Page 70 of An Earl's Christmas Seduction
It creaked loudly, and she and Nicholas stepped onto the porch. Sir Samuel was grumbling about it being a waste of time, but Clara was adamant she wanted to search. The church was an ancient place of worship, built long ago, and it had served the people of the moor as a place of Christian worship for centuries.
“Bring me a lamp,” Nicholas called out, but as one of the footmen hurried forward, the moon emerged from behind a cloud.
Its silvery light illuminated the outline of the stained glass window above the sanctuary, the dark shapes revealing the very scene they had celebrated that day, the nativity, with the Christ child holding up his fingers in benediction. Clara gave a cry, rushing forward, and Nicholas saw what she had seen, too. There, lying in the sanctuary, was a figure, sprawled beneath the communion table. It was Amelia, her features unmistakable in the moonlight shining through the windows of the church.
“Amelia, oh, you poor thing,” Clara exclaimed, as the rest of the party now hurried into the church.
Nicholas rushed to Amelia’s side, finding her limp and unresponsive. Clara was trying desperately to revive her.
“We’ve got to get her back to the house,” Sir Samuel said.
“Get her wrapped in a blanket. We can carry her between us,” Nicholas said.
The footmen were summoned forward, and Amelia was wrapped in a blanket, carried between them at the corners. She was alive, but still unresponsive, and time was now of the essence. They had to get her warm, for her hands felt like blocks of ice, and her lips were blue.
“Thank goodness she found the church. If she’d collapsed in the snow, we might not have found her,” Clara said, as they hurried out onto the moorland path.
“We need to get her back to the house. One of you footmen run ahead and tell them we’ve found her. Have hot water and towels ready, and her bedroom warmed,” Nicholas said.
One of the footmen now hurried off ahead, the others following as best they could, carrying Amelia in the blanket. But it was slow progress, the drifts of snow impeding them at every step. “If only we had some sort of sled,” Clara said, but the blanket was all they had, and when they reached the fork on the ridge, they were all exhausted, setting Amelia down as they regained their breath.
“We’ve got to keep going,” Nicholas said, summoning all his strength to get Amelia to safety.
Only her face was exposed to the cold. Her eyes were closed, her lips were blue, her face pale, and bathed in silvery moonlight. If a kiss could have revived her, Nicholas would have gladly kissed her there and then. He wanted her to know the truth, knowing she had believed the awful sight Constance had intended her to see.
“Nicholas?” she gasped, and Nicholas kneeled at her side in the snow.
“I’m here, Amelia. We found you in the church. We’re taking you back to Ashworth. You’ll be all right, I promise you,” he said, placing his hand on the blanket.
“You… no…” she said, and tears welled up in Nicholas’ eyes.
“It wasn’t true, Amelia. You didn’t have to do this. I can explain it all, but later, I promise. There’s nothing to worry about now. You’ll be safely back soon. It’s not far,” he said, urging the others to take up the corners of the blanket.
“Constance.” Amelia gasped.
“She’s gone, Amelia. None of it matters anymore. I’ll explain everything to you, I promise. Try to rest now,” Nicholas said, and now they hurried down the hill towards the house, Nicholas’ mind filled with thoughts of what he wanted to say, and of all the things he was still yet to learn.
Chapter 22
“Look, she’s opening her eyes. She’s coming around,” a voice above Amelia said, and it was joined by that of several others, all talking over one another.
“Let me through, let me through, oh, Amelia, you’re awake. Thank goodness,” another voice exclaimed, and this time, Amelia recognized it as that of her mother.
She opened her eyes, blinking in what seemed like a bright light. She was lying in bed, blankets tucked up to her chin. She felt warm, though she could not feel either her fingers or her toes. She could not remember being put to bed, or how she had got there, her memory hazy as to what had gone before. She remembered leaving the house, the reasons for having done so now gradually returning.
“Yes, it’s as I expected. A gradual return of consciousness. How do you feel, Lady Amelia?” another voice asked, and a man whom she did not recognize leaned over her.
He was elderly, with a beard and graying hair, his eyes bright, his head cocked to one side, looking at her, as she continued to blink in the bright light.
“I feel… I don’t know how I feel, how long have I been…” she said. Her thoughts were crowded with different emotions, confused as to what had happened and her body was sore.
“It’ll take some time. You’ve been unconscious for several hours. It’s morning now. You’ve passed the night without further incident. Can you sit up?” the man asked.
“Are you… a doctor?” she stammered, and he nodded.
“That’s right. I’m Doctor Simpson. You’ve had a nasty ordeal, Lady Amelia. But you’ve survived it. The worst is over,” he said, and Amelia’s mother now hurried forward, throwing her arms around Amelia, and helping her to sit up.
“My poor child, my poor, dear child. Whatever were you thinking going out in the snow like that? You might’ve died. Oh, I couldn’t have lived with myself. But you’re safe now. Thanks to the earl, you’re safe,” she said, kissing Amelia on the cheek, as tears rolled down her cheeks.
