“But why speak of my poor mother?” Beatrix thought again when she was settled. “She’s been gone all these years. Father almost never spoke of her, it pained him too greatly.”
She thought back with a rueful smile to the handful of times she’d witnessed her father filled with too much drink, usually in an effort to ease the pain of some surgery she’d needed to perform. Even at those times, he’d only occasionally become weepy, muttering in his stupor about how awful he’d been. She’d long assumed it was deeply held guilt for not affording a physician for her mother, and therefore had never broached it in the light of sobriety.
But now, Beatrix’s mind reeled. There must have been a reason the Earl had thought to say it, and a reason her father had reacted so strangely. She feared she would never learn the truth about her mother, certainly not if her father’s life was in danger now.
Chapter 25
When the sun shone through the slit in the curtains the next morning, Callum felt the heat of it searing into his bare shoulder. It was uncomfortably warm, but still a pleasant reminder that he had lived. The events of the day before had haunted his dreams all through the night, aided by that damnable tincture of morphine, no doubt. It was a great relief to open his eyes upon a new day and see the familiar sight of his own chambers.
It was an even greater relief to spy the sleeping figure of Lady Beatrix next to his bedside. Her elbow rested on the arm of the chair beside him, her head leaned over on her hand. Her soft curls fell down the length of her arm, framing her delicate features and pale skin like a mink drape.
“What an amazing creature,” he thought, stealing these moments of silent admiration while she slept. “I have never met another like her, and am certain that there does not exist her equal.”
There was no doubt that his whole world had changed that day on the road, and though he had many amends to make, he would not alter that course if it meant never having met this young woman. He was surprised to find that none of the things that had once mattered dearly to him were of any importance anymore, and he could only hope that he could convince her of that as well.
“My Lord! You’re awake!” Barclay cried, startling both Callum and Beatrix. She sat upright in her chair in an instant, reaching for his hand.
“How do you feel?” she asked quietly.
He winced in reply, unaware of how the sound of talking would inhibit him. His mouth was dry and his response slow in coming as he managed to answer, “My head pains me as though I’ve been run over by a horse cart. Does that count for anything?”
“It does!” she answered brightly. “It is most assuredly temporary, the result of the medicine. Barclay, could you let Sir Williams know he is awake? And ask Mrs. Powell for fresh water to drink, along with some broth and dry bread?”
“Certainly!” the valet said, hurrying from the room excitedly.
“What has happened during my time of sloth?” Callum teased, eager to hear Beatrix’s reply. She smiled with an expression of great relief at his joke and explained what the physician had done.
“But do you remember much of what happened before you were harmed?” she asked, a note of hope in her voice.
“If you’re asking whether I remember that the Earl of Weavington was about to shoot your father in cold blood and managed to shoot me instead, then… wait, what was I saying?” Callum smirked at Beatrix’s look of alarm, then said, “Then the answer is yes. I remember it very clearly. Sadly, I’m certain I’ll have a very undignified scar to prove it.”
“I am glad that you remember the truth, not only for my father’s sake and the sake of justice, but as it means you are harmed only in body and not in mind,” she said.
“I cannot swear to that,” Callum replied, “as my mind doesn’t seem very sharp at the moment.”
“Ah, that is likely from the loss of blood. You must remember that you had a terrible injury. It’s a wonder that you’re even awake and able to speak now.”
They were silent for a moment, but Beatrix’s expression spoke to her gratitude. Callum still held her hand and ran his fingers over hers reassuringly. He looked at her, his face nearly unreadable.
“What is it?” she finally asked, growing self-conscious under his gaze.
“Nothing. I’m only wondering how many other invalids around the world have the benefit of such a knowledgeable yet beautiful healer to attend to them.” Callum’s word, though tinged with humor, were spoken with an air of severity.
“I could not say, as most healers of this sort are men,” Beatrix teased. “But if you’d like, I can fetch Sir Williams so that you might compare our beauty side by side.”
Callum laughed, then immediately winced from the pain of his wound. “You’re going to make jest until I writhe in agony, aren’t you? It would be a fitting end for me to die in a fit of laughter!”
“Oh no, you must not! I’ve worked far too hard to lose you now,” she answered somewhat solemnly. “In fact, it was rather a close call, one that I do not wish to repeat… ever.”
“Nor I,” Callum whispered, all humor erased. “And not merely for my own sake, but rather that I have not had nearly enough time spent with you. If it should end now, I cannot imagine what adventures we will have missed out on.”
Beatrix paused, then dropped her gaze to the floor. “Did you say we?”
“Yes, we. I find that nothing about myself matters so much as who I am when you are near. I am forever and unashamedly part of the ‘we’ that comprises you. If you’ll have me, that is.”
Callum waited for a response, but Beatrix offered none. Her silence drew on so long that he eventually feared her answer. When she spoke, her tone was timid, a tremor in her voice.
“Please, do not say things you cannot mean,” she whispered.
