“Juliet. Please.” He called again, ignoring how vulnerable he looked. “Please. Look at me. Just open your eyes and look—” He trailed off, feeling his tears cut off his voice. He rested his head on her chest and sobbed, a huge weight of guilt descending on him.
He looked up a few minutes later and got up, lifting Juliet off the floor. He turned to his servant, using his other hand to wipe his face.
“Go get Irene. Run. Beat the horse if you have to. Bring her to the manor and ask her to bring her things.”
The servant nodded, climbing back on his horse.
“Run like your life depends on it. Do you hear me? Because it does. Now go. Go!”
The servant turned his horse back towards the direction they had come from and started to gallop ahead, leaving a giant trail of dust in his wake. Weston turned to a weak and tear-filled Estelle.
“We need to get back. Now.”
***
When Weston rode into the manor with an unconscious Juliet, the mood turned gray almost instantly. Beatrice and Anne stood near the door, their hands clamped over their mouths as Weston carried his wife across the cobblestones and past them.
“Weston—” Lady Beatrice called, trying to reach for her son as he walked through the doors.
“Do not touch me, Mother.” Weston replied. His voice was low but laced with immense anger. Beatrice withdrew almost immediately.
“This would not have happened if you—” Weston started to say but froze again as his voice began to croak.
“Leave me be. Please.”
He carried Juliet to their bedroom and laid her to bed as gently as possible. Even unconscious, she looked incredibly elegant. Weston pushed stray strands of her hair away from her face and gently cradled it. Fate had to be playing with him to cause him a tragedy this big.
Irene arrived a few moments later, her right hand tightly holding onto a small pouch of items. She was in a grey cloak this time around, one without a hood. Her silver hair shone bright as she moved across the foyer and into the drawing room. Weston led her to the bedroom. He watched her kneel beside Juliet and start to examine her.
“You have to leave, my lord.” Irene said a few minutes later, looking up at Weston, who paced relentlessly across the doorway.
“No. I am not leaving her side.”
“She is not going to wake up with you doing that. Looking at her like this is only going to keep hurting you. Please. Go out and let me do my work properly.”
Weston swallowed. He wanted to contest again, but he started to see the sense in Irene's words. It wouldn't help him or Juliet if he remained in the room. He ran his hand through his hair, not minding the fact that it would become disheveled.
“Alright. I shall remain outside.” He said. He moved closer to Irene, a desperate earnestness in his eyes. “Please. Do all you can. She is all I have. She can't die. I don't know what I'm going to do if she does. She can't—”
“I will do all I can, my lord. I promise.”
Weston nodded and headed outside, not bothering to look back for once. He walked down the stairs, ignoring his mother's anticipatory looks of worry. He walked to the drawing room and lowered himself onto the chair nearest to the entrance. Heuntucked his shirt and sank into the chair, shutting his eyes hard.
He would not survive it if Juliet died. It would break him harder than anything ever did. He opened his eyes again and saw his mother and sister both gently trail in. He did not look at them. He stared into space instead. Beatrice and Anne also found their seats on other chairs. No one said anything to the other. No one knew what to say.
At that moment, an understandably solemn silence settled between them. They all remained in that position for hours. When the sun began to dip into the sky, Weston heard the doors to Juliet's room creak open. His sleepy eyes widened almost instantly, and he rose from the chair like a shocked cat. He left the drawing room and walked towards their bedroom, watching Irene approach him.
“She isn't dead.” Irene started, her words acting like Weston’s closest source of comfort. From the corner of his eye, he could see Beatrice and Anne approach him as well, their eyes sullen and their lips pursed with anxiety.
“But she isn't alive yet either.” Irene continued. “I have done all I can, but the rest is left to her. She has to wake up on her own. All we can do is wait.”
Weston ran his hand through his hair again. “There's nothing else?”
“I'm afraid not.” Irene replied. “I am deeply sorry for the pain you are going through right now, my lord. All we can do iskeep an eye on her. The next few days will determine if she will wake up from this slumber or not.”
Weston swallowed and nodded. “Thank you, Irene.”
Irene walked past Weston and reached for Beatrice's gloved hands. “Accept my greetings too, my lady. It is not easy going through this.”
