How to Heal the Marquess by Sally Forbes
Chapter Twenty-seven
“Oh, dear,” Daisy heard her father say as she wrung out a cloth to tend to the twice-relapsed duke.
“What is it?” she asked, gesturing with her hands to ask her father silently if he needed to speak with her out of earshot of the duke.
The physician shook his head, his sorrowful eyes knocking the breath out of his daughter.
“It matters not, my dear,” he said with a cracked voice. “The fever is so high that he is essentially unconscious. He cannot hear anything we say.”
Daisy’s stomach twisted. She recognized the look on her father’s face and the tone in his voice. She tried to tell herself that her own intuition disagreed with what was happening to Lord Berbrook, but when she looked down at the duke’s slack face, she could not.
“What is it, Father?” she asked again, laying the wet cloth across the duke’s forehead in what she knew would likely be a vain attempt to bring down his temperature.
The physician sighed, rubbing his tired eyes with his hand.
“The duke’s heart appears to have weakened, as well as his chest,” he said.
Daisy gasped. It was not uncommon for patients who were as ill as Lord Berbrook to begin having heart troubles as their sicknesses progressed. But twice, the duke had shown signs of great improvement. It was strange that his heart should suddenly begin to weaken so suddenly. With horror, Daisy realized the energy the duke had exerted by trying to get out of bed could very well have caused this sudden terrible turn in his condition. Did that mean she was at fault for his decline? Should she have risked angering him by disobeying his wishes and forcing him to rest and not get himself excited with notions of going outside?
Before she could voice any of her thoughts to her father, the bedchamber door flew open. Daisy’s heart dropped when she saw the frantic marquess looking wildly around the room. And when their eyes met, her stomach twisted into knots. Once he learned what her father had just told her, he would never be able to look her in the face ever again.
She tried desperately to find words to speak to the marquess, but her mouth went dry, and her throat felt as though she had swallowed a hot stone. Lord Penwell’s face was very pale, and bottomless fear was etched into his features.
Daisy could feel tears stinging her eyes, and her broken heart was powerless to prevent them from falling. She always felt sadness when the relatives of patients grieved. But the marquess’s pain affected Daisy in a personal way. For the first time in her life, she wanted to throw aside professionalism and propriety and take him into her arms.
“My lord,” her father said, breaking her from her emotional trance. She remained stuck where she stood as her father gently moved past her and walked over to Lord Penwell. “I need a word with you.”
Daisy watched as the marquess nodded, numbly following her father to the other side of the room. She forced herself to turn to face the duke, as eavesdropping was highly inappropriate. But in the otherwise dead silence of the room, she could clearly hear what her father was saying to the marquess.
“My lord,” the physician said again, his voice wavering. “I must be completely honest with you. That the duke has taken such a sudden, drastic turn has me very fearful. It is not uncommon for patients to seem suddenly almost well, and then take the final turn for the worse, before finally passing away. I had hoped your grandfather was truly recovering, but I no longer believe that to be the case.”
The marquess was silent for a moment, and Daisy thought she could sense his turbulent emotions. Her heart broke once more when she heard his breath hitch in his chest as he tried to speak.
“Can you not do more for him?” he asked, his voice sounding far from his own. “Is there not a chance he can get past this and begin to recover again as before?”
Daisy heard the weight in her father’s sigh, and she had to bite down on her lip to keep a sob from escaping.
“Any form of miracle could, indeed, save your grandfather’s life,” he said sadly. “But I am afraid there is not much more I can do for him. Daisy and I can keep him comfortable and combat his fever. But, as I said, barring a miracle, the prognosis is very grim. I encourage you to not hold your hopes too high. You must prepare yourselves for the worst.”
Daisy could no longer resist temptation. She turned back toward the men and looked right into Lord Penwell’s face. She could see him trying to process what her father had said to him, and she thought she had never seen such fright and grief in a man’s face.
She racked her brain, trying to think of any of the secrets she had learned with her uncle that might offer the key to the miracle of which her father spoke. But deep down, she knew that if the answer lay there, she and her father would already know of it. Her father was right. There was little more to do but keep the duke comfortable. And, perhaps, pray.
After the longest, most heartbreaking silence Daisy had ever experienced, the marquess slowly nodded. He murmured something that Daisy assumed was an unintelligible word of thanks to her father. Then, he walked across the room, slowly, as though his feet felt too heavy to move, and took a seat beside his grandfather’s bed.
Daisy backed away instinctively, so as to not startle the marquess, though she doubted he even noticed her right then. She walked over to where her father stood, looking at him with helpless worry.
Dr. Gibson gave his daughter a tired, sympathetic smile.
“I know, darling,” he said, touching her cheek with his thumb. “My heart is also broken at this time. But I must ask that you remain strong a little while longer. The marquess and his mother need strength more than ever right now. We must offer it to them, and continue caring for Lord Berbrook, until there is no more need for us to do so.”
Daisy felt fresh tears spill down her cheeks as her father spoke. But she forced herself to keep calm and nodded.
“I understand, Father,” she whispered.
The physician nodded, looking at her with pride.
“That’s my girl,” he said. “Will you stay overnight to monitor Lord Berbrook’s condition? I would not normally ask you to care for him alone at such a time, but I must see to another patient and restock my supplies at Ambrose’s shop. I will not leave you, however, if you do not think you can manage alone here.”
Daisy took a long, slow breath. She felt grief, not just over the notion of potentially losing Lord Berbrook, but also for Lord Penwell’s heartache over the possible loss of his grandfather. But it would do nothing for her except prevent her from doing everything she could for the duke professionally. And even though things looked grim, there was one thing she always firmly believed: There was always hope for the patient, so long as they drew breath. So, she searched deep within herself and summoned all the strength she could muster. Her father needed to know he could count on her, just as he always had.
With her best reassuring smile, she took her father’s hands and squeezed them.
“I will take very good care of Lord Berbrook, Father,” she said. “I give you my word.”
Dr. Gibson smiled wanly at his daughter. He could see she meant what she said, despite her heavy heart. He clearly struggled with himself; as her father, he desperately wished to protect her, but as a physician, he also needed to rely on her skilled hands. She bolstered her smile, adding a quick kiss on the cheek before releasing his hands.
At last, the doctor nodded.
“Very well, my dear,” he said, glancing back toward the duke and his grandson. “You know what to do should anything more happen.”
Daisy nodded, not dropping her smile despite the renewed pain in her heart. Her father did not need to tell her what he meant by that. If the duke should enter his final moments, she was to summon him immediately, and remain with him until he arrived.
“I believe that all will be well, Father,” she lied. “Now, go. I can handle everything here.”
Dr. Gibson gave his daughter a final nod. With a brief farewell to the marquess, he made his way out of the duke’s bedchambers, closing the door quietly behind him as he went.
Daisy stood for a moment, teetering on the brink of succumbing to her tears now her father was gone. Fortunately, Lord Penwell was strictly focused on his grandfather, so he did not see the rogue tears Daisy could not manage to blink away as they slipped down her cheeks to splash silently onto the floor where she stood.
She wiped at her face quickly and took another deep, silent breath. She must push aside her own grief. She must focus on the task before her. If the duke had any hope of surviving the night, she must be more attentive and more adept with her care than ever before.
With the coughing temporarily subsided, Daisy knew her first objective must be to bring down the duke’s fever. Mechanically, she moved toward the medical bag her father had left for her and fetched a bottle of lavender essence.
As she moved, she talked herself through the steps she needed to take. Even though she knew her tasks by heart, having performed them hundreds of times, it calmed her to remind herself of every single detail, as though doing everything for the first time. It allowed her to focus her mind back on taking care of the duke, and it helped her regain control of her emotions.
With skilled, but careful, execution, Daisy filled a bowl with water. She knew lavender infused water was her best chance at bringing down the duke’s fever before it caused complications his already distressed body could not withstand. Behind her, she could hear the marquess speaking softly to his grandfather. It both touched and pained her, as she had no way of knowing for certain whether Lord Berbrook could hear his grandson. She considered saying as much to Lord Penwell, but she decided it would serve no purpose except to hurt the marquess. If it brought him a measure of comfort to speak to the duke, there was no harm in it.
As she prepared the water, she noticed the marquess’s whispers became murmurs, and his murmurs turned into intelligible words. She tried not to listen, as it was hardly the time to be caught eavesdropping. She decided she might hum a very soft tune to herself, to resist the temptation of trying to listen in. But before she could do so, she heard Lord Penwell choking back a sob.
“Grandfather,” he said, his voice rising in his effort to suppress his emotions, “if you can hear me, please listen. You must fight. You are strong, and you can survive this. But you must fight.”
Daisy bit her trembling lip, squeezing her eyes shut tight to prevent more tears. She had heard those very same words spoken to many an ill patient, but none had ever made her feel as emotionally moved as she did just then.
She began mouthing a song silently to herself, focusing on every single lyric as she worked. But when Lord Penwell next spoke, she instantly stopped and began listening again.
“Grandfather, I want you to know that my promise to you is being fulfilled,” he said. “I am going to marry Lady Selina.”
Daisy’s heart stopped, dropping down into her stomach, which twisted into knots yet again. She felt momentarily breathless and, apart from her trembling hands, which still held the bottle of lavender essence, she could not move. Lord Penwell was planning to marry? Why had there been no prior mention of it? She could not understand why it upset her so, but suddenly she felt as though the world was about to collapse around her.
She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe again, and she tried to get her tense body to relax. But her mind was racing, and her heart felt as though it was being ripped to pieces inside of her.
She frantically scrambled to collect her thoughts and get back to the task in hand, but it was momentarily forgotten. It wasn’t until it was too late that she remembered herself, and it was a sharp shattering sound which finally broke her paralysis.
Her body had, at last, begun to relax, including her hands. And from her now open palms, the bottle of lavender had slipped and hit the floor. And now, like her heart, it lay there shattered into a million pieces.
