Then Parker and Dennis returned with an older man. He took one look at Therese’s face and said, “Oh, dear.”
Devlin clenched his jaw.
“Let’s see.” The doctor shifted and crouched as Parker had done. From beside him, Parker whispered about what she’d found and pointed, and he looked, then nodded and straightened.
The man met Devlin’s eyes. “It’s a nasty gash, my lord, but please remember that head wounds always bleed copiously.” He glanced again at Therese’s face. “She’s been pushing herself hard, so even though I doubt she’s lost that much blood, the loss nevertheless has taken its toll.” He glanced around, then lowered his voice and again met Devlin’s eyes. “The wound needs to be washed, but we have no clean water. I wouldn’t want to attempt to tend her ladyship’s wound here—the risk of infection is too great.”
He glanced at Therese’s face again. “My humble opinion is that, as I judge she’s not in any immediate danger, you should remove her to where she can receive appropriate treatment.”
Devlin stared at the man, analyzing his words, then forced himself to nod. “Thank you. I’ll do as you suggest.”
The man bowed. “My lord.” He straightened and added, “Her ladyship was of great help to all those here. I’ll pray for a speedy recovery with no complications.”
Devlin stiffly inclined his head, then settling Therese more securely in his arms, turned and carried her out of the harsh light, then started climbing the embankment.
Parker and Dennis flanked him, walking close enough to be able to steady him if he faltered.
In one corner of his mind, he was relieved and grateful that Therese, the children, and the staff had survived the crash unharmed, but most of his mind was swimming with dread, a dark emotion that inexorably tightened the vise clamped about his heart.
Regardless of what the rational part of his mind reiterated, his emotions were in tumult and refused to settle, to believe.
All he could focus on as he carried Therese along the path toward the lane was that he absolutely couldn’t lose her.
If he did, he’d lose himself.
London’s bells were tolling for midnight as Devlin carried Therese’s limp form up the steps of Alverton House.
By the time he’d reached Hawkshead Lane, Mitchell had returned with an old but well-kept coach, large enough to fit most of their party inside. But the boys’ distress on seeing their mother draped lifeless in Devlin’s arms had convinced everyone that it would be better for the children and the staff to travel back to London in the slower coach while Mitchell drove the much faster curricle back to the capital, with Devlin as passenger, holding Therese on his lap.
As he waited for Portland to answer Mitchell’s demanding—panicked—summons, Devlin studied Therese’s face in the light of the gibbous moon that had belatedly appeared, but her features remained as lifeless as they had throughout the fraught journey.
He’d held her cradled against his chest the entire way, cushioning her poor head as best he could against the inevitable jolts. The decision to race ahead hadn’t been hard; the sooner he got her into her own bed and summoned Sanderson—their family doctor—to see her, the better.
The door finally opened to reveal Portland, managing to appear magisterial even in his dressing gown, backed by two sleepy footmen, who on sighting Devlin with Therese in his arms, immediately came to round-eyed attention.
“My lord!” Shocked, Portland swung the door wide.
Grim-faced, Devlin strode in, and Mitchell followed.
Portland quickly shut the door. “An accident, my lord?”
“Of a sort.” Devlin turned to look at Mitchell.
His groom preempted him. “Dr. Sanderson in Harley Street, my lord?”
Devlin nodded. “As fast as you can. I don’t care where he is or what he’s doing. We need him here now.”
Mitchell bobbed his head. “I’ll fetch him.”
As Mitchell returned to the door and slipped out, Devlin glanced at Portland. “The train derailed, and her ladyship sustained a deep gash on the back of her head. She didn’t realize she was bleeding and spent the next hour taking charge and helping everyone else before she collapsed.” He hauled in a breath and reached for every iota of control he possessed. “The others are following in a hired coach. We’ll need to pay off the coachman.”
“I’ll see to everything, my lord.” Gently, Portland ushered Devlin to the stairs. “And I’ll send Mrs. Portland and some of the maids up to tend to her ladyship. You’ll want her settled before the doctor arrives.”
He supposed he did. Devlin allowed Portland to escort him up the stairs, along the corridor, and into Therese’s room. Instinct prodded him to take her to his room—it was bigger—but he quashed the urge; she would be more comfortable in her own room, in her own bed.
She’d never been in his—another facet of the idiocy he’d allowed to rule him for far too long.
He halted beside the bed and waited while Portland rounded it and lit the bedside lamp on the opposite side, then guided by the soft light, gently laid Therese down, careful to ease his arm from beneath her shoulders in a way that didn’t impinge on her wound.
