Page 85 of Wicked Rivals
Ashton leaned against the wall. His body felt like it was weighted down with stones. “Thank you. I’m not sure what’s to be done yet. You might as well get some sleep. We can talk in the morning once we know more.”
“Wake me if you need anything.”
Ashton patted Charles’s back and headed for the kitchens, his mind racing. Now was not the time for him to be worried about his brother, but he was. Ever since they’d been boys, Ashton had always been watching out for him, protecting him from everything he could. But this…
“Ashton.” His mother stood at the foot of the stairs, her eyes wide. “I saw Charles with Dr. Finchley. Is Rafe ill?”
“I think he has a fever. Finchley is examining him right now. I’m fetching Rafe some water.”
“A fever?” His mother paled. “Let me get a glass. You must go and be with him and speak to the doctor.” His mother headed for the kitchens.
With a sigh, he turned around and returned to Rafe’s room. When he entered, Dr. Finchley was staring grimly at his pocket watch while holding two fingers to one of Rafe’s wrists.
“How does he fare?”
Finchley released Rafe’s wrist and slid the watch back into his pocket.
“I believe it’s the grippe. He slipped into unconsciousness shortly after you left. I won’t lie to you, Lord Lennox—I do not like the look of this. He’s likely contagious, and you should keep his exposure to the rest of the house limited. Keep him warm and try to keep him drinking lots of water. Light broths for meals until his fever and nausea passes. If his conditions worsen, I might suggest bleeding him.”
“The grippe?” Ashton murmured, his heart thumping hard against his rubs.
“Yes, a bad case it seems. I’ve come from visiting several people in the village. A man and a child have already died. If he’s been to the village lately, he could have acquired it there. What concerns me most is that his earlier wound has already weakened him.”
The world around Ashton shrunk, suffocating him. Two deaths? And Rafe carried the same illness? Normally a grown man could get through the grippe, but in his injured state, he might not withstand it.
There was a strange ringing in his ears. “Is there nothing to be done?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not. You must ride out the fever and hope he is strong enough to make it.” Finchley patted Ashton’s shoulder. “I’ll come back tomorrow and check on him.”
Ashton followed the doctor out. “Let me see you to the door.”
After the doctor left, Ashton walked over to the stairs and sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands as a dozen emotions threatened to drown him.
“Ashton? What did the doctor say?” His mother’s voice was tremulous. He looked up and blinked back the tears he’d been trying to hide. She was holding a pitcher of water, and when she met his gaze, her grip loosened on the pitcher. It fell from her hands and shattered upon the stone floor, the sound sharp and violent in the quiet night. The white china fragments glistened beneath the hall lamps.
“Just tell me,” his mother whispered, her hands shaking so hard she clasped them in her skirts as though to hide them.
Ashton wiped at his eyes. “He has influenza. Finchley said he’s seen cases in the village. In his weakened state this could be bad, Mother. We need to be prepared. The doctor believes he is contagious. We cannot risk exposing the others.”
“Influenza.” Regina clutched at the banister. “Ashton, you must not let him…” She swallowed the words, but he knew what she meant.
“You won’t lose him,” Ashton vowed.
“Wewon’t lose him.” Regina came over to him. Before he could protest, she bent and kissed his forehead. It had been years since his mother had done such a thing.
He reached up and grasped one of her hands, squeezing it. “Try to rest.”
“I’ll try. But it’s a mother’s duty to worry about her children.Allof them.” She gazed at him meaningfully before she left him alone.
He would not let her down. He would not let Rafe die.
*****
Charles opened the door to his chamber and brushed the dust of the road off his clothing. Every muscle felt as coiled tight as a snake ready to spring. The grippe was normally not something to be worried about, but when he’d arrived on the doctor’s doorstep the man’s face had paled when he’d reported Rafe’s symptoms.
“Is everything all right, my lord?” Linley was there in the shadows, polishing his shoes with a cloth as he sat in a chair.
“Mr. Lennox has fallen ill, and Ashton’s damned worried about it. So am I.” He scrubbed his face with a hand, trying to smooth the worry lines he felt forming there. “Linley, lad, did my watch ever turn up? Those rascals from the tenant farms filched it from my room, I’m sure of it.”
