through the whole.” Summer moved to the stairs. “I will manage. My maid will help me.” Tears filled her eyes, causing her to miss the first step.
Stephen came up behind her and steadied her once again. “Do you want me to help you up the stairs?”
It was his brusqueness that made her stiffen. Did she want him to come with her? Not in a hundred years. Not when his touch was beyond bearing. Turning back toward him she gave him her coldest expression. “No, my lord. I do not need your help.”
She shrugged off his arm and began to climb the stairs as quickly as her nerveless legs would allow.
“Summer, ask your maid to open the door to his room so they know where to take him.”
“It’s at the front of the house,” she said and kept on climbing. Pushing open the door to Reggie’s room, she walked through it. Without a valet the room was untidy, clothes everywhere, shoes and bits of paper scattered about. A mess was Reggie’s idea of comfort. She picked up some of the clothes and dropped them on the chair, kicked the shoes under it and then went to his bed, turning the covers back.
The sheets were as white as London wash water would permit even if they were mended in several places. Summer remembered when they were new, when their marriage was new. She had worked so hard to make life with Reggie what she wanted it to be. When had she given up? Tears filled her, but she did not weep.
There was fuel for a fire and she lit it. Once the fire caught and a weak heat warmed her chilled hands, she stood and went through the connecting door into her own chamber.
Carroll already had clothes out for her. A black dress. She did not even know she owned one.
“I am so sorry, ma’am.”
“Not a black dress,” Summer said, looking away from the maid’s tear-filled eyes.
“But you are a widow now . . .”
“Not a black dress. Not yet.” She put her hand on Carroll’s arm in apology for her curtness. “We only have Lord Stephen’s word that my husband’s neck is broken.”
Carroll nodded and went back into the dressing room.
What would they do with no money and an endless mountain of debt? Please, let Stephen be wrong, she prayed.
The blue dress Carroll brought was a much better choice. Summer stripped off her nightclothes and picked up her shift. She turned so that Carroll could lace her stays. The familiar routine woke her from her half-dream shock.
Should she offer the men a drink? Some wine or would they prefer brandy? The doctor. Surely they could find a physician willing to attend Reggie.
She wound her braid into a coil and let Carroll fix it with two pins.
One of the men who brought him home would go for the physician. Or the surgeon that had tended Kitty’s last cough. Stephen could be wrong. Reggie could recover. Even if it took weeks. Yes, that sounded so much better than planning a funeral.
Carroll handed her a pair of slippers and Summer put them on, not bothering with stockings.
She would feed him soup and Kitty would make him smile. A four-year-old was very good at that. He would not be winning money to feed them. He would not be losing any either.
They would manage. She would manage.
At least last night he had come home with his purse full. He had poured the coins into her hand, demanding a kiss. Reggie in a good humor was hard to deny.
Even as she dressed and her brain rattled through a dozen considerations, she could hear the men arrive, come up the steps, and turn down the hall. They were gone too quickly. Her heart ached, this time with fear. She went out into the hall as Lord Stephen came to the top step.
“Have the men gone?”
He nodded.
“Why did you not offer them something?”
“They expected nothing, Summer.”
Ah, they did not want to see me.
“Lockwood offered to go for my physician and a surgeon.” He paused a moment and then shook his head. “The physician will come. But, Summer, it is too late.”
Stephen Bradley watched as his words destroyed her
Stephen came up behind her and steadied her once again. “Do you want me to help you up the stairs?”
It was his brusqueness that made her stiffen. Did she want him to come with her? Not in a hundred years. Not when his touch was beyond bearing. Turning back toward him she gave him her coldest expression. “No, my lord. I do not need your help.”
She shrugged off his arm and began to climb the stairs as quickly as her nerveless legs would allow.
“Summer, ask your maid to open the door to his room so they know where to take him.”
“It’s at the front of the house,” she said and kept on climbing. Pushing open the door to Reggie’s room, she walked through it. Without a valet the room was untidy, clothes everywhere, shoes and bits of paper scattered about. A mess was Reggie’s idea of comfort. She picked up some of the clothes and dropped them on the chair, kicked the shoes under it and then went to his bed, turning the covers back.
The sheets were as white as London wash water would permit even if they were mended in several places. Summer remembered when they were new, when their marriage was new. She had worked so hard to make life with Reggie what she wanted it to be. When had she given up? Tears filled her, but she did not weep.
There was fuel for a fire and she lit it. Once the fire caught and a weak heat warmed her chilled hands, she stood and went through the connecting door into her own chamber.
Carroll already had clothes out for her. A black dress. She did not even know she owned one.
“I am so sorry, ma’am.”
“Not a black dress,” Summer said, looking away from the maid’s tear-filled eyes.
“But you are a widow now . . .”
“Not a black dress. Not yet.” She put her hand on Carroll’s arm in apology for her curtness. “We only have Lord Stephen’s word that my husband’s neck is broken.”
Carroll nodded and went back into the dressing room.
What would they do with no money and an endless mountain of debt? Please, let Stephen be wrong, she prayed.
The blue dress Carroll brought was a much better choice. Summer stripped off her nightclothes and picked up her shift. She turned so that Carroll could lace her stays. The familiar routine woke her from her half-dream shock.
Should she offer the men a drink? Some wine or would they prefer brandy? The doctor. Surely they could find a physician willing to attend Reggie.
She wound her braid into a coil and let Carroll fix it with two pins.
One of the men who brought him home would go for the physician. Or the surgeon that had tended Kitty’s last cough. Stephen could be wrong. Reggie could recover. Even if it took weeks. Yes, that sounded so much better than planning a funeral.
Carroll handed her a pair of slippers and Summer put them on, not bothering with stockings.
She would feed him soup and Kitty would make him smile. A four-year-old was very good at that. He would not be winning money to feed them. He would not be losing any either.
They would manage. She would manage.
At least last night he had come home with his purse full. He had poured the coins into her hand, demanding a kiss. Reggie in a good humor was hard to deny.
Even as she dressed and her brain rattled through a dozen considerations, she could hear the men arrive, come up the steps, and turn down the hall. They were gone too quickly. Her heart ached, this time with fear. She went out into the hall as Lord Stephen came to the top step.
“Have the men gone?”
He nodded.
“Why did you not offer them something?”
“They expected nothing, Summer.”
Ah, they did not want to see me.
“Lockwood offered to go for my physician and a surgeon.” He paused a moment and then shook his head. “The physician will come. But, Summer, it is too late.”
Stephen Bradley watched as his words destroyed her
Similar Books
