Page 39 of A Duke to Reclaim Her
He nodded, eyes flicking to the untouched tea. “You should drink,” he said, and when she did not move, he poured the tea into a fresh cup and set it within reach.
Felix moved carefully, as if every step was measured to avoid disturbing the baby. He lifted the towel from the cradle, found it still slightly damp, and folded it into a square, then he dipped it in the basin, wrung it so gently the twist made not a single sound, and brought it back to Rose.
She did not take it, so he dabbed it himself across Lizzie’s brow. The baby stirred and made a protesting sound, but Felix’s touch was so cool and deft she settled instantly. He repeated thegesture until her forehead shone with dampness, then left the cloth draped over the crook of Rose’s arm.
“Thank you,” she told him, and he only nodded in return, as though he was doing the most natural thing.
The minutes wavered. Lizzie’s color softened from angry red to mottled pink, then to a familiar, sallow cream. She drooled a little, lips pursed in a way that made Rose’s heart clench with stupid, animal joy.
She bent her head and pressed her mouth to the child’s temple. “You’re all right. You’re all right.”
Felix watched her, then reached into the cradle and withdrew a fresh blanket, bringing it to Rose.
“Let me,” he said, and she did not resist as he draped it over both of them, tucking the edges around Lizzie’s feet, then around Rose’s own shoulders.
“Thank you,” Rose said.
For a while, they sat in silence, the three of them, a strange, makeshift family, knit together by crisis and sweat and the lingering terror that it could all dissolve in a moment.
When Lizzie finally relaxed, her entire body going heavy and slack with genuine sleep, Rose felt a new exhaustion come overher. She let her head fall back, the weight of it balanced by Felix’s arm, where he rested it behind her on the settee.
She drifted, not asleep but not fully awake, lulled by the rhythm of the baby’s breath, the soft hiss of the fire, and the odd comfort of Felix’s presence so close beside her.
When the physician finally arrived, blinking and tousled, he was almost irrelevant. They listened to his instructions, nodded at the doses and remedies, and let him check the baby’s pulse.
He bowed, then turned to Felix. “The duchess managed splendidly, Your Grace. She may have saved the child’s life.”
Felix glanced at Rose, but she did not react; instead, nodding with the barest acknowledgment.
The doctor declared Lizzie out of danger, left powders and advice, then vanished.
Rose looked down at Lizzie, then up at Felix.
He met her gaze. “She’s strong,” he said.
Rose nodded. “She must be. She’s a Greycliff.”
The corner of his lip turned upwards in a hint of a smile.
The tea had gone cold, but she drank it anyway. The room was full of light now, and for a few precious minutes, Rose believed she could keep the world at bay forever, just by holding on tight enough.
She closed her eyes, and for the first time since girlhood, she slept without fear.
CHAPTER 12
“My lady?” the maid whispered.
She came to relieve Rose and found her half-dreaming in the armchair. Lizzie lay sprawled like a victorious kitten against her chest, both of them sticky and wild-haired.
Rose blinked, then smiled. “Yes. It’s over.”
The girl bobbed a curtsy. “Would you like me to prepare a bath?”
Rose nodded. “Very much. And please tell Mrs. Durham the child may have mutton broth today if she wishes. She’s earned it.”
By the time the sun had burned through the morning mists, Rose’s limbs were leaden and her mind a slurry of fatigue and triumph. Lizzie had woken at dawn with a tiny, indignant mewl, the fever burned away, leaving only a sweet dampness at her brow and the stubborn, ferocious hunger that had alwaysdefined her. Rose rocked and soothed, watching the terror drain from the child’s face as surely as it did from her own.
When the bath was ready, Rose shucked her dressing gown and let herself sink beneath the surface, the heat a shock, then a balm. Every ache, every knot of sleeplessness, uncoiled under the pressure of the water.
