Page 64 of The Reclusive Earl's Scandal
“We do not know until he wakes up and can respond to pain,” Lady Thornshire answered, her voice flat. She let outa broken sob, and, too late, Rebecca realized just how recent her husband’s death had been. Less than two years, from a mysterious heart attack at a dinner gathering.
She half turned to the dowager countess, who had a hand covering her mouth, her eyes fixed to the ceiling as if she forced herself to remain composed.
“Lady Thornshire, if you need a moment, I can stay with him,” Rebecca murmured. “I would like to stay with him.”
“I do not want to leave him,” Lady Thornshire admitted quietly. “I have—I have not done well by him, and he must know I will be here when he wakes up.” The hesitance beforewhenwas evident, and nobody commented on it. Edward’s hair was matted with blood at the back of his head, and there was no telling yet how hard he may have been hit, or fallen.
“If you are out of the room when he wakes up, I will ensure to call you immediately,” she promised. “Rest. He will be terribly self-deprecating to wake and find out he has caused everybody sleepless nights.”
“He will probably say we deserve it,” Lady Elena muttered quietly, but not cruelly. “After all, we have caused him plenty by bringing him back to London.”
Ah. That was the source of her blame. Rebecca wondered if Lady Elena blamed herself for Edward and her meeting in the first place. If she had not meddled and pressured perhaps he would not have shown so much resistance to Catherine. Rebecca tried to push those thoughts away, only to wonder why she cared so greatly about Edward not choosing her in another version of his return to London.
Why did her stomach clench with jealousy at the thought of him choosing Catherine to please his sister, or perhaps to please himself, had he found her agreeable?
She shook it off, and urged Lady Thornshire and Lady Elena to take their rest. Finally, the two ladies did, leaving a maid in the corner of the room to chaperone.
Gently, she turned back to continue dabbing the cloth on his face, her words soothing. “I do not know if you can hear me, Edward, but I wish to speak anyway. My father does not remember, but there were some nights last Season that I waited up to ensure he came home, and in doing so I would find him half collapsed in our entrance hall. He would be slurring all these terrible, incoherent mutterings, and I would ignore his attempts to speak. All I did was pull him to the drawing room and I would wash away the sweat from his face as best as I could. Sometimes he had some scrapes and I tended to those, too. I do not think he knows this.
“Over time, my resentment for him grew. I ought to have been in bed, preparing for my next ball. Instead, I barely slept, always waiting for him to stumble home, and then tending to him, because I could not bear for any footman to see him in such a state, or my mother. What I am trying to say is that I can take care of you no matter what comes, Edward. I do hope you do not fall to vices like my father, but if you do… if you do please speak with me before it is too late.”
She watched his eyes flickering in the deep slumber he was in. Idly, she brushed her fingers over the waves of hair falling over his forehead. The touch was far more tender than she intended it to be, but she let her hand brush down the side of his face. Holding her breath, Rebecca just gazed at him, watching for the moment his eyes opened.
They didn’t, not for hours and not even the physician could help so she dutifully stayed at his bedside. Sometimes she sat in a heavy silence with Lady Elena, who held her brother’s hand and bit her lip in worry. At some moments, Rebecca caught LadyElena looking at her as if wanting to say something, but in the end said nothing, and only left the room.
Lady Thornshire watched Edward from further back whenever she came in, and Rebecca felt the woman’s eyes on her, too.
“You care for him,” Lady Thornshire commented. It was just the two of them in the room with Edward. Lady Elena had gone to rest. The dowager countess moved closer to the bed, taking up the chair Lady Elena had occupied on and off.
“I do,” Rebecca said. “He is my friend.”
Lady Thornshire went quiet long enough for Rebecca to look over at her in question. She found the gaze already on her, pensive.
“When I was courted by my husband,” Lady Thornshire said slowly, “I did not want to marry. Not at all. My mother pushed me, threatened me with spinsterhood. I was a week away from being sent to the country when I met James Carmichael. Back then, he was not the earl, not yet, and he always apologised for not bringing an official title with him yet. I cared little, for I had finally found somebody whose company interested me. I kept him waiting, perhaps cruelly so, but he always said it amused him. He always said that he knew we would marry eventually, so he did not mind waiting.I will wait until I can make you my countess properly, if that is what you wish,he would always tell me.
“I adored him. We had a beautiful life together. Edward told me that he told you about the twin daughter I lost. That carved a hole in my family, but James patched us together every morning. He asked the family to continue dining even when one of us did not want to face the world. We faced it together, or else we would crumble silently and isolated, and he could not bear that. None of us could. I watched my daughter and son sit at thedining table day after day, hollow ghosts with grief beneath their eyes.”
Her eyes dropped to Edward now.
“Something in Edward died when Elena’s twin did, and I feel as though the lights simply never came back on. I pushed and pushed him—through my grief, through my frustration at not knowing how to help him. I forced him back into London’stonand at first I was hardened against my decision, and then I began to regret it when I could not understand what it was doing to him. He hides it well, but I am his mother.
“And then I saw him with you, Lady Rebecca, and suddenly the candle that had been blown out in him years ago was lit once more. Something sparked. And I am his mother, so I notice when he is worn down by the world, even if I have been unkind about it at times in my need to make him the best earl he can be. I know he would not live with himself otherwise. But you… I think you see the same as I do, do you not?”
Rebecca’s throat closed up at the unexpected emotional conversation. She didn’t know what to say, but she nodded.
“I do,” she finally said, when Lady Thornshire didn’t look away from her.
“You say you love him as a friend, and that might be true, but I wish to leave you with one question. His candle blazes brightly for you, even if he has not said it. Does yours for him?” The dowager countess gave her a knowing look, and Rebecca could only blink as she patted her son’s hand and left the room.
It left Rebecca in silence with Edward as she gazed down at him.
She thought of every moment with him. Of how she had wanted to protect him from Catherine’s schemes when she had discovered them, of how she gravitated towards him at every ball and had always looked for him first when she entered a space. She thought of how he always made her feel better, and how shehad waited for his visit during her week of illness. She thought of how his hands had felt on her waist, and how he made her feel something that had been overwhelming and tangled in her chest. She recalled trying to name it some time ago.
She thought of the silver cravat beneath her pillow, kept safe.
His candle blazes brightly for you.
I love you, Rebecca.
