Page 75 of The Duke of Ice
Nick grunted in response and allowed his valet to finish dressing him. Once he was finished, Nick thanked Rand and departed his chamber.
As soon as he reached the hall downstairs, the butler approached him. “You’ve received another missive, Your Grace.”
It was likely from Violet. She’d sent two notes already, asking after him and, to her credit, filling the page with mindless chatter that took his mind off his sadness, at least for a little while.
He took the letter from the butler and frowned at the unfamiliar handwriting. Opening it, he saw that it was a short missive, and judging from the writing and careless ink splatters, hastily drafted. Quickly scanning it, his heart fell into his feet.
While it wasn’t from Violet, it was about her. She’d been in an accident.
Nick dashed from the house without a word to the butler. He tore down the street, uncaring what people thought. He was never more glad that he’d leased a house so close to hers.
Her butler admitted him immediately. “Your Grace, the physician is with her upstairs. Perhaps you’d like to wait in the sitting room?”
No, he didn’t want to wait anywhere except at her bedside. He started toward the stairs, but stopped with his hand on the newel post. “What happened?” The note hadn’t said.
“Lady Pendleton went for a walk—I believe to the Royal Crescent.” To see him, Nick thought. “There was some sort of commotion involving a runaway coach. She fell and struck her head. She has not regained consciousness, I’m afraid.” The butler’s tight, dark tone said more than his words ever could.
Panic rose in Nick’s throat along with bile. One would think he would be numb to loss—heshouldbe. He wanted to be. The alternative was excruciating. He didn’t know if he could go through it again.
He slowly ascended the staircase as apprehension rioted through him. He felt cold and shaky, as if he had a fever.
When he reached her room, he saw that the door was half-open. He heard voices from within but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Fear rooted him to the carpet.
The door opened farther and her maid, Chalke, filled the gap. The woman’s round face was pale, her eyes red as if she’d been crying. Nick thought he might be sick.
“Oh, Your Grace,” she said. “Come in, come in.” She stepped inward and gestured for him to follow her into Violet’s room.
He was terrified of what he’d see and learn. It took him a moment, but he went inside. His gaze immediately fell on Violet lying in her bed—the bed in which they’d brought each other so much joy. She was so pale that she was actually a bit gray. A deathly pallor, someone would say. Icy sweat broke out along Nick’s neck, and his palms grew clammy.
“Dr. Paulson, this is His Grace, the Duke of Kilve. He’s, ah, a friend of Lady Pendleton.”
The physician was perhaps a few years older than Nick, with a sharp blue gaze and long face. He looked well equipped to deliver bad news. He bowed toward Nick. “Your Grace. Lady Pendleton has suffered a severe injury. There’s quite a knot on her skull, and she has yet to wake. There is, unfortunately, nothing I can do at present. We must pray that she regains consciousness soon.”
Pray? That was what the physician had advised him to do when Elias had failed to take enough nourishment to grow bigger. He’d been small and frail at birth and had only diminished over the weeks of his life. Nick had long since given up on prayer.
“There must be something you can do to help her.” It wasn’t a question. Nick wanted to grab the man by his lapel and shake him until he made her well again. But it wouldn’t help. This was Nick’s curse.
“I’ve instructed Mrs. Chalke to brew some herbs and let them steep beside the bed here.”
“Mrs. Spindle is working on that now,” the maid said earnestly.
“The aroma may help rouse Lady Pendleton. Beyond that, we’ll need to wait and see what happens. Mrs. Chalke will send for me as soon as she wakes.”
“You’re leaving?” Nick glared at the man.
The physician startled, his frame jerking. “For now. But I’ll return the moment you have need of me.”
Nick turned toward the bed, dismissing the man before he did something he would regret.
Chalke saw the physician out but returned a moment later, joining Nick beside the bed. “She looks so peaceful, doesn’t she?”
Her features were in a state of repose, her lashes dark against the paleness of her cheeks. Her hair was loose, the golden curls splayed across the pillow. The top of her night rail was just visible above the bedclothes.
“You changed her clothing.” He didn’t say what he was thinking—how long did you wait to send word to me?It didn’t matter. He was just glad theyhadsent word. But then everyone in the household was aware of their affair. Was anyone else? “I’m glad you sent for me. However, it’s best if we don’t make our…relationship known. For propriety’s sake.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
To preserve her reputation, he ought to leave. And yet he couldn’t. Not while she lay there unmoving.
