Page 61 of Vying for a Viscount
She hadn’t considered that. “No. He should return home.”
He followed her down the stairs and spoke with her driver while a footman helped her into the carriage. A moment later, they were caught in the flow of carriages. She stared out the window, feeling sick to her stomach ever since reading the duke’s cryptic note. Would his sisters be there when she arrived? Was it that serious? Oh dear, she hugged herself, trembling. Couldn’t Burke make the horses and carriage go any faster? What was taking them so long? She was about to scream in frustration when the carriage pulled up to a grand manor house.
A footman opened the door, lowered the steps, and held out his hand to assist her in exiting. “Thank you.”
As she ascended the stairs, the door to the home opened, and the butler greeted her. “The duke and duchess are waiting for you in the drawing room. Please follow me.”
They went up a set of stairs and down the hall to a large burgundy drawing room, where she found not only Knight and his duchess but also Hunter, Anastasia, and Aurora. The room was quiet. The overall atmosphere had her hand flying to her chest.
“Everyone, please sit down,” said Tremont, or Knight, as she also knew him. Everyone sat on various chairs and the two settees facing one another, Letitia sat next to Aurora. Tremont remained standing; the expression on the side of his face she could see was somber, and his posture tense. “You may hear me say things in this room that you must promise never to repeat.”
Anastasia sat opposite Letitia on the other settee with Hunter. They both looked worried. Aurora reached for her hand and held it tightly.
“First, I will tell you about the Black Knights.” Everyone in the room fell silent as he explained about them, what they did, and who they reported to. Letita didn’t think her heart could survive if it beat any faster. “We were trying to stop protestors from reaching Carlton House three nights ago when a skirmish broke out, and Greyson was stabbed in the thigh with a pitchfork.”
Gasps broke out among everyone in the room. Aurora squeezed her hand tightly, but it didn’t matter. All Letitia could think about was Greyson and seeing him. She needed to see him and know he was well and alive. Before she realized what she was doing, she tugged her hand from Aurora and stood. “I need to see him.”
Greyson’s sisters and Hunter stood saying the same thing.
“You can all see him. My physician has been caring for him, and a private nurse, highly recommended by Dr. Hanson, has been as well. Iowe Dr. Hanson my life after sustaining injuries in the war. Please believe me when I say Greyson is receiving the best care available.”
Letitia was having difficulty breathing. Her heart and pulse were racing, and she felt lightheaded. She reached behind her for the settee and sank down. “What are you not saying?” she whispered, praying the room would stop spinning.
“The pitchfork was dirty. Dr. Hanson did everything he could to prevent infection in the wound. This morning, Greyson woke up delirious with a fever. Dr. Hanson came and unpacked and drained the wounds, cleaned them, and packed them with a foul-smelling cream he swears by. As do I. It’s what the good doctor used on my burns to help prevent infection and promote healing. Dr. Hanson is doing all he can to save Greyson’s leg and his life.” He paused to let everyone in the room comprehend the seriousness of the situation. “He’s been thrashing about and calling out in his sleep. Your name is often spoken, Letitia.”
Tears trickled down her cheeks in a steady stream, and she didn’t care. There wasn’t a dry eye in the drawing room. Even Hunter wiped his eyes. She wasn’t surprised to see Hunter here, since he was Greyson’s best friend. But she was shocked Lady Charity wasn’t.
As much as Letitia wanted to see Greyson at once, she felt obligated to grant his sisters the honor of visiting first. “Anastasia and Aurora, go to him.”
Anastasia went into Hunter’s open arms and cried as he held her close, murmuring to her. Aurora was by a window, her head down, her arms wrapped around her middle, and her shoulders shook with silent tears.
“He’s been calling out for you,” Aurora said from across the room. “Go to him.”
Letitia swallowed back more tears, clogging her throat in hopes of speaking loudly enough to be heard, but nothing came out.
“If you’re ready, Letitia. I’ll take you to him,” the duchess said.
Letitia tried hard to remember her name but came up empty. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“No need for formalities at a time such as this. Charlotte will do.”
“Thank you, Charlotte.” The duchess led her up a flight of stairs and down the corridor to the left. Another time, if Letitia ever found herself inside Tremont Manor again, she would allow herself to take in the beautiful interior, the sweeping grand staircase winding off in two directions. But today wasn’t the day for admiring architecture.
“This is his room,” Charlotte said, knocking, then opening the door a crack. “May we come in?”
A lady’s voice answered, “Yes.”
Charlotte opened the door wide and let Letitia enter first. “If you would like, I can stay with you.”
“Thank you. I would appreciate it.”
“Nurse Pendergrast, go to the kitchens and get something to eat. I’m sure you could use a break.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Nurse Pendergrast curtsied, checked on Greyson, then left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Letitia took a deep breath and forced her feet to move forward until she stood beside the bed. There were so many things to notice that she didn’t know where to look first. He was sleeping. She’d never seen him look so flushed, even after all his outdoor activities. The man loved to ride his horse. His usually clean, light brown hair was matted to his head and darker than usual. He had several days of facial hair growth. Every so often, his body twitched, his head moved from side to side, and he moaned.
He was wrapped in blankets so that she couldn’t see the wound on his leg. The leg would be wrapped in a linen cloth to keep it clean. Part of her wanted to see the infected flesh for herself, but she would trust the doctor, as Tremont had told them to. Besides, what did she know about caring for wounds? Nothing. His hand was visible, poking out from the side of the covers, and she curled her hands around it. Thepalm of his hand burned against hers, no doubt from his high fever.
