Page 55 of A Duke in the Rough

“How is she?” Honoria asked.

Drake shook his head. “Still unconscious. But Ashton is optimistic she will awaken. Her mother is visiting a friend in Lyme. I’m going to fetch her.” When he saw Lady Miranda’s face blanch, he added, “A precaution only. It may help to hear her mother’s voice.”

He darted a glance toward Honoria and knew immediately she saw through his reassurance. It would seem time had not dulled their ability to read each other’s emotions. “Lady Honoria, would you sit with her so Mr. and Mrs. Weatherby may rest?”

“Of course.”

“We can as well,” Lady Miranda said. “We’ll take turns.”

“Honoria, don’t overdo. Call us when you need us,” Lady Charlotte said.

Honoria nodded, and Drake led her to Anne’s room. “You have good friends.”

“I do indeed.” She glanced over her shoulder, then leaned in. “Tell me the truth. How is she really? Worry shows on your face.”

“I spoke the truth that the duke is optimistic. However . . .” Unable to finish, he shook his head. “It’s all my fault, Honoria.”

She grasped his arms. “Listen to me. It isnotyour fault. Please be careful retrieving Mrs. Weatherby. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you, too.”

Why did those words make him happy? He didn’t deserve happiness. Not while Anne lay unconscious.

How had he survived the past eight years without Honoria’s calm head to steady him? Unable to say what he must if he witnessed the pain in her eyes, he jerked his gaze away and stared toward the room where Anne—and possibly his future—lay. “I swear with all that is in me, I will do what I must to make it up to her.”

And like the coward he was, he turned and walked away from all that he loved.

A pall had fallenover everyone and everything. Bright sunshine peeking through the slit in the curtains of Anne’s room belied the gloom cloaking the house like a funeral shroud.

At regular intervals, soft knocks drew Honoria’s attention away from her book as she sat reading by Anne’s beside. Either the duke or Dr. Marbry appeared every fifteen minutes to check Anne’s pulse and lift her eyelids. Each time they left, their expressions darkened further.

Occasionally, Honoria would wipe Anne’s forehead with a cool, wet cloth, whispering words of encouragement. “Please, Anne, you have played the sleeping beauty long enough. We miss your joyful laugh and playful spirit. If you wake, you may even call me Honny.”

Interspersed with the doctors’ appearances, Charlotte and Miranda enquired if they could relieve her for a few moments. Each time, she would refuse—even when her eyelids drooped as she read—stating she was fine and she would call on them when necessary. Drake had specifically asked her to watch after Anne, and she would not disappoint him—again.

Even Andrew and Alice Weatherby—reappearing and looking no more rested—could not convince her to abandon her post, and she remained as a silent witness to their torturous vigil. When Andrew could bear it no longer, Alice led him from the room.

The stream of light from the slit in the curtain dimmed, and her mother appeared. “Honoria, you must eat something. You’ve been in here for hours. At least allow me to request a tray be sent up.”

At the mention of food, Honoria’s stomach rumbled. “That would be wonderful. Not much, just a small bite.”

Her mother nodded and left.

The chime from a clock announced the time as eight fifteen when Burwood entered carrying a tray of food. “I didn’t want a footman to bring it in case you sent him away. You can hardly refuse to eat for me.” Even the duke’s rakish grin seemed to have waned. He set the tray on a table, and Honoria noticed the additional plate.

Lifting the domed coverings, he said, “I thought I would join you.”

“But your guests?”

He shrugged. “As you can imagine, no one is in the mood for a large supper gathering.” He glanced toward Anne. “Still no change at all?”

Honoria shook her head, wishing she had better news, and joined him at the small table. “You’re taking a risk, Your Grace, being in here with me alone.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips as he poured them both some wine. “We’re not alone. Miss Weatherby is here.” He pointed to the entrance with his fork. “And I’ve left the door open. If someone comes in, I will say I popped in for a moment to check Miss Weatherby’s status.”

Oddly, she found herself smiling. “And how would you explain the additional plate of food?”

“Simple. The events of the day left you famished.”

At that, she laughed outright. Anyone who knew her would see that for the lie it was. Which made her wonder. “Your Grace, may I ask something?”

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