Page 30 of A Marriage of Convenience with a Rake
“My lord, my lady,” the butler called them, hurrying to the door. “The physician has arrived. He is with me here.”
“Please, show him in.” Sebastian stood up from the chair. He gestured to the physician to stand beside the bed. The man—a bald-headed man with a thin, yet strong-seeming frame, came over to the bed and took his lordship’s hand.
“My lord?” the physician addressed him firmly. “Can you hear me?”
“Y...yes.” The Marquess’ voice was a barely heard whisper.
Eleanor stood by the door as the physician addressed the Marquess. Sebastian stood beside him, not moving. He was gazing at his father, fear and joy on his face. Fear for the Marquess’ delicate health, but such pure joy to see him speaking, if slowly and indistinctly, once more.
“My lord?” The physician seemed to have completed his talk with the Marquess and he turned to Sebastian, evidently giving him a list of things he needed to do. Eleanor stood where she was, feeling a little awkward. Now that the immediate danger had passed, it felt strange to be standing in the Marquess’ bedroom, here among people who, after all, she did not really know well. She stepped back to the doorway, thinking that perhaps she should go when the physician left.
“My lord?” A voice outside the door made her turn and she opened it—the physician had closed it behind him—on Amy. She was standing there shyly, a glass of water in her hand, her gaze scared. “I brought the water, my lady.” She handed it to Eleanor,who took it thankfully.
“Thank you, Amy,” Eleanor said swiftly. “I...”
She was about to say she’d go downstairs with her, when the physician stepped over.
“May I go out?” he asked politely.
“Of course!” Eleanor stood back hastily to let him exit, and then followed him out. Someone grabbed her arm.
“Please stay,” Sebastian said as she turned around, surprised at the gesture. “Please.” He looked down at his fingers where they gripped her arm.
“Of course,” she said at once.
They both walked back to his father.
“Sebastian?” The Marquess’ voice was thin, the merest whisper. Sebastian dropped down to the bedside, kneeling on the floor by the bed.
“Yes, Papa?” he asked softly. His hand moved to the older man’s dark-veined one, holding it tightly.
“I’m...I’m tired. Very weak.”
“I can see that, Papa,” Sebastian said quietly.
The Marquess made a noise. Eleanor realized belatedly he was chuckling. It was a small, hollow sound.
“I’m sure you can, young fellow. I’m certainyou can.” He coughed and Eleanor picked up the glass of water she’d received earlier, passing it to Sebastian.
“Thank you,” he murmured, taking it and holding it for his father. “Drink, Papa. Perhaps it will ease your coughing.”
“No...no, son,” the older man said, wheezing. “It’s...it’s my heart. Doctor said...apoplexy.” He coughed again and Eleanor winced. Sebastian’s hand tightened on his father’s.
Eleanor, standing beside the bed, stiffened. She didn’t belong sitting here with them, where Sebastian was close to tears and his father was holding his hand, as much for his own sake as his son’s. She took a step towards the door, but the Marquesscoughed, struggling to sit up.
“Miss Eleanor!” he called her. He always called her that. He coughed and she hurried to his bedside.
“Yes, my lord?” she murmured.
“Eleanor...” he whispered. He was struggling for breath, face still pale. “I...can I ask you...favour?” His words were halting as he barely had the breath to speak.
“Of course!” she answered at once.
“My head pains me,” he said quietly. “And I fear sleep. But I’m tired. So...tired.” He coughed again and she moved to raise his pillow, thinking that sitting up would ease his chest. “Could you sing for me?” he whispered.
“Sing?” She repeated, eyes round. “No, my lord. No, I cannot sing.”
“Just one song?” he asked her, misunderstanding the reason for her hesitating.
