Page 78 of His Haunted Duchess
“I—I—pushed her to it. But that’s—” He waved his hand dismissively. “That’s a story for another tart—I mean, time. It all happened just before I left.”
Frederic pulled himself a little further up onto the pillows until his head was level with Philip’s. The swirling got a little better, like a stewpot once the ladle had stopped stirring. The headache subsided somewhat. His brain still felt murky as pea soup, but that would soon clear.
“Since we have established that Caroline isn’t the culprit—the tea, then? From whence did it come?”
“It was poisoned by that hemlock flower, but you will be all right because you only drank a little of it. Mother found the paper the package had been wrapped in near the tea table. She confirmed it was not written in Lady Olivia’s handwriting. Someone else must have sent it. The note, though, said it would help Caroline with her nightmares. I didn’t know about that.”
Frederic frowned. Unless he was much mistaken, Caroline had not shared the frequency of her nightmares with anyone but her immediate family and himself. Who possibly could have known the knowledge specific to her and sent the deadly package? The question reminded him of his original anxiety.
“And Caroline?” he asked. He dreaded the answer. “She is?—?”
Philip fidgeted with the pillowcase.
“Caroline is—well, she is?—”
Frederic’s heart shivered. Lord have mercy. Please let her be alive.
“Spit it out, then!” he said. His fear made his voice harsh as lye. “She’s?—?”
“I was not chewing anything,” Philip glared at him. “Caroline is gone. She—she left.”
“Gone? What do you mean gone?”
He took another breath to speak and coughed violently. His headache renewed its attack with full force. Ugh! What a violent herb! His chest felt as if he had been scraped out with a spoon. He shaded his eyes with his hand, trying to rest his eyes.
“She—while everyone was attending to you—she left,” Philip continued. “If I had been here, I would have stopped her. Carlyle tried. She told him this was the only way you would be safe.”
Frederic sighed with relief and irritation. The silliness of that beautiful woman! At least, however, she was alive. That was a step better than he had feared.
He moved his legs experimentally, testing their strength. They creaked like branches at a mill but responded. He leaned forward, throwing one leg off the bed.
“I must go to her.”
“Frederic, you absolutely cannot. How would you even stay on your horse in your present state? You—you’re not well yet. The physician said you need to rest.”
Frederic sat up slowly, waiting for the murkiness in his head to clear. He would be waiting, it seemed, for quite some time. He crinkled his nose. His skin smelled like sweat and turpentine.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Two days.”
Two days! What a time she must have had. He stood slowly, using the post as a support. Philip stood next to him, torn between helping him forward and pushing him back into bed.
“They told me you needed to rest! If you get up, then?—”
“I have to go to her.” Frederic looked straight into Philip’s eyes. “I can’t stand the thought of her crying alone.”
Philip opened his mouth and shut it again. He waved his hands helplessly.
“Do you ever get tired of being right?” he asked. Frederic grinned.
“No. It comes with the title.”
“Well,” Philip sighed, “I suppose helping you is better for your recovery than wrestling you back into the pillows. We must do something to buy you time.”
Philip’s gaze hopped around the room, settling on a long golden pillow with a light fringe.
“Get dressed,” he said. “I’ll prepare the bed.”
