I had trusted Lord Williams, had broken my promise by loving him. I loved him still. And yet it was all over. Again.
“That cannot be true. You must be mistaken.”
Did he think I was making it all up? Could he not see I was struggling to stay afloat as it was?
No—I would not sink. I rolled my shoulders back. Edward had not ruined my life. Neither would Lord Williams. Mr. Northam and Lord Williams had wished for nothing more than a few weeks’ entertainment. I was not going to mourn at being their tossed-over plaything. I had a sister to attend to.
“It is true. Lord Williams confessed to it himself.”
“Did he?” Daniel paused, then tilted his head with curiosity. “What did they want from you?”
Such a simple thing. A small thing. Too small for all that had happened, for all they’d gone through, and all I’d gone through, and Alice—“A kiss.”
He smirked. “Who won?”
I gaped at him a moment, then swung my hand up and slapped him. “How dare you make a mock of it, of me? Our sister lies dying and you’re laughing over how two men used me, used all of us. Yet for all that has happened, Lord Williams is more to be admired than you. At least he pursued what he wanted. You are nothing but a coward, laughing at the misfortunes of others while petrified at the thought of experiencing your own. You are not willing to risk even the smallest amount of gossip to do what honor dictates, nor to obtain what you want. You do not deserve Louisa, though for your sake, I hope she never realizes it.”
Pushing past him, I strode up the stairs. And though my mind told me I’d done right, instead of feeling victorious I felt more despondent than ever.
Thirty-Six
The curtains were drawn and, though the fire was large, the room was dim. Alice lay with the covers encasing her, paler than I had ever seen. I waited just inside the door while my father examined her, kissed her, held her hand.
“Colin, you shouldn’t linger,” my mother said.
Laying Alice’s hand back down, he stood and turned to her. “When was the last time you slept?”
She shook her head. “I will not leave her.”
“Margaret will stay with her. You need rest.”
“But what if I am absent when she—when it—” She hid her tears with her hands.
“Margaret will fetch you if Alice so much as twitches.”
Stepping forward, I said, “I will, Mother. I promise. I should never have left in the first place.”
“I cannot leave.”
“Eloise.” My father’s voice took on a sternness I had never heard him use with her before. She dropped her hands in surprise as he continued. “You will come with me and you will rest.”
He took her hand and pulled her into his arms, his voice turning tender. “Only for a little while. You shall need your strength for what is to come.” She nodded into his shoulder and finally allowed him to lead her from the room. As they passed, my father placed a hand on my shoulder. “Come find me if anything changes.”
I nodded my understanding. He wanted to be summoned first so he could assist my mother with whatever took place.
After shutting the door behind them, I sat in the chair next to Alice’s bed.
She didn’t stir. The arm closest to me lay on top of the sheets, covered with a white linen bandage from the bloodletting. The bedside table held small apothecary bottles lined in a row along the edge. Reaching past them, I grabbed a towel that lay in a bowl of water. After wringing it out, I wiped Alice’s face, dampened the cloth once more, and laid it on her forehead.
I sat by her, alternating between holding her hand and placing wet towels on her forehead. When Mary came in with new water and clean cloths, I helped her remove the old. Later, she came in with supper for me and broth for Alice.
“She won’t take any, but Cook insists on sending it anyway. Your mother’s been trying any way she can to get a few drops in.”
“Thank you, Mary.”
She curtsied and left. I took a spoon full of the broth, but it would never make it unspilled to Alice’s mouth. So I dipped the corner of a clean cloth in the broth, pulled back Alice’s lips, and squeezed in a few drops. She didn’t swallow.
I took her hand again. This was all my fault. If I hadn’t been so stubborn,