He straightened. Portland, who, for the first time in all the years Devlin had known him, sounded faintly flustered, excused himself and left to summon his wife.
Devlin stood and, in the gentle light, stared at Therese’s still face, willing her to wake or even stir.
But she’d been unmoving and entirely silent all the way home and remained so.
Helplessness welled and swamped him.
Then Mrs. Portland bustled in, along with two wide-eyed maids.
Devlin felt Mrs. Portland’s gaze on his face, then the motherly housekeeper laid a hand on his sleeve and gently eased him away from the bed. “Portland was called to the door, my lord—the footman said a coach had just turned in.”
The maids had left the door ajar, and Devlin caught the distant sounds of people in the front hall.
“Perhaps, my lord, you should check on the children. Even though her ladyship will be fit as a fiddle come morning, I daresay the poor mites will be upset.” Letting her hand fall from his sleeve, Mrs. Portland added, “You know you can safely leave her ladyship in our hands. We’ll make her comfortable, and I’ll sit with her until you return.”
Devlin didn’t want to go, but he knew Therese would want him to, and Mrs. Portland was right. He needed to behave with confidence so the children wouldn’t grow overly anxious. He drew in a breath, then nodded and forced himself to turn from the bed and cross to the door.
Mrs. Portland followed, and after he stepped into the corridor, he heard the door softly close.
He didn’t look back and forced himself to breathe—in and out—as he strode to the stairs and went quickly down them.
Just as well he did; his sons were refusing to budge from the hall until they learned how their mother was.
Given his recent behavior, he could hardly fault them for that.
Schooling his features to project an assurance he didn’t feel, he smiled at the boys, shrugged out of his greatcoat and handed the garment to Portland, then crouched before his sons. “Your mama will be all right.” He met Spencer’s gaze, then Rupert’s and prayed the prediction would come true. “I’ve sent Mitchell to fetch Dr. Sanderson. He’ll come and bind up Mama’s head, and after she rests, she’ll be right as rain.”
The boys looked back at him, then Spencer quietly said, “She was very still, before. Did she wake up?”
Damn.“No, but that’s not to be wondered at.” Even though that specific point was the source of his own escalating anxiety. “She worked very hard to help the people injured in the crash and most likely wore herself out. She might sleep for a while before she wakes up. But”—he glanced at Nanny Sprockett, who was holding a thankfully sleeping Horry, then looked back at the boys—“when she does wake up, she’ll want to see you both, so as she’s still sleeping, perhaps you’d better sleep, too, or else you’ll be yawning when she comes to see you.”
Rupert was the first to nod and mumble an “All right,” then more reluctantly, Spencer followed suit.
“Good men.” Devlin stood and ruffled their hair. Normally, he would have handed the pair over to the waiting nursemaids, but whether in response to their need or a need of his own, he offered his sons his hands. “Come along.” As they slid their small hands into his, he added, “As your mama is asleep, I’ll come and tuck you in.”
Nanny Sprockett threw him a grateful look. Hefting Horry, she followed him and the boys up the stairs to the nursery. The nursemaids and footmen followed, carrying the assorted cases and bags.
Ruthlessly suppressing his welling need to return to Therese, Devlin forced himself to spend the next twenty minutes hiding his concern for her behind a reassuring mask.
Finally, the boys were tucked up in their beds. Almost immediately, sleep rolled over them, and they relaxed and surrendered.
For one last moment, Devlin hovered in the doorway of their room, watching the blankets rise and fall, then he stepped into the corridor and quietly shut the door.
He looked in on Horry.
Nanny whispered that she hadn’t stirred.
He nodded and brushed a kiss to his precious daughter’s forehead; she was so much like Therese, not just in appearance but also in character, that just looking at her squeezed his heart. She continued to sleep peacefully, but as he left the nursery, he knew that, once the children woke, Horry would be the loudest in demanding to see her mother.
He prayed Therese would wake soon. Even if she slid back into sleep—or was it unconsciousness? He didn’t know, but if he could tell the children their beloved mother had opened her eyes and spoken to him, that would at least hold their fears at bay.
He re-entered Therese’s room. Both bedside lamps had been lit, turned low, and moved to chests farther from the bed, leaving most of the room in shadow.
He approached the bed, where Therese was lying on her side beneath the covers, facing his way. She’d been stripped of her clothes and lay sheathed in a crisp white nightgown with a wide neckline. Beneath her head and shoulders, a thick white towel had been spread over the pillows, its pristine color starkly contrasting with the darkened blood matting the hair at the back of her head.
Beyond the bed, close by the wall, Mrs. Portland rose from the straight-backed chair in which she’d been sitting. “My lord, as Dr. Sanderson’s been summoned, I deemed it wisest not to attempt to wash the wound. I daresay the doctor will want to do that himself.”
Recalling the comment of the doctor at the crash site regarding the risk of infection, Devlin nodded. “Indeed. I believe that’s so.”
