happy here at last.”

“My happiness isn’t the issue.”

“I think that it is. I am surprised that you would think so little of yourself to place your own happiness far behind the needs of people who only see you as a tool.”

“My family probably thinks I am dead.”

“Your family cares not one whit about you.” Sinclair’s thrust a hand through his tousled hair. He didn’t know how to convince her to stay and the knowledge increased his frustration tenfold.

“You don’t even know them.”

“I know only what you have told me which has been very minute. Perhaps you are keeping family secrets and I will respect your desire for secrecy. However, I was under the impression that you had grown accustomed to living here. Was I wrong?”

“No, you weren’t wrong, but just because I have acclimated myself to living here after six weeks doesn’t mean that this is where I am supposed to be. Letta said that death had occurred. A man who I know has died. It could be my father! Why can’t you understand why I have to return home?”

“Are you close to your father?” his voice softened.

She started to shake her head then stopped. “That doesn’t matter. I have a duty to go back.”

He considered her words for a long time before he responded. “A duty. That doesn’t sound like a worthwhile reason to go back.”

“It’s my reason. I live in Manhattan which is a city in New York, but of course, you’ve never even heard of New York. But that’s where I work and I’m very good at what I do. I take good care of myself.”

“But are you happy?”

She ignored the question. “And there’s my sister. She doesn’t even know if I’m dead or alive and I know that she’s probably been miserable.”

“You cannot see the future. You do not know that she is miserable.”

“She’s my sister! Of course she’s miserable.”

Sinclair didn’t budge an inch. “But are you happy in this Manhattan even with your sister? At night, does she go home to her own family or does she stay with you to ensure your happiness?” He didn’t want to be cruel to her, but his own desperation demanded he keep her with him no matter the cost.

Carla’s stance shifted. “Sometimes I wonder why I spent so much time trying to save you. You’ve given me nothing but grief ever since you realized that you were still alive.”

One eyebrow lifted arrogantly. “Grief? What have I done that would constitute grief?”

“What haven’t you done would be an easier question to answer. You have been demanding, irritable and in such a foul temper that not even Nettie wants to come around you and God knows she’s seen you at your worst. It’s a wonder how your servants have put up with you all these years.”