Page 68 of Unchaining the Heart of the Marquess
There is no possible way that a rider could make there and bring him back in time. Either she will make it of her own accord or…He could not finish the terrible thought.
He raked his fingers through his hair and paced the floor waiting for the doctor to complete his task. The leeches wriggled and squirmed upon her forehead making her appear as a creature of legendary lore, rather than the lovely lass that she was. When the creatures had had their fill, they fell away enabling the doctor to collect them back into his jar.
“I am afraid that is all I can do at this time, My Lord. Should she awaken and need further care, please do not hesitate to send for me.” The doctor packed up his things and left the room.
Frederick came back to sit next to Josephine upon the bed and took her hand in his once more. The swelling looked a bit better but was by no means gone. Trickles of blood dripped from her forehead, and he grabbed a wet cloth to gently cleanse the tiny wounds left by the leeches. “Wake up,” he whispered, his voice wavering with the weight of his sorrow at the thought of losing her. “Wake up!” he commanded more loudly this time. Nothing happened.
“I do not think that shouting at her is going to accomplish anything, my son,” his mother’s voice stated from the open doorway. “Your father and I just spoke with the doctor. I am sorry to hear of Josephine’s condition.”
“She will recover,” he replied, determined to think the best.
“I sincerely hope that she does. Mrs. Sands tells me that she is engaged to be married to the young footman, Greeves. I understand that we will be losing them both to the family farm.”
Frederick remained quietly unable to worry about anything at that point other than Josephine’s unconscious state.
“I have arranged for the girl’s mother and betrothed to be notified of her condition. It is my understanding that it will take some time before they could arrive.” The Duchess stood watching her son. “She is not yours to covet, Frederick. You were meant for better than her.”
Frederick turned to mother meeting her eyes with such firmness that there could be no doubt as to his feelings on the matter. “There is no one better than Josephine. No one.”
“Upon that, we can agree,” Mr. Tatham’s voice answered from the doorway.
“Mr. Tatham, you have returned,” Frederick noted with a smile, nodding at the stableman in greeting.
Mr. Tatham moved around to the other side of the bed and gazed down upon Josephine’s still visage. “How is she?”
“The doctor says there is no way to be sure until she awakens.”
The stableman sighed and ran his hand through his hair. His face bespoke his concern for her wellbeing. He sat down in the chair beside the bed, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Frederick was surprised to see tears glistening at the edge of his lashes. In his fear and sorrow over the possibility of losing her, he had not thought about all of the other people within the household who cared about her.
Turning to speak to his mother about informing the rest of the staff as to Josephine’s condition, he found that she had left the room without his notice. Part of him feared that she might run again, but at that moment in time, Josephine was simply more important than the dramatic events that had consumed their lives for the past months. He had not been present during her prior fight for life, and he would not make the same mistake now no matter what his mother did.
“Has the Duchess spoken with you yet?” Mr. Tatham asked quietly from his place beside the bed.
“No,” Frederick shook his head. “She was about to when this happened.” He gestured toward Josephine’s head wound.
“I can sit with Josephine if you wish to go and speak with her now.”
Frederick was torn between wanting to remain with Josephine and putting the matter of his mother to rest. “Thank you, Mr. Tatham. Perhaps that is best.” He arose and leaned over to kiss her forehead. Turning to leave he was stopped in the doorway by the sound of Josephine’s voice moaning out his name.
“Frederick?”
Frederick whirled around in surprise. Josephine’s eyes fluttered as she attempted to open them. She blinked several times before she was able to focus on him. “Josephine!” He rushed over to her bedside taking her hand in his and kissing it repeatedly in relief. “I fear the worst.”
“As did I,” Josephine admitted.
“What happened? Who did this to you?”
Josephine turned her head to look at Mr. Tatham, and a spark of fear entered her eyes. “He did.”
“What are you saying, Jo? Are you saying that Mr. Tatham attacked you?”
“Yes, he did, and I have the proof,” Lt. Buckworth walked into the room and laid Tatham’s navy pistol down upon the bed, its grip smeared with Josephine’s blood.
Chapter 33
Josephine remained silent staring at Mr. Tatham a myriad of emotions crossing her face.
“It is I who hit her, yes,” Mr. Tatham admitted, taking Josephine’s hand in his own, “and I am most sorrowful for it, my dear Josephine. I would never have harmed a hair on your head had I been in my right mind.”
