“Doctor Danham, what are you … what are you doing here?”
Her mother's voice was croaky as if she hadn't used it in an age, and Cecelia hurried to get her a glass of water.
“You took ill during the night, My Lady,” the doctor explained, “but all will be well.”
He gave her one final check over before she sank back into exhausted sleep.
“I think the worst has passed,” the doctor explained. “Though she is still very weak and must rest if she is to make a full recovery.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Cecelia said.
As the doctor bent to put all his instruments back into his bag, Mary whispered, “What shall we do now?”
Cecelia raised a brow. “What do you mean?”
“Surely you see you must find a chaperone now more than ever,” Mary said, sitting on the bed with her mother's hand in hers.
As if she agreed, her mother let out a sort of whimper.
“The debut ball is tomorrow evening,” Cecelia pointed out. “I cannot leave Mama like this.”
“Daddy would want you to see his last wish accomplished,” Mary insisted, “and I know that if Mama were awake, she would say the same.”
Seeing the doctor was prepared to leave, Cecelia rose from her seat. She did not wish to have this conversation right now, not ever.
“Please, allow me to escort you out, Doctor Danham,” she said, gesturing to the door.
“Thank you, Lady Cecelia,” the doctor said, giving Mary a dip of his head before he left the room.
Cecelia felt her sister's eyes on her all the way out of the room, and she knew the moment she returned, their conversation would begin again.
But for now, she took respite in taking the doctor to the front door.
“Do send for me if she takes another turn for the worse,” he insisted, smiling kindly at Cecelia. “Though I do believe that time has passed.”
“Thank you again, Doctor,” Cecelia said, standing on the porch steps to wave him away in his carriage.
She remained there long after he was gone, watching the sky lighten in hues of red, orange, and yellow.
It was sure to be a pleasant day, at least where the weather was concerned.
But inside, she knew nothing was going to be pleasant. Mary was not going to let this go, not with their mother so ill.
And Cecelia could not entirely blame her. After all, how could she deny her father's last wish when the worry of it had so clearly made her mother ill?
Sighing deeply, Cecelia adjusted her gown, the same one she had been wearing since the evening before and resigned herself to returning to her mother's sick room.
Upon doing so, she lingered in the doorway, watching how Mary cared for her. The gentleness of her hand as she dabbed her brow, how tentatively she dripped water onto her parched lips, how she whispered softly to encourage her to get well.
It broke Cecelia's heart all over again to see it.
She could not bear the thought of their losing their mother too. What if that were to happen? What would happen to them then?
No, she could not think that way. She must put all her effort into seeing her mother well and waste no time thinking of the last wish in her father's will.
Silently, she slunk back into the armchair where she had spent much of the night dosing between checking on her mother and sister.
“Perhaps I should get Catherine to take over for a little while,” Cecelia suggested when all had been quiet for a while.
