The Bridgertons Happily Ever After - By Julia Quinn Page 0,73
he repeated. And amazingly, he heard a smile in his own voice, too.
A few hours later Dr. Jarvis returned, tired and rumpled after delivering another baby down in the village. Gregory knew the doctor well; Peter Jarvis had been fresh from his studies when Gregory and Lucy had decided to take up residence near Winkfield, and he had served as the family doctor ever since. He and Gregory were of a similar age, and they had shared many a supper together over the years. Mrs. Jarvis, too, was a good friend of Lucy’s, and their children had played together often.
But in all their years of friendship, Gregory had never seen such an expression on Peter’s face. His lips were pinched at the corners, and there were none of the usual pleasantries before he examined Lucy.
Hyacinth was there, too, having insisted that Lucy needed the support of another woman in the room. “As if either of you could possibly understand the rigors of childbirth,” she’d said, with some disdain.
Gregory hadn’t said a word. He’d just stepped aside to allow his sister inside. There was something comforting in her fierce presence. Or maybe inspiring. Hyacinth was such a force; one almost believed she could will Lucy to heal herself.
They both stood back as the doctor took Lucy’s pulse and listened to her heart. And then, to Gregory’s complete shock, Peter grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and began to shake.
“What are you doing?” Gregory cried, leaping forward to intervene.
“Waking her up,” Peter said resolutely.
“But doesn’t she need her rest?”
“She needs to wake up more.”
“But—” Gregory didn’t know just what he was protesting, and the truth was, it didn’t matter, because when Peter cut him off, it was to say:
“For God’s sake, Bridgerton, we need to know that she can wake up.” He shook her again, and this time, he said loudly, “Lady Lucinda! Lady Lucinda!”
“She’s not a Lucinda,” Gregory heard himself say, and then he stepped forward and called out, “Lucy? Lucy?”
She shifted position, mumbling something in her sleep.
Gregory looked sharply over at Peter, every question in the world hanging in his eyes.
“See if you can get her to answer you,” Peter said.
“Let me try,” Hyacinth said forcefully. Gregory watched as she leaned down and said something into Lucy’s ear.
“What are you saying?” he asked.
Hyacinth shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered, pushing her aside. He picked up Lucy’s hand and squeezed it with more force than he’d done earlier. “Lucy! How many steps are there in the back staircase from the kitchen to the first floor?”
She didn’t open her eyes, but she did make a sound that he thought sounded like—
“Did you say fifteen?” he asked her.
She snorted, and this time he heard her clearly. “Sixteen.”
“Oh, thank God.” Gregory let go of her hand and collapsed into the chair by her bed. “There,” he said. “There. She’s all right. She will be all right.”
“Gregory . . .” But Peter’s voice was not reassuring.
“You told me we had to awaken her.”
“We did,” Peter said with stiff acknowledgment. “And it was a very good sign that we were able to. But it doesn’t mean—”
“Don’t say it,” Gregory said in a low voice.
“But you must—”
“Don’t say it!”
Peter went silent. He just stood there, looking at him with an awful expression. It was pity and compassion and regret and nothing he ever wanted to see on a doctor’s face.
Gregory slumped. He’d done what had been asked of him. He’d woken Lucy, if only for a moment. She was sleeping again, now curled on her side, facing in the other direction.
“I did what you asked,” he said softly. He looked back up at Peter. “I did what you asked,” he repeated, sharply this time.
“I know,” Peter said gently, “and I can’t tell you how reassuring it is that she spoke. But we cannot count that as a guarantee.”
Gregory tried to speak, but his throat was closing. That awful choking feeling was rushing through him again, and all he could manage was to breathe. If he could just breathe, and do nothing else, he might be able to keep from crying in front of his friend.
“The body needs to regain its strength after a blood loss,” Peter explained. “She may sleep a while yet. And she might—” He cleared his throat. “She might not wake up again.”
“Of course she will wake up,” Hyacinth said sharply. “She’s done it once, she can do it again.”