Page 75 of A Foreign Crown
“Of course.” James bowed. “I shall fetch him at once.”
“Thank you,” she called aftertheir loyal servant as he rushed from
the room.
“What is it?” Julia clutched at her hands. “What’s wrong?”
“He... he is already back to sleep. He doesn’t have a fever. He might be all right, but he is so tired. I’ve never seen him like this.” Aribella clung to Julia.
“He was a bit subdued today, but cheerful. He knew you would arrive soon, whether today or tomorrow or sometime this week; he wanted the garden ready. He planned to show you the new roses, the plan for summer, the spring bulbs. He seemed well...” Her voice trailed off, and she dropped her eyes. “Maybe he will be recovered after a good sleep.”
“Let us hope so. Julia, I’m not prepared to lose him.”
“Nor I, my lady.”
They walked together toward the kitchen. When Aribella entered their cozy meeting place and sat at their table, she reached out to Marzelle. Clutching her hand in Aribella’s own, they sat together for a moment as they always had, and then Cook produced a broth and some hard bread.
“As always, Marzelle, you’ve produced a miracle with what we have.”
“We’ve had a bit more of late.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, and have you heard the good news?”
“What? What is it?” Aribella could use a bit of good news.
“Lord Bartholomew just might have procured a new tenant family.”
“Another?” Hope filled her.
“Yes, and I’ve found promise of more.” Lord Bartholomew’s voice came from the doorway.
“Join us, Lord Bartholomew. Tell us of your successes.” Aribella patted the back of a chair at their table.
He sat with them, and the cozy atmosphere did not diminish, which Aribella found heartening. Could they work together in a companionable manner? Save the estate together? While he sipped broth, she listened to him excitedly detail his efforts to breathe life into the estate.
And she felt strangely detached. She cared about the estate, of course, but at the moment, she could not really care at all. In the middle of a sentence, she rose. “Excuse me. I’m going to return to my father.”
“Why, yes, of course.” Lord Bartholomew stood, as did Julia and Marzelle, and Aribella turned from them. As soon as she left the kitchen, she picked up her pace, rushing through the house and up the stairs again. Where was James? She started to panic. She opened her father’s door and rushed to his side.
He still slept peacefully.
But she could not rest. She sat at his side, watching the rise and fall of his chest. She was not ready to lose the strength of her life, the man who had always been the strongest and bravest and kindest of any she knew.
After what seemed like a long time, or perhaps it had been only minutes—she couldn’t tell—the doctor arrived, slightly out of breath as he entered the room. He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. “If your father made it up these stairs, it is no wonder he needed some rest. I do every time I come.”
He moved to her father’s side, and she stepped away. She moved to the window, not willing to leave the room but still offering some privacy. After a moment, her father’s muffled tones made her smile. The men conversed together for a moment while she studied the rising moon.
“Daughter, come here.”
Her feet would not move faster, though her heart willed her to his side in an instant. Still, the distance from the window to the bed was not far, and she soon reached for his hand.
With a good grip, he smiled, but his eyes were sad. “The doctor says it is almost time for me to meet your mother.”
She gasped, her heart shuddering with the sharpness of the tears that escaped her eyes. She whipped her head toward the doctor, and he nodded.
“How can that be?” She turned back to her father and added, “With you doing so well only yesterday, they tell me?”
