Page 71 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on what the doctor had told them last evening after the grooms had brought Michael back to the house, after he’d been stripped of his icy clothes, lowered gently into a warm bath, and then put into his bed beneath layers of down with a fire burning all night in an attempt to drive the chill from his body…

He’s exhausted and frozen. Warm him up and let him rest as long as he’d like, and he should be fine in a day or two.

The doctor offered the same advice for Susannah, but the little girl had recovered quickly. So quickly that she devoured a large dinner that cook sent up for her on a tray, then kept sneaking out of her bed to check on her uncle.

Clara finally had to insist to Miss Pritchard that the children be kept in the nursery and not allowed into the rest of the house. She didn’t want them to see Michael like this and worry. After all, she was doing enough worrying for all of them.

Each minute that passed with Michael still unconscious was agony for Clara. He’d not woken up except for fitful flutterings of his eyes, which promptly closed again as if the simple act of opening his eyelids took more energy than he possessed. She’d not left his side for a moment, which worried Mrs. Bailey to no end and had both Eads and Mrs. Hansen bringing her unwanted trays of food from the kitchen all through the night.

Now the morning sunlight slanted brightly into the room, and she knew there was no point in being asked to be taken to her own bed. Sleep hadn’t come last night, and it wouldn’t come this morning. Not until she knew Michael would be all right.

A soft knock sounded on the bedroom door. She’d instructed the servants to leave it half-open, not to protect her reputation at being in a bachelor’s bedroom—what did that matter, compared to her worry over Michael?—but so the noise of the latch wouldn’t disturb him when anyone came and went. Yet they still insisted on pausing at the door to softly knock every time.

Mrs. Hansen entered the bedroom and hesitantly approached Clara. “How is he, my lady?”

“The same,” she whispered, although truth be told her whisper was more because she didn’t have the strength to speak more loudly.

“Take comfort in that.” Overstepping the bounds of her position, the older woman placed a motherly hand on Clara’s shoulder, and Clara squeezed her fingers in gratitude for the sympathetic gesture. “He’s no worse off than those London dandies who drink themselves foxed to the gills, then sleep until late afternoon. He’ll be up and runnin’ around in no time. Just you see.”

Clara smiled faintly. She prayed to heaven that was true.

“Would you like me to bring up breakfast for you, my lady?”

Clara’s gaze wandered to the tray already sitting on the bedside table, still untouched. “No, thank you.”

The housekeeper nodded and reached to remove the tray, but Clara stopped her as guilt panged in her chest that she’d not taken a bite when Cook had so thoughtfully prepared it for her and when Mrs. Hansen had gone out of her way in the middle of the night to bring it up to her. “Please leave it, though. I might want something later.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Mrs. Hansen quietly left.

Clara shook her head, continuing to watch over Michael. “Is Mrs. Hansen right?” she teasingly mused in a murmur. “Is this what you’ve become—a London dandy who’s too precious for a short dip in a pond? A laze-about lord?”

When silence answered her, her small smile faded back into her worried frown.

“I know you need to rest and recover, but… Michael, I’m worried about you. So are the children. Even Eads. You know that nothing befuddles that man in his duties, yet you’ve managed to do just that.” She pulled in a deep breath. “Wake up now, please. Just for a little while, just so I know you’re all right. Then you can go right back to sleep. I promise.”

When his eyes remained closed, his body so terribly still except the even rise and fall of his chest with each deep breath, she leaned forward and reached out to hold his hand. She took comfort in the steady and strong pulse at his wrist.

“You need to wake up, darling,” she entreated on the verge of fresh tears. “You see, I’ve come to a decision about some things, but I’ll never have the courage to do them without you.” She entwined her fingers with his. “Please…please wake up so I can tell you that I love you again.”

His fingers squeezed hers.

She inhaled sharply, not yet willing to believe…“Michael?”

His fingers tightened around hers again, and this time, she knew—he was coming back to her.

A sob of relief shuddered from her lips.

His eyes opened slowly. He blinked several times to clear the sleep from his head. Confusion darkened his face for a moment as he struggled to discern where he was and what had happened. He looked around the bedroom.

Then his gaze landed on her, and the confusion cleared.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” he rasped.

Her eyes blurred with hot tears, and she choked out past the knot of emotion in her throat, “Neither are you.”

“Susannah.” He tried to sit up. “How is—”