Page 27 of Devoted to the Duke (The St. Clairs 1)

“Go to sleep, Lady Catherine.”

“Where is Mama? Papa?”

“Don’t you worry about them, my lady. Get some rest.”

The next time Catherine woke, her head throbbed dully but the pain had receded. Once again, Tilly greeted her, rising from the chair next to the bed.

“How... long... have I slept?”

“A good long while, my lady. You needed it. After what happened.”

She thought a moment. “What did happen, Tilly?”

The maid clucked her tongue. “Poor child. The surgeon said you might have trouble remembering. You banged your head hard. He put in four stitches.”

Her fingers went to her forehead and felt the straight line of stitches an inch below her hairline.

Tilly brought the back of her hand to Catherine’s cheek. “You don’t seem to have a fever. That’s a good sign. Very good. Are you hungry? Mr. Jones said you should start with bread and broth.”

“I am.”

“I’ll go fetch some for you. Be back in a jiffy.”

Catherine watched Tilly go and closed her eyes. Her entire body ached as if she’d been bruised and battered. It reminded her of when she’d fallen off a horse at age nine. She’d lost control of it when a storm approached. Thunder frightened the beast and it had taken off running, throwing her in the process. Every muscle in her body hurt for a week.

She opened her eyes and searched the room. She was in her own chamber but had no recollection of returning here. What was the last thing she could remember?

Jeremy St. Clair...

The image of the handsome marquess filled her mind. He was coming to call on her today. She glanced down at her leg. She wouldn’t be able to see him like this.

Wait.

She recalled meeting his grandmamma. Leaving the ball. And then...

“No!” she cried weakly.

She remembered. Everything came rushing back faster than flood waters sweeping objects along a road. The carriage out of control. Tumbling. The darkness. Mama’s groans. Papa silent. Fat tears fell down her cheeks.

What had happened to them?

Tilly entered the room with a tray. She stopped in her tracks. Catherine knew her dismay must be obvious.

“I remember an accident. What happened, Tilly? Where are Mama and Papa?”

The servant set the tray down. She perched on the bed and took Catherine’s hands.

“Robert must have been drinking. From what we know, he lost control of the team. A witness said he stood, yanking hard on the reins, trying to slow the horses down. He was thrown from the coach.” Tilly paused, her eyes downcast. “He didn’t make it.”

Catherine absorbed this information, fearful of what she would learn next. “Go on.”

“The team ran through the streets with no driver. It crashed and the carriage turned upside down. It’s how you were injured, my lady.”

“And my parents?” she insisted, tears filling her eyes.

Reluctantly, Tilly met her gaze. “Lord Statham was badly injured. They are still tending to him. The countess... she... she... she didn’t make it.”

Misery swept through Catherine. She would never see Mama again. Never speak with her. When she married, Mama wouldn’t be there. Her babies would never know their grandmamma.

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