“You must drink something, Verity,” she urged softly. “You need to keep up your strength.”
Verity nodded, but she barely touched the cup. Her thoughts were too consumed by Philip to focus on anything else, especially her own needs. She tried to imagine what might be happening at Eilendale’s estate, picturing the physicians working to save him, hoping that he would wake up and be his vibrant self once more.
As the hours dragged on, Verity found herself caught in an endless loop of worry and despair. The tea Louisa had brought her remained untouched, the once steaming liquid now coldand uninviting. Every sound, every creak of the house seemed amplified, making her jump and sending waves of anxiety crashing over her.
Dinner time arrived, and despite Louisa’s gentle coaxing, Verity could not bring herself to leave her room.
The mere thought of sitting at the table, pretending to eat, while her mind was consumed with thoughts of Philip, was unbearable. Especially with her brother’s cold stare upon her and her mother’s best intentions.
“Please, Louisa,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I cannot join everyone for dinner. I just... I cannot.”
Louisa gave her a sympathetic look and nodded.
“I shall have something brought up to you,” she replied softly before leaving the room.
Verity collapsed on to her bed, feeling utterly drained. Her body felt heavy, as if the weight of her emotions was physically pressing down on her.
She closed her eyes, hoping that maybe sleep would offer some escape from the torment of her thoughts.
A knock at the door jolted her back to reality.
It was Louisa, bringing up the tray of food that Verity had all but forgotten about.
“Oh… thank you.”
The sight of the dishes, laden with what she knew were her favorite foods, did nothing to stir her appetite. She managed a weak smile for Louisa’s benefit, then stared at the tray as it was placed on the bed side table.
“Please, try to eat something,” Louisa urged gently. “You must take care of yourself.”
Verity nodded mechanically, picking up a fork and taking a small bite. The food was like ash in her mouth, her mind too consumed with worry to appreciate any flavor. She forcedherself to swallow, knowing that Louisa was right, but each bite felt like a monumental effort.
Hours slipped by in a haze of fear and exhaustion. Eventually Verity drifted in and out of fitful sleep, her mind never fully quieting.
CHAPTER 22
“Verity.”
Philp’s eyes fluttered open as life slowly flooded his body once more. He blinked against the soft light filtering through the curtains of his bed chamber, consciousness creeping back in to his brain.
“Verity?”
He needed to see her, to hold her, to ensure that she was alright. He could not tell if it were real or just the lingering notes of a nightmare that he could not quite shake off, but he hated being unable to save Verity from the clutches of a drunken Ambrose.
“You are nothing compared to me!” Ambrose yelled at Philip in, what he now realized, must have been a terrible dream. “She will never want you when she can have me. Do you not see? Do you not see how tightly I have my arms wrapped around her? You will never be able to hold her like this because she is now my wife…”
Philip needed to rid his mind of these thoughts. It was all too much for him, so he tried his absolute hardest to push himself up into a sitting position. But he did not get far.
A searing pain ripped through his body, pinning him back on the bed. An animalistic groan rumbled in his chest, breaking free from his lips. Philip’s hands his hand instinctively reached for the source of the pain, only to find his torso tightly bandaged.
What on earth happened?
Disoriented and confused, Philip took stock of his surroundings, realizing that he was in his own bed chamber, the familiar walls and furnishings offering a small measure of comfort when he was drowning in confusion.
“Philip?”
Until that very moment, he thought he was alone. But as his mother leaned forward with a concerned expression on her face, he realized that she had been sitting there beside him the whole time.
“Mother?”
