Page 72 of The Earl Takes All
She went past him.
“His lordship doesn’t want—”
But his words, too, were lost as she shoved open the door and dashed over the threshold, coming to a staggering stop as she saw Edward, lying in a tangle of sheets, the upper half of his body exposed and covered in sweat.
He pushed himself up, waved his hand. “You can’t be in here.”
“And yet I am.”
As she crossed over, he flopped back onto the bed. “You need to leave.”
Ignoring him, she pressed the flat of her hand to his forehead. “You’re fairly on fire.”
“Which is why you need to leave.”
Which was exactly why she wouldn’t. Turning, she was grateful to see Marlow had followed her in, hovering just inside the doorway. “Have someone fetch Dr.Warren.”
“There’s nothing he can do,” Edward muttered.
“Oh, and when did you become an expert on medicine?”
“When I was caring for Mrs.Lark and her son.”
Who the devil were Mrs.Lark and her son? And where was Mr.Lark? Good Lord, was it conceivable that he hadn’t been fornicating with a widow but caring for one? “Is Mrs.Lark a widow?”
He gave a slight nod. “Her husband died recently. Fever. She was ill. The boy was ill. I shouldn’t have returned here. Should have stayed in the village, but I was just tired. Thought I was cold because of the weather.”
“Doesn’t matter. You should be home when you’re ill. But why wereyoucaring for this woman and her child?”
“No one else would.”
He’d stayed in the village to do good, and she’d assumed the worst. How much longer was it going to take before she accepted that the man with whom she’d been living for nearly three months now was the true Edward Alcott? She turned to Marlow. “Send someone to fetch Dr.Warren. He’s to come as quickly as possible.”
As Marlow left to do her bidding, she looked back at Edward and prayed that quickly as possible would be soon enough.
“Youneed to prepare yourself, Lady Greyling,” Dr.Warren said solemnly as he turned away from the bed. He reminded her of a dog that had been kicked. “It’s unlikely your husband will survive.”
He might as well have bludgeoned her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel her fingers, her toes. “There must be something you can do.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, but there is no remedy I can offer for this illness.”
“The woman he cared for, Mrs.Lark, did she die?”
“No.”
“Her son?”
“He recovered as well.”
“What did he do for her?”
“It doesn’t matter what we do. Some people die, some don’t.”
“Then what bloody good are you?” She spun away from him, trying to contain the tremors of anger and fear that were cascading through her. Whipping back around, she glared at him. “Be off with you.”
“I’m sorry—”
“I don’t want to hear it. Just go.” He shuffled out. She wanted to be sympathetic. He’d probably helplessly stood by while many died, but she could work up no sympathy when he wasn’t even willing to try. She looked over at Marlow, who stood just inside the door, a silent sentry. “Fetch me a bowl of cool water, some cloths, ice chips from the ice box, and some fresh broth.”
