Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,146

she seemed to realize where she was, who he was, and she whispered, “No.”

“I’ve got to get you back to the house,” he said gruffly, startled by how angry he was over that single word.

No.

How dare she refuse his rescue? Would she give up on life just because she was sad? Did her melancholy amount to more than their two children? In the balance of life, did a bad mood weigh more than their need for a mother?

“I’m taking you home,” he bit out, heaving her none too gently into his arms. She was breathing now, and clearly in possession of her faculties, misguided though they may be. There was no need to treat her like a delicate flower.

“No,” she sobbed quietly. “Please don’t. I don’t want . . . I don’t . . .”

“You’re going home,” he stated, trudging up the hill, oblivious to the chill wind turning his sodden clothes to ice; oblivious, even, to the rocky soil pressing into his unshod feet.

“I can’t,” she whispered, with what seemed like her last ounce of energy.

And as Phillip carried his burden home, all he could think was how apt those words were.

I can’t.

In a way, it seemed to sum up her entire life.

By nightfall, it became apparent that fever might succeed where the lake had failed.

Phillip had carried Marina home as quickly as he was able, and, with the aid of Mrs. Hurley, his housekeeper, had stripped her of her icy garments and tried to warm her beneath the goose-down quilt that had been the centerpiece of her trousseau eight years earlier.

“What happened?” Mrs. Hurley had gasped when he staggered through the kitchen door. He hadn’t wanted to use the main entrance, where he might be seen by his children, and besides, the kitchen door was closer by a good twenty yards.

“She fell in the lake,” he said gruffly.

Mrs. Hurley gave him a look that was somehow dubious and sympathetic all at the same time, and he knew that she knew the truth. She had worked for the Cranes since their marriage; she knew Marina’s moods.

She had shooed him out of the room once they had Marina in bed, insisting that he change his own clothing before he caught his death as well. He had returned, though, to Marina’s side. That was his place as her husband, he thought guiltily, a place he had avoided in recent years.

It was depressing to be with Marina. It was hard.

But now wasn’t the time to shirk his duties, and so he sat at her bedside throughout the day and into the night. He mopped her brow when she began to perspire, tried to pour lukewarm broth down her throat when she was calm.

He told her to fight, even though he knew his words fell on deaf ears.

Three days later she was dead.

It was what she’d wanted, but that was little comfort as Phillip faced his children, twins, just turned seven years old, and tried to explain that their mother was gone. He sat in their nursery, his large frame too big for any of their tot-sized chairs. But he sat, anyway, twisted like a pretzel, and forced himself to meet their gazes as he wrenched out the words.

They said little, which was unlike them. But they didn’t look surprised, which Phillip found disturbing.

“I—I’m sorry,” he choked out, once he reached the end of his speech. He loved them so much, and he failed them in so many ways. He barely knew how to be a father to them; how in hell was he meant to take on the role of mother as well?

“It’s not your fault,” Oliver said, his brown eyes capturing his father’s with an intensity that was unsettling. “She fell in the lake, didn’t she? You didn’t push her.”

Phillip only nodded, unsure of how to respond.

“Is she happy now?” Amanda asked softly.

“I think so,” Phillip said. “She gets to watch you all the time now from heaven, so she must be happy.”

The twins seemed to consider that for quite some time. “I hope she’s happy,” Oliver finally said, his voice more resolute than his expression. “Maybe she won’t cry anymore.”

Phillip felt his breath catch in his throat. He hadn’t realized that they had heard Marina’s sobs. She only seemed to sink so low late at night; their room was directly above hers, but he’d always assumed they’d already fallen asleep when their mother started to cry.

Amanda nodded her agreement, her little blond head bobbing up and down. “If she’s happy