Page 137 of A Winter By the Sea
He slumped onto the sofa beside Mr. Hornbeam. “A doctor from London arrived, but not the one we wanted. The duchess is upset. King George appears to be dying, so Sir David could not leave him. Instead they sent William Maton, who was Queen Charlotte’s physician before her death.”
“Does Her Royal Highness not esteem him?”
James shrugged. “His German and French are both very poor. The duchess is confused and anguished by his plan to bleed her husband yet again, yet she finds it difficult to communicate. She said, ‘It cannot be good for the patient to lose so much blood when he is already so weak.’ I translated as best I could, but Maton insists the duke has not been bled sufficiently.”
Emily’s heart went out to the poor woman. “Let’s hope the new doctor is right and will be able to help him.”
“If bleeding has not helped the duke so far, I don’t know why it would now. Nor does the duchess. But what can we do? I know of no other course to suggest, and even if I did, no one would listen. I feel so blasted helpless.”
Mr. Hornbeam reached out until he found James’s shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. “You have done what you can, son. The rest is in God’s hands.”
James slowly shook his head. “It is not God’s hands I’m worried about.”
———
After that, Emily busied herself around the house, dusting and straightening and trying to order her thoughts. Now andagain she slipped a hand into her apron pocket to reassure herself the folded handkerchief was still there.
When Charles arrived later that day, Emily’s courage at first failed her.
“Oh, um, Charles. I did not expect you so soon. I am not ... yet ... prepared.”
“Then I will speak to your mother first,” he said. “Give you time to collect yourself.”
Her unease only worsened. “I don’t think you need to speak with her first, not unless you specifically wish to. I have apprised her of your ... of our discussion, and she has left things in my hands.”
“I see. If you are certain she will not feel slighted?”
“Quite certain.”
Rousing her flagging courage, she led him into the library-office, which would be more private than the parlour.
She sat first and he sat nearby.
He smiled at her, but after looking into her face, the smile quickly wobbled away. “Have you decided?”
Emily gulped, then began evenly, “I have a few questions for you.”
“Of course. Ask anything.”
She drew a quavering breath. “First of all, about Claire ...”
“We’ve talked about this,” he said. “Soon, two years will have passed. Few remember, or at least talk of it—men like Craven aside, and no one pays him any heed. It need not cast a pall on your family forever. Claire lives far from here, and I gather your mother has no intention of inviting her to return. It has blown over.”
Emily shook her head, sorrow washing over her. “Oh, Charles ... If you think for one minute that I want Claire to stay hidden away in Scotland, you are very much mistaken. I love her, despite what happened, and would happily welcome her home.”
He hesitated. “Even if her return sparked gossip that could ruin the marriage prospects of the rest of you?”
Emily lifted her chin. “I would not fret about our prospects. May I remind you that Viola has recently married an excellent man. And Sarah has had more than one gentleman pursuing her over the last year.”
“And you?”
“This situation already ruined my prospects once.”
He took her hand. “That was in the past. Can you not forgive me? Can we not start again?”
“And if Claire returned tomorrow? What then? If her return would cause you to change your mind about renewing our relationship, then you ought to turn around and leave without delay.”
He stared at her, unblinking. “Might she return?”
