Page 45 of A Christmas Miracle for the Frosty Marquess
The flickering lanterns of the physician’s modest home were a welcome sight. Julian dismounted with a haste that betrayed his worry, leaving his horse in Thomas’s capable hands as he rapped sharply on the door.
Dr. Simmons, a grizzled man of late middle age, opened the door with a bemused expression that quickly shifted to concern at the sight of Julian’s urgent demeanor.
“Lord Silverstone,” he said with a quick bow. “What brings you to my doorstep at this hour?”
Julian gave him a brief bow of his own, his expression grave.
“Dr. Simmons, there is a woman in dire need of your assistance,” he said. “Her condition is worsening by the hour, and I fear what might happen if she is not promptly attended. Her family can ill afford medical treatment, but I am willing to cover any costs. I beseech you; we must make haste.”
Understanding flashed across the physician’s eyes, and he nodded solemnly.
“I’ll gather my medical bag and medicines at once,” he said. “If it is as serious as your face portrays, there is no time to dawdle.”
Julian nodded, appreciating the doctor’s shrewd analysis.
“Thank you, Dr. Simmons,” he said.
Within minutes, the doctor had collected his essentials, and the three men were once again enveloped by the winter night, making their way back to Agnes’s humble dwelling. A sense of relief washed over Julian as they began their journey, and he felt that he could finally breathe again. Yet, the heaviness in his chest did not entirely dissipate. He knew all too well that the night was far from over.
As they navigated the frozen pathways, Julian found himself engulfed in memories he had long tried to suppress. His own mother’s pale face, her drawn expression in those final days. He had locked away those images in the recesses of his mind. But now, they resurfaced with a vividness that was almost unbearable. He could still remember the helpless anguish he had felt as a young man, watching the life ebb from her, knowing there was nothing he could do to save her. The pain of that loss had shaped him, hardened him, and he shuddered to think that Agnes’s children might suffer a similar fate.
“Are you well, Cousin?” Thomas asked, noticing Julian’s sudden pallor.
Julian nodded, avoiding his cousin’s gaze.
“I am,” Julian answered, though his words lacked conviction. “I merely find myself contemplating the cruel hand that life can sometimes deal us. None should have to endure the loss of a mother, especially not so close to Christmas. If I can prevent that fate for another, I shall consider it a blessing.”
Thomas gave him an understanding look.
“A Christmas miracle, perhaps,” Thomas mused, gazing skyward as if in search of divine intervention.
Julian nodded again, grateful that his cousin shared his thoughts.
“Yes,” Julian said quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. “A Christmas miracle is precisely what we need.”
And so, with the weight of their task and the ghosts of his past hanging heavy upon him, Julian spurred his horse onward. Dr. Simmons, following closely behind on his own horse, seemed to sense the urgency that gripped them all. Time was of the essence, and Julian knew he would pay any price, bear any burden, to stave off the cruel hands of Fate.
He had already navigated the labyrinthine paths of his emotions tonight, had already faced obstacles both physical and internal. Now, all that was left was to hope, and to pray for a miracle. With that singular thought occupying his mind, Julian rode through the winter night, a man on the edge of a precipice, poised between dread and hope, between the ghosts of Christmases past and the fragile promise of a more compassionate future.
Chapter Twenty-one
The ticking of a clock had never seemed so loud to Clara. Each tick was a drumbeat of impending doom, each tock a reminder of the precious seconds slipping away. The room was filled with the scent of beeswax candles and the faint, metallic undertone of fear. The children, full of the food they shared from the basket that Clara and her group had delivered, were all curled up around and in their mother’s bed, fast asleep.
Clara glanced toward the window, her eyes searching the inky darkness outside, hoping to see the lantern lights of Julian and Thomas. Her heart fluttered at the thought of Julian, bravely speeding through the chilling night, facing hidden perils. But she couldn’t afford to dwell on those fears. Not now. She had always been the pillar of strength for the family, and tonight was no exception. The weight on her chest seemed to grow heavier, but she took a deep breath and tucked her anxieties away.
“Miss Bennett?” Emily asked, pulling Clara from her thoughts. Clara looked down to find the child’s wide-eyed gaze upon her, those innocent blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Emily and her brother, George, she recalled, were now huddled together on the floor, their faces pale in the candlelight. “George is scared.”
Clara forced a weak smile for them. She knew it was unlikely that little George was the only one of the two of them who was scared. But she understood that the little girl was trying to sound brave for her younger siblings.
“It’s going to be alright,” she said softly, though she wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince them or herself. “Julian and Thomas have gone to fetch the doctor. He will know what to do.”
Emily nestled her head against her brother’s shoulder, taking comfort in his presence. Their innocence was a gentle reminder that hope wasn’t completely lost, even in the darkest of times.
But as Clara’s gaze shifted to Agnes, the illusion shattered. The once vibrant woman lay frail and pallid, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Each labored inhalation was a painful reminder of the urgency of the situation. With that sight, she was reminded that the innocence she found so soothing in the children was also the very reason Clara’s heart broke. They were so young, and she knew that losing their mother would be terribly traumatizing for them. With horror, Clara realized that she was witnessing the poor woman’s demise right before her very eyes. As were her children, she realized with sickening dread.
Clara knelt beside the bed, taking Agnes’s cold hand into her own.
“Stay with us, Agnes,” she said, her voice trembling. “Julian and Thomas will be back soon. Just hold on.”
