Page 58 of Pursuing Mr. Mattingly

Chapter Eighteen

July 24, 1819

It had been two days since Sophia had gone through the harrowing fall into the rain-swollen creek. Two days since life had been as idyllic and perfect as it could be. Two days since she and Oliver had slept in the same bed.

And two days since her worries truly began.

She hadn’t expired after that horrific afternoon, when, by all rights she should have, and neither had she died that night when she’d spent the remainder of the day in bed. After being forced to explain the accident to various family members, exhaustion had returned and forced her to rest, but she felt as far from death as a person could be.

That terrified her in a way far different from waiting to die.

Had the family doctor in London misdiagnosed her condition? Sophia shifted against the nest of pillows she leaned against. Every decision she’d made in the last six months had been because of that diagnosis. Had everything she’d known been a lie?

And worse yet, had she tricked Oliver into marrying her? Did he now feel well and truly trapped?

“Sophia?”

So lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard the knock on the corridor door, nor had she been aware the panel had opened. Her husband stood on the threshold, and when she beckoned him in, he stepped forward a few steps. “What is it?”

“Do I have permission to send in a doctor? Yesterday, I summoned one from the neighboring village, but he wasn’t available to make a call until now.”

Oh, dear lord.Knots of worry pulled in her belly. If his results were different than what she’d already been given, she would have definitive answers… and her life would crumble in a different way than it had before. “Is the man here?”

“Yes. He’s downstairs in the parlor.” Concern clouded his stormy eyes. “Will you let him give you a cursory examination?” Oliver rubbed a hand along the side of his face. Suddenly, he appeared old, tired. “I’ve already told him of your history and what happened the other day.”

“I suppose that’s a good idea. We should know… I should know if my heart is truly weakened.”

With a nod, he came further into the room. “Sophia, please let me in.”

“You are in. At least the room.” But she knew to what her referred, and she couldn’t risk it. The walls around her heart were back in place, for if the new doctor had a different diagnosis than the previous one, she would have to set Oliver free.

“I don’t appreciate being pushed away, especially during such a critical time.” He paused at her bedside, but his customary grin was missing. “I am your husband.”

“Only because we suspected I would die early!” She hadn’t meant to let loose her fears quite yet, but it couldn’t be helped. “Don’t you understand, Oliver? We married under false pretenses. You only asked for my hand because you expected this marriage wouldn’t last beyond six months, and you followed my wishes of Hannah having a parent.” The urge to retch grew strong, but she staved it off with a few swallows.

“That doesn’t discount our feelings for each other.”

“Feelings based on an expected limited time.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Even you cannot deny that.” She clasped her hands in her lap atop the bedclothes. “We made no secret of why we wed in haste—we were in lust; there weren’t any further expectations beyond that.”

His expression fell. Despite the afternoon sunlight spilling into the room, agony and desolation twisted through his features. “You don’t believe that, surely. We have shared our feelings…”

“I don’t know.” Her heart ached so fiercely it was as if she were mourning for a husband all over again except hers was still standing there at her side facing the widening rift between them, perhaps of her making, but their marriage hadn’t been fair to him. She glanced at the windows, away from the shock, the disappointment, the angst on his face.

“If you’ll only listen to me—”

“I rather think I’m done listening for a while.” Her chin quivered, and she swallowed again, for there would be plenty of time to indulge in tears later. “Send in the doctor.”

“Very well.” Once he left the room, her composure cracked.

Until she had answers to her questions regarding her heart, her life was in a sort of suspended hold. Decisions couldn’t be made until something definitive was said.

In short order, Oliver returned with an older gentleman with thinning blond-gray hair. He carried a worn black bag, which he set on the foot of the bed. “This is Doctor Braun. He’s from a village the next county over, and if you wish for a reference, I can fetch one from your brother Gilbert.” His voice was dull and devoid of the life he usually had. “Apparently, during your brother’s time at Ettesmere Park, he has called upon the doctor a time or two.”

That was surprising news. What did Gilbert need to see a physician regarding outside of his limp? “It’s not necessary.” All she wanted to do was either cry or have an honest talk with Oliver, but her feelings were too fragile, so she would keep her own counsel. “Please, just conduct the examination. I’m rather fatigued.”

At least that wasn’t a lie.

“Of course, Lady Sophia.” The doctor removed an instrument he referred to as a stethoscope. “Please breathe normally.” He came toward her, held the narrow end of the hollow wooden monaural tube to her chest above her right breast and placed the funneled side to his own ear. “I’ll be able to listen to your lungs and heart with this.” With a nod he repeated the routine with the left side of her chest. Then he did the same to her back. “Your pulse is quite rapid and thready at times, but your lungs are clear.”

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