Page 104 of Married to a Frozen Duke
"Pretty lady," Lucy whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Hello, sweetheart," Ophelia said softly, smoothing the child's damp hair. "You're going to feel better soon. The physician is going to bring medicine to help."
"Promise?" The word was more breath than sound.
"I promise."
Lucy's eyes closed again, but something in her breathing seemed easier, as if the promise itself had healing properties. Ophelia stayed there, kneeling on the rough floor in her duchess's dress, holding the hand of a tenant's child while the parents wept silently behind her, and felt more useful than she had in all her weeks at Montclaire House.
She wasn't sure how long she stayed as time seemed to move differently in crisis, but eventually, Mr. Granger arrived, bustling in with his medical bag and an expression of profound relief.
"Your Grace! When I received word you were here...I hardly dared believe—"
"The medicine, Mr. Granger. Everything she needs."
"Yes, of course." He was already examining Lucy with gentle efficiency, checking her fever, listening to her breathing. "Theinflammation of the lungs, as I suspected. But we've caught it in time, I believe. With proper medicine and care..."
"She'll recover?"
"I believe so, Your Grace. Thanks to your intervention."
Ophelia stayed while he administered the first dose of medicine, watched as Lucy's breathing eased slightly, saw the desperate hope bloom in her parents' faces. She was preparing to leave because she'd been gone too long already and Alexander would surely have noticed—when the cottage door opened without warning.
Alexander stood in the doorway, and the very air seemed to freeze.
He looked as she'd never seen him—exhausted, his usually perfect appearance disheveled, his cravat askew and his coat buttoned wrong as if he'd dressed in haste. But his eyes... his eyes were ice and fire simultaneously, a contradiction that made her stomach clench with dread.
"Your Grace," Mr. Granger said nervously. "We weren't expecting..."
"No," Alexander said, his voice dangerously quiet. "I don't imagine you were."
The Wheelers had shrunk back against the wall, Mr. Wheeler still clutching Lucy as if Alexander might snatch her away. The terror in their faces made Ophelia's anger rise like bile.
"These people are afraid of you," she said, standing to face him.
"These people are my tenants who are three months behind on rent."
"These people are parents with a dying child."
"A dying child whose medical care you've apparently taken upon yourself to finance without consultation or authority."
"I have the authority of human decency, which apparently is in short supply at Montclaire House."
His jaw tightened, and she could see him struggling to maintain control in front of witnesses. "We'll discuss this at home."
"Will we? Or will you simply issue another decree about what I can and cannot do, who I can and cannot help?"
"Ophelia." Her name came out as a warning.
"Your Grace," Mr. Wheeler interrupted bravely, though his voice shook. "Please don't blame Her Grace. She was only trying to help. We'll leave immediately if you want, we'll find somewhere—"
"You'll do no such thing," Alexander said, surprising everyone. He moved into the cottage, having to duck slightly under the low beam, and suddenly the small space felt even smaller. He looked at Lucy, still in her father's arms, and something flickered across his face too quickly to identify.
"Mr. Granger, what's your prognosis?"
"With proper medicine and care, Your Grace, I believe she'll make a full recovery."
"Then ensure she has both. Send all bills to the estate."
