Page 46 of A Duke's Overlooked Spinster
“Are you feeling well, Henry?” she asked him carefully. He looked up, his blue eyes bright.
“Oh, yes, Miss Brooke!” He answered at once. “Most well.”
Sarah bit her lip. He did not seem well.
“Come on,” she said, ignoring the matter. “Let’s go inside.”
Buttons took off, running on the wide stretch of the front lawn with delight. Henry ran after him and Buttons found a stick. Sarah chuckled with delight as Henry threw it for the little puppy, who had learned the game extremely fast.
Henry was whooping with joy as he ran, just as he usually did, and she pushed aside her fearful thoughts. There was nothingwrong with Henry. He was just a little weary—perhaps the ball had interrupted his sleep as well.
Sarah blushed as thoughts of the ball returned to her mind.
“Henry!”
A male voice rang out, crisp and authoritative. She froze as she saw a tall, blond-haired man striding down the front steps. It was the duke. Her cheeks flamed as he saw her and paused for a second, his eyes locking with hers. Then he walked slowly over.
“Miss Brooke,” he greeted her. His voice was meltingly tender, and Sarah stared up at him, trying to read the expression in his eyes. It seemed a little guarded and she was not sure how to interpret it. She gazed up at him, remembering her manners enough to drop a brief curtsey.
“Your Grace,” she greeted him. Her voice sounded strange—tight and higher-pitched than usual and she cleared her throat. It was tense with the feelings racing through her.
“I was...” the duke began and then his eyes widened in horror, his gaze moving past her. Sarah turned to look at what he was seeing, even as he shouted aloud.
“Henry!”
Sarah gasped. Henry had been running on the lawn with Buttons, but he was lying on the grass, unmoving and Buttons was pawing at his face, licking and nipping, desperate to try and waken the boy. Sarah let out a cry of shock, and turned to the duke, but he had already started to run.
He ran to where Henry was lying on the ground, and Sarah ran after and reached him as he flopped Henry onto his back. The little boy seemed lifeless, and Sarah’s eyes filled with tears of horror.
“No,” she whispered. “No. He...”
“He has a heartbeat,” the duke said, his fingers resting on the pulse at the boy’s throat. Sarah let out a cry of relief.
“Thank Heaven,” she cried. She saw the duke bend down towards his son, listening for his breathing. She tensed and the duke nodded.
“He is breathing,” he said after a moment. “What must we do?” He sounded frightened, helpless.
“Good. Good,” Sarah breathed. “We need to get him indoors at once. I will send for the physician. Will you carry him inside?” she asked, but the duke had already bent down and lifted the little boy and was carrying him indoors.
Sarah lifted Buttons, who was frantic, running between the duke and herself as if to ask them for help. She stroked the little puppy, trying to calm him.
“It is all well, little fellow. Henry is alive,” she said slowly, her mind racing as she thought through the possibilities. The little boy had looked as though he had a fever. She recalled times when her father had a fever, and how important it had been to ensure that he drank enough water. Perhaps Henry had simply lost consciousness because he had a fever and had not drunk sufficient water.
They had reached the stairs that led to the house. Sarah opened the door, holding Buttons with one arm, and the duke strode in, hurrying up the stairs with his son in his arms. Sarah followed them, heart pounding.
She walked briskly to the drawing room, where she let out a sigh of relief. The housekeeper, Mrs. Emsley, was there. She went to her, Buttons still held in her arms.
“Mrs. Emsley, the duke’s son has just lost consciousness. If someone could please send for the physician? And if someone else could bring a pitcher of water for the child to drink up to the room? And draw water for a warm bath?” Her mind was racing, drawing on all that she knew about nursing Father through his fevers.
Mrs. Emsley nodded; her brow creased in a concerned frown. “Of course, Miss Brooke. Of course. At once.” She strode to the door. Sarah followed her.
“Send for the physician,” Mrs. Emsley told the butler, who was clearing away the things from the breakfast-room.
“At once,” the butler agreed. He hurried off downstairs. Sarah slumped with relief.
“Thank you,” she murmured to Mrs. Emsley, who was already going downstairs to fetch the water and the bath.
“Not at all, miss. Pray, do not fret,” Mrs. Emsley said kindly. “You seem to have a keen idea of what to do.”
