Douglas looked up at Dr. Milton, saw James, and thought he would yell with the relief of it. He slowly raised his palm that he’d been pressing hard against Jason’s shoulder and saw that the wound was bleeding only sluggishly now. “The bullet struck him in his left shoulder, too close to his heart, dammit; it’s still in him. It looks bad. Charles… please hurry.” He recognized in that moment that he’d been scared when Freddie had come to them in London and told them that James was ill, but it was nothing compared to this. His boy had saved his life, damn him. Douglas was beyond fear now; he planned to kill Jason himself if only he would survive this.
James stood there, white-faced, watching his father move aside for Dr. Milton, looked at his father’s hands, covered with Jason’s blood. He watched his father take his mother into his arms, and they stood there together, holding each other, making no sound, their eyes on Jason. Then he heard someone whisper his name.
“Corrie, oh God, Corrie,” and she was in his arms, pressed hard against him, and she was whispering about Judith and Annabelle Trelawny.
Judith, he thought. Judith. Then he saw the blanket covering a body some feet away from where Jason lay on the sofa.
“I killed her, James,” Corrie said, but she didn’t cry, held on tight. “I shot her just as she fired at your father, only Jason ran in front of him, then I killed Annabelle Trelawny because she was going to kill Hollis. She’s really Judith’s aunt.”
“Good for you,” he said against her hair. “I’m very proud of you, Corrie, more proud than I can say. You belong to me. Don’t you ever forget it.”
She became perfectly still against him, then she sighed, a soft deep sigh and leaned into him, her head on his shoulder.
They stood silently until Dr. Milton looked up and said, “I will not lie to you, my lord, my lady. It will be a close thing. However, Jason is young, healthy, and very strong. If anyone can pull through this, he can. Now, we must get him upstairs in his bed, and I must get that bullet out of him.”
TWO NIGHTS LATER
“I knew he was going to die,” Douglas said, his face in his wife’s hair. “At midnight, his breathing hitched and then it just stopped. I knew he was dead, Alex. I nearly died myself. I held him against me, then I shook him, I was so angry at him for throwing himself in front of me. Then, thank God, he started breathing again.”
She held him even more tightly. “He’s all right now, Douglas. He will survive this.”
“Yes, I know that now.”
They weren’t alone in Jason’s bedchamber. James and Corrie were sitting very close together on a sofa that had been moved in, both of them awake when Douglas had brought Dr. Milton from his bedchamber to see to Jason.
Douglas said, “Jason didn’t say anything to me, but he opened his eyes, Alex. Opened his eyes and he smiled. Then he fell unconscious again.”
Douglas looked over at Dr. Milton, who took Jason’s pulse, then lifted his eyelids. He said quietly, “He isn’t unconscious, my lord, he’s asleep. For the first time. His breathing is deeper now. I think he’s escaped the fever.” Dr. Milton rose, lightly touched his hand to Jason’s shoulder, and straightened. “I think he will pull through this. Now, all of you, go get some rest. I will remain by his side.”
No one left Jason’s room, of course.
Douglas didn’t rest for a very long time. James and Corrie were leaning against each other, finally asleep. Alexandra’s head was against his shoulder, and he heard her soft breathing. He thought of Lady Arbuckle’s ordeal; Douglas had sent Ollie Trunk, recovered from the blow on his head, back with her to Cornwall this morning, Hollis still clucking over him. Lady Arbuckle was scared to death for her husband, and no wonder. So was Douglas. He doubted that Lord Arbuckle was still alive, but he wasn’t about to say it out loud.
No one had said a word about Annabelle Trelawny. Hollis had come into Jason’s bedchamber that first evening, stood by the door, straight and tall. “I am ready to retire, my lord.”
Douglas had looked up, realized what Hollis had said, and frowned. “What is this nonsense? You will not retire, old man. A family member does not retire from the family.”
Hollis stared over at Jason, unconscious, his breathing so shallow it didn’t seem like he was breathing at all. He looked at his bare chest, covered with a large white bandage. His boy was unconscious, his face still, too pale. Hollis’s breath hitched. “I must, my lord. I am responsible for all of this.”
Douglas was scared to death for his son, and here was Hollis, wanting to shoulder all the blame. He wanted to tell Hollis to go to bed and sleep for all of them, but one look at the old man’s face, and he stilled. “You are not responsible for any of it, Hollis.” He didn’t say Annabelle Trelawny’s name. He never wanted to say that name again for as long as he lived.
Hollis drew himself up even straighter. “I brought that woman here. I was so besotted, my brain ceased to function properly. She used me, my lord, to make all of you trust her.
“I must retire, my lord. I have hurt all of you. I must somehow make retribution.”
Alexandra, red-eyed from lack of sleep, worry, and tears, said, “I will think about this, Hollis. There will be fitting retribution for your crimes. Now, we want you to go to your bed. Drink some of his lordship’s brandy. Sleep, Hollis, else you won’t be able to carry out your punishment. Believe me, retirement is far too easy.”
Hollis bowed, said “Yes, my lady,” and left Jason’s bedchamber.
Douglas looked at his wife. “Well done,” he said. “I believe his shoulders were even straighter when he left than when he came in.”
DOUGLAS WAS FINALLY dozing, dreaming of a day long ago when he’d first taken his boys fishing, and Jason had caught a trout and gotten so excited that he’d lost his balance and fallen into the water, losing that fish. Douglas was grinning at the memory when he came awake suddenly. He looked over at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. It was nearly four o’clock in the morning. Three branches of candles kept the shadows away from the bed, but the rest of the chamber was in gloom. Dr. Milton was asleep on the truckle bed three feet away. Both Corrie and James were asleep, as was Alexandra. The bedchamber was dead silent. What had awakened him?
He rose immediately and walked to Jason’s bedside. He sat beside him, picked up his hand, a well-shaped hand, tanned, strong.
Jason opened his eyes and said, his voice a rusty whisper, “I suppose I am alive?”
“Yes, and you will stay that way,” Douglas said. He wanted to hold his son against him and never let him go, but that would hurt him. He lifted his hand, stroked it, felt the warmth of his flesh, the blood that flowed through his son’s body. Thank God he was alive. Then Douglas wanted to yell at him. But he didn’t yell, not quite. “I love you, Jason. I also fully intend to beat you to within an inch of your life for throwing yourself in front of me to save my life.”
Jason smiled, then a spasm of pain made his eyes pale. “Judith?”
It was Corrie, now awake, standing behind his father, who said, “I shot her, Jason, the very instant after she shot you. She’s dead.”
Jason said nothing for many moments. Then he sighed. “It appears I’m not a very good judge of character.”
“It appears none of us are,” his mother said. “All of us were fooled-all of us. We liked her and accepted her as we did Hollis’s Annabelle Trelawny.”
Jason felt his mother’s hand lightly stroking his forearm, saw his twin smiling at him from the foot of the bed since he couldn’t get any closer. James didn’t look good, Jason thought, didn’t look good at all. Then he wanted to laugh because of the way he himself must look right now. Then he thought of Judith, her wicked eyes, her wit, her charm. He thought of those wild, urgent feelings she’d brought him, feelings he’d never experienced before in his life. He thought of her gone, forever. He didn’t understand all of it, but it didn’t seem all that important right now. When his mother whispered next to his face, “We love you. Rest now, Jason. Everything will be all right,” he did.