CHAPTER 24
Philip’s body ached, and a dull throb pulsed through his side, but his mind was elsewhere. He was dreaming about Verity again, as he had so many times since he had been confined to this bed. Her face, her laughter, her touch. They all haunted his thoughts, making the distance between them feel insurmountable.
In his dreams, Verity was always just out of reach, a beacon of warmth and love that he could never quite grasp. He missed her terrible, with a longing that gnawed at his heart day and night. Yet, no matter how much he pined for her, Lady Rosalind was always there in the background, a constant reminder of his mother’s relentless efforts to push him towards a match she deemed suitable.
Often, his mother was actually behind Lady Rosalind, actually pushing her towards him, which was unnerving.
“Philip are you alright?” came a voice, soft yet insistent.
It echoed through the haze of his dream, blending seamlessly with the image of Verity. He saw her lips move, forming words he could not quite understand.
“Philip, you are moaning,” the voice continued, becoming more distinct, more real. It wasn’t Verity’s voice. It was his mother’s. “Is the pain too much?”
His eye lids fluttered, the dream dissolving into the dim reality of his room. The dull ache in his side sharpened as he shifted slightly. His mother’s face came in to focus, her expression flooded with worry.
“Mother?” he groaned as he tried to stir in the bed. “Are you alright?”
“We don’t need to worry about me,” she chuckled. “You are the one who is struggling.”
Philip sighed, sinking back into the pillows. “I am fine, Mother. It’s just a dream.”
His mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.
“A dream, you say?” she murmured, adjusting the blanket around him with a care. “Anything that you wish to discuss?”
Philip shook his head. “I can hardly even remember it now,” he lied.
His mother studied him for a moment longer, then nodded, seeming to accept his response, though her eyes still held a hint of skepticism.
“Very well,” she said softly, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. “I am going to the kitchen to get you some food. You need to eat to regain your strength.”
“Thank you, Mother,” he replied, forcing a smile.
She rose gracefully, her movements efficient and purposeful, and left the room, the door closing quietly behind her.
Philip closed his eyes again, trying to reclaim the fragments of his dream, to hold on to the image of Verity for just a little longer. But the harder he tried, the more elusive she became, slipping through his mental grasp like sand through his fingers.
His thoughts wandered to the last time he had seen her, when he really saw her, before the accident. The warmth of her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, the way her words made him feel. It was a memory he clung to desperately, a beacon of light in the murky depths of his current state.
Minutes passed, though it felt like hours, and soon he heard the familiar, brisk footsteps of his mother returning. She entered with a tray laden with a bowl of steaming broth, a piece of bread,and a cup of tea. The savory aroma filled the room, making his stomach growl despite the pain.
“Please, take a sip of this warm broth, Philip,” his mother insisted. “It will make you feel so much better. I have been told by the physician that this is exactly the sort of food you must be eating.”
Philip wasn’t too sure about that, but at least he was propped up in his bed a little now. Several days had passed and the pain was starting to subside somewhat everywhere else, just not in his side. It had not totally vanished, but he was definitely finding life a little easier.
The nourishing liquid soothed his throat, and he savored the comfort it provided. He was starting to think that he should listen to his mother more often. She did seem to know what she was talking about.
As she pulled the bowl away from him, Philip examined his mother, noticing a softness in her demeanor these days. There was a kindness in her eyes, an understanding that Philip had not seen in years. That helped him regain even more of his strength. He felt like he had a reason to fight, because she needed him to be as strong as he possibly could.
All of a sudden, Adeliade sucked in a deep breath and started to talk in a somber tone of voice that he wasn’t expecting.
“Philip, during your period of unconsciousness, you kept saying a name. Over and over again.”
“A name?” he murmured back, confused.
“Yes. Lady Verity’s name.” She nodded to herself.
A flush of embarrassment and vulnerability rocketed through Philip.