He did not respond, and she stood watching over him as thunder rumbled in the distance. For some reason, she now worried for him more than she had ever worried for any other person. If he became too sick, what would she do?
Confused by her own feelings, she went to the chair and watched the rise and fall of his chest, hoping it would not suddenly stop moving.
***
Caroline ate very little that night, but she forced down some of the roast chicken and potatoes offered in the dining room. She was able to procure a bowl of chicken broth for William, but she was unable to wake him from his sleep. Well, at least he was resting; if he were awake, he would insist they continue to Cornwall despite the fact he was ill and the rain was coming down in buckets.
She placed a hand to his head once again only to pull it away in shock. Where he was warm before, now he burned. Her hope had been that the fever would break as he slept, as most did, and perhaps it would. Only time would tell. All she could do was wait.
Sleep weighed on her lids, but she fought for as long as she could. Unfortunately, she was unable to remain awake, and, sitting in the chair she had pulled up beside the bed, her eyes closed of their own accord.
Her dreams were filled with all sorts of strange images. At one point, she and William were dancing together at a grand ball, she in a gown of gold and white muslin and he in a black coat and tan breeches.
However, as they spun together in a country dance, a band of highwaymen rushed in and grabbed her away. One had missing teeth and a long scar on his cheek while another had graying stubble on his chin. They laughed when she pulled out a scalpel, which became a twig so thin it bent when she attempted to stab one of the men with it.
The men dissolved away, leaving her and William outside a cave, the ocean waves lapping the rocks below them. They were just about to enter when a noise woke her, and she sat up straight in the chair. William lay mumbling in the bed.
She poured a glass of water and lifted his head to make him drink, but he pushed it away, almost spilling it in the process.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his words slurred. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
Caroline placed the glass on the side table and sat on the edge of the bed as he flung his head back and forth. She dipped a cloth in a bowl of water and placed it on his forehead.
“Please!” he shouted, though his eyes remained closed. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
“Do not worry,” she whispered. “You are forgiven. You have nothing about which to worry. I have forgiven you.”
He grimaced as if in pain, and she wished she could take away this affliction he had. How could he still believe that she was angry with him for what had happened all those years ago? However, she had not given him many reasons to believe her words of forgiveness. Well, she would right that wrong when he was better.
“She never knew,” he whispered. Then he groaned. “I could not tell her.” His body shifted in the bed, and Caroline pulled down the shirt that had bunched around his chest. It was soaked in sweat.
She went to his bag and found a clean shirt. “Sit up if you are able,” she said as she attempted to help him sit.
He grunted but did little to help. She was able to pull his sweat-soaked shirt over his head, though it was not an easy task. Once the shirt was off, she washed his torso before once again pulling him up enough to don the clean shirt. She would have to see to fresh sheets as soon as she could, for the ones currently on the bed were also soaked.
When she laid his head back on the pillow, his breathing became even once again, and she pushed back the wave of hair that had fallen over his brow. “You will be well soon,” she whispered as she studied his handsome features. “I promise.”
Doctor Brown had told her to never make promises she could not keep, especially when it came to patients, but this was one she would not allow to not be kept. He would be well, even if it meant staying at the inn for several days.
“Tell her I’m sorry,” William repeated, “for not telling her I loved her.”
Caroline froze. Was he speaking of her? How could that be?
“Who?” she asked, unsure if she wanted to know the answer. If he named her as the person he loved, would she accept his proclamation? Could she? Yet, if he named another, would she be able to accept the fact that he did not love her but instead was in love with someone else?
“Who do you love?” she repeated.
“Annabel,” he replied. “I love Annabel.”
Her heart caught in her throat. It was not she he loved. She thought there should be a sense of relief, but instead she found breathing difficult. Yet, was this some sort of hallucination brought on by the fever? Was he speaking of a woman he had known years earlier, one with whom he no longer had contact? Or was this someone who was still waiting for him to declare his love for her?
She went to rise from the bed, but he reached out and grabbed her arm, his eyes shining and wide. “I have always loved her; I just never knew it.” Then he released his grip and dropped back into the pillow, his eyes closing once again.
There was her answer.
“Rest,” Caroline whispered as she pulled the blanket up to his chin.
She returned to her chair, a numbness coming over her body. Had she held out hope that he loved her? She shook her head. And she had considered him a fool.
***
Later that night, William had woken again, mumbling in his sleep words that Caroline thankfully did not understand. She was unsure she wanted to know more about the woman he loved, and it was a strange struggle to fight down her jealousy. She had no right to be jealous of a woman who had won his heart when she had not wanted it herself.
She had rinsed his shirt in water and hung it beside the fireplace to dry it. It was likely he would need it again soon, as he had just the two. In all honesty, she hoped he did not.
He tossed and turned for more than thirty minutes, and the only way to calm him was by holding his hand, so she did so until he stopped.
He more than likely believes I am this Annabel, she thought. Well, if it helped him rest, she was willing to do whatever it took, even if he believed she was this other woman. She would not be jealous; she had no right.
Caroline woke with a start. When had she fallen asleep? She lay with her head on the bed even as she lay on the chair. William still held her hand…
She sat up straight. He was holding her hand.
“William?”
He gave her a faint smile and opened his eyes. “Good morning,” he said.
She looked toward the window. “I believe it may be afternoon,” she said with a nervous laugh. With a shake of her head, she leaned over and touched his forehead. It was cool. “Your fever has broken,” she said with relief.
“Yes,” he replied. “That is good because I would like to leave soon.” He made an attempt to sit but failed.
“We will do no such thing,” Caroline said, pushing him back into the pillow with little struggle. He was as week as a newborn lamb. “I will pay for another night here, and you are to stay in bed for the remainder of the day and sleep.”
He chuckled. “Are those the doctor’s orders?” he asked.
“Indeed, they are,” she replied with feigned haughtiness. “I will see if I can get you another bowl of broth.”
He grimaced. “Broth? Might I not have a nice roast or something a bit more substantial?”
“Absolutely not,” she said. “If you are better by this evening, I may allow a bit of bread, and in the morning, if you are still doing well, you may breakfast on ‘something a bit more substantial’ as you put it.”
“I believe I am able…” He gave a wide yawn. “Oh, very well. I will rest. However, we are only a day’s ride.”
“That may be, but if you arrive dead, what good will that treasure be to you?”
He responded with a light snore, and Caroline realized he had fallen back to sleep. She gave the chair a skeptical look and made a pallet on the floor instead. William
made no noise—beyond his droning—even when Caroline stubbed her toe on the chair, much to Caroline’s relief. If they were to make it to Cornwall in a healthy state, he would need his rest.
And as she lay her head on the pillow, she realized that she, too, would need hers. Even if her name was not Annabel.
Chapter Eighteen
When William woke again, he felt a sense of renewal. It was as if he were a new man, and he was glad he had taken the advice Caroline had given him.
He had woken once during the night, and Caroline gave him some broth, which he lapped up like a puppy she had taken in as a stray. Of course, he complained of not having more than broth, but by the time he finished, he was full and was soon asleep once more.
He recalled dreaming of Caroline that first night. In that dream, they were married, or at least he assumed so. She no longer wore her spectacles but allowed her beauty to shine. He held her, and their worries were cast far away. The greatest part of that dream was that she had forgiven him—truly forgiven him—and accepted him even though he had nothing.
That dream, he could savor and enjoy for the rest of his life, but he would never share it. She had made it quite clear that she had no interest in him, and the embarrassment of sharing such thoughts with a woman who did not want him would be great.
William sat up in the bed. Caroline looked like an angel come to Earth lying on the floor on the pallet she had made. It should have been he sleeping on the floor; no woman should be forced to take the floor when a bed was available. Yet, what choice had he had in the matter?
He rose, washed in the cool water from a pitcher on the stand, and dressed. His shirt hung over the back of the chair before the now empty fireplace, and he changed into it. It was lovely being in a clean shirt once again. He shoved his other shirt into his bag and began preparing for their continued journey, moving about as quietly as he could.
However, his quiet was not quiet enough, for Caroline bolted from her pallet and glanced around in a panic. She looked immediately to the bed and gasped, apparently concerned when she did not see him there.
“Be at ease,” William said with a light chuckle. “I’m here.”
She turned as if she did not believe him and gave a relieved sigh. “You frightened me. I imagined you stalking the hallways in a fevered state, scaring the other guests.”
This made him laugh outright. “I assure you, my fever has not returned, and I am well-rested. The morning has dawned bright and thankfully dry, and I am famished.”
She laughed as she stood and dragged the blankets to the bed. “As am I,” she replied. “Shall we breakfast before leaving?”
He nodded. “Most definitely. After being forced to starve, a hefty meal is in order, to be sure.”
She gave him a glare and then laughed again. “I will meet you downstairs after I have washed.” Her cheeks turned a marvelous pink, and he could not help but feel a warmth in his body at thinking of her in a state of undress.
He cleared his throat. “I will meet you downstairs.” Then he rushed out of the room.
After they breakfasted, they gathered their belongings and were soon on their way. All evidence of the previous rain was now gone, and the road was safe and dry. Few travelers shared the road, and the quiet of the countryside and the open air was a welcome after two days feeling stifled at the inn.
Neither spoke, and William found his mind thinking of the future. They would find the treasure, and then… What? Would they go their separate ways? He imagined Caroline opening her charity and helping those in need in the same way she had helped him. Perhaps from time to time he would drop by to see her and they could share in a glass of wine once again.
“Who is Annabel?”
He had been so caught up in his thoughts, he was surprised to hear her speak.
“I’m sorry. My curiosity speaks before manners at times.”
“No,” he said. “You have done no wrong. Annabel is a lady I once courted.”
“Oh, I see.” Was that disappointment in her voice? “Were you to be married? That is, before…well…”
“Before I went to prison?” he finished for her.
She nodded.
“No, we were never to be married.” He sighed. Had he not buried that part of his life? Apparently not, for the pain was still fresh now that the memories were exhumed. How could he explain to Caroline what he had done to Annabel? She may have taken her own life, but he had given her the means to do so.
“You do not have to tell me if you prefer not to.”
He shook his head. “It would be better if you know.” His heart hurt as the words formed in his mind. “I went to apologize to her when I was released from prison, and to seek aid. Her father informed me that, after I ended our courtship, she began courting another man. I did not mind, for we had already parted ways.”
“Do you still care for her?”
That question had an easy answer. “No, not in that way.”
“Then it is good she found someone else,” Caroline said.
He sighed. “Her father told me that she took her own life.”
This was met with a gasp from Caroline. “Oh, William, I am so sorry! That is horrible.”
“I cannot help but feel responsible. You see, I was not…The fact of the matter is she was nothing more than a distraction, and therein lies the root of my shame.”
“Shame?” Caroline repeated. “Why should you feel shame? When one wants to take their own life, many factors are involved. It is not typically a single incident, but rather an accumulation of many. It is a sadness inside that a person is unable to quench. Oh, she would have sought various ways to happiness, but it is the search outside one’s self in where lies the issue.”
“And you know this because of the patients you have treated?”
“The patients Doctor Brown treated, yes,” she replied. “The fact of the matter is, you are not responsible for her death. I imagine there were many factors she never mentioned to you or anyone else.”
“And in there lies the problem,” William said. “What if I had been a gentleman? She might have been happy, for she seemed content when we were together. I was the one who was unhappy, and not because of her!” He had not realized he had become angry, and he could not stop the words, the pain, that erupted forth. “I wanted to apologize, to let her know how sorry I was, but I waited too long!”
“You believe you hold that much power?” Caroline asked in a chastising tone. “That you held this woman’s life in your hands? Or you were the first man to leave a woman?”
“Well, no…”
“Of course not,” she continued. “Nor will you be the last. Even if you were responsible, you sought her forgiveness. However, there is another’s forgiveness you must seek.”
“And whose is that?”
“Your own.”
Her words struck him in the heart, and he clicked his jaw shut in an attempt to temper the emotions that rose inside. “Never have truer words been spoken,” he said before snapping the reins and digging his heels into the horse’s flanks. His thoughts returned to Annabel, and he realized the words Caroline had spoken were true. “I am sorry,” he whispered as the image of the woman came to his mind.
Then, an image of himself emerged, and as the wind blew past him, he forgave himself. There was a power in forgiveness, one he had felt when Caroline had accepted his apology, and he hoped, wherever she was, Annabel had forgiven him, as well.
***
When they stopped for the night in a small glen beside the road, they shared in a glass of brandy and stared at the campfire as they had done on other nights during their journey. Unlike those other nights, however, their conversations were few, and William considered his past—and his future.
Having forgiven himself for failing Annabel—it matter little that her death was not his fault, for he still felt a bit of responsibility for her—he moved to a later death that had plagued him for four years: that of the prostitute he had met that fate
ful night.
Closing his eyes, he was able to bring up the image as if it had happened the day before, and the pain for her death was renewed. At the time, he had not known her name, but it had been told to him later—Marina Belmont. He had not held the weapon that had killed her, but he had failed to stop it. Sharing the circumstances surrounding Annabel’s death had brought him relief, would it do the same if he confided in Caroline what had happened the night the prostitute had died?
Yet, how did one broach such a topic? Only one way was clear; he had to simply say it.
“I tried to save her.”
Caroline turned to him and frowned. “Who? Annabel?”
“No, I speak of the prostitute they accused me of killing. The man who accompanied me to that room that night stole away. However, rather than running myself, I rushed to her aid.” He closed his eyes and pictured the room, the woman, the blood and his heartbeat increased. “Her face had gone pale, her dress was soaked in blood. I tried to help her, to stop the wound from bleeding out…” He held up his hands and looked at them with accusation. “The poor woman looked up at me and said, ‘I don’t want to die.’”
“I’m sorry,” Caroline whispered as she touched his arm. “You did not know how to help her. Some wounds are difficult for even the best trained doctors to stitch in time.”
He placed his hand over hers, glad for her touch. “I assured her she would be well, and then the door burst open and men came through shouting…” He allowed the words to trail off and looked into Caroline’s kind eyes filled with compassion. “My hands were covered in her blood, so I was taken away, and the woman died on that floor.” He shook his head. “It was a horrible way to die.” Caroline gave his arm a light squeeze. “I am unsure why I told you this story, but I felt you should know the truth.”
“I know you are a good man,” she replied. “And I am certain you will do many good things in the years to come.”
He could not help but smile as a sense of peace washed over him. He had told his story many times, but to no avail. However, now, having someone believe him released some of the anger he had held all these years.
Redeeming The Rake (Delicate Hearts Book 3) Page 11
