If You Were Mine (9 page)

Moments
later, a dishevelled Mrs Holcombe appeared beside him.

“
Please Mrs Holcombe, what do we do?” He hated sounding so
helpless, but was at a loss to know how to help her. Sitting beside
a mortally wounded soldier on the battlefields as he met his maker
was different to sitting beside someone you loved, and helplessly
watching them fight for their lives.

“
Sir, we shall bathe her and change her clothes. We need to
warm the room up.” She failed to add that she didn’t like the sound
of the faint breaths coming from the unfortunate young girl who had
clearly got a huge claim on the Master’s heart.

Dominic
nodded and stood back, desperately running a hand through his hair
as he watched and waited.

Over the
past few days, Mrs Holcombe had become used to the Master’s
unconventional manner towards the young Miss, and had given up
arguing and trying to get him to leave to preserve the young lady’s
modesty. Whatever happened, the young lady was well and truly
ruined the first night she appeared in the house. But all of that
paled to insignificance with the realisation that after such a
prolonged and severe illness, it would be a blessing if she were
still with them at the end of the ordeal.

Isobel
was quickly changed into a warm, dry nightgown, and the sheets
around her swapped for clean dry ones. The fire was stoked almost
constantly until Dominic felt sweat break out on his brow as the
temperature rose to unbearable heights. Isobel convulsed into
wracking coughs, the like of which he had never heard before. On
and on they went, until Dominic thought he would go quietly mad.
Unable to bear sitting next to her doing nothing, he perched upon
the bed and carefully pulled her into his embrace.

“
Please darling, you need to try to relax,” he pleaded softly,
kissing the damp tendrils of hair on her forehead. He nodded his
thanks to Mrs Holcombe as he poured the tincture left by the doctor
several days ago. “If you can hear me my love, you need to drink
this.” He waited until the coughs eased enough to slip the spoon
into her mouth, wincing as she coughed and spluttered against the
liquid intrusion. He wondered briefly if she would throw up again,
but after several moments she subsided once again into a fitful
slumber.

“
We need to send for the doctor Sir,” Mrs Holcombe stated
calmly, not liking the green tinge of the lady’s
complexion.

“
We can’t send anyone out in this, it would be suicide to do
so,” Dominic declared matter-of-factly. “Even if we could get
someone to make the trip, the doctor wouldn’t risk a journey here
no matter what I offered him.”

He
cursed the atrocious weather, but knew he was going to go anyway.
To sit and wait out the storm with Isobel in such a poor condition
was simply unthinkable.

“
I’ll go and get some different medication. If I describe her
condition, he may be able to give us something to assist
her.”

“
But Sir -,” Mrs Holcombe was aghast at his
proposition.

“
I have to,” Dominic’s tone brooked no argument. He would go
quietly mad if he had to sit around and wait for her to die. He had
to do everything he could to help her.

Within
moments, despite the vociferous protests of his most loyal serving
staff, he had left the house.

The
skies were brightening with the first glimpse of dawn when Dominic,
shivering, exhausted and covered in snow, appeared at the kitchen
doors of Havistock Hall. With growing dread he entered the house,
praying silently that he wouldn’t be greeted by the news that
Isobel had passed away while he was gone.

“
Mrs Holcombe?” he raised a brow at Cook as he stalked through
the kitchens.

“
They are upstairs Sir, with the young Miss,” Cook replied,
“I’ll bring some more broth -” She never got the chance to finish,
the Master had already gone.

Dominic
ignored the clumps of snow that fell from his cloak as he stalked
through the house. His heart thumped heavily in his chest. He eased
open the door and found himself assailed by a wall of heat. He
quickly removed his cloak and boots on his way toward the
bed.

He was
disappointed to see no improvement in her condition. She still
carried that same waxy completion, and the awful rattling in her
chest was still alarmingly harsh in the silence of the room. He
didn’t need to ask Mrs Holcombe if Isobel had woken while he was
away.

Removing
the new bottle of tincture from his cloak, within moments Isobel
had her first spoon of the greenish liquid that smelled vile.
Dominic shuddered as the stench assaulted his nostrils and he
looked warily at the murky concoction, but he had been assured by
the doctor it was what she needed.

He
wasn’t surprised when Isobel coughed and spluttered. Merely
smelling the stuff made his stomach churn. Still, if it helped to
make her better, she would have to drink it. Dominic placed the
bottle beside the bed with a shudder of revulsion.

Exhaustion swamped him as the ravages of the night began to
catch up with him.

“
I’ll get you some breakfast, Sir,” Mrs Holcombe stated
quietly, weariness lacing her own voice as she moved to the
door.

“
Not for me Mrs Holcombe,” Dominic said, certain he would not
be able to manage anything. “Get yourself some rest now, and thank
you.” He shot the woman a grateful smile as she left and carefully
took his place beside Isobel on the bed. Gathering her into his
arms, he sighed a deep sigh of contentment, he settled into a
sporadic sleep.

Whatever
the day held in store for them, he would not be parted from her
again.

Isobel
slowly became aware of a strange murmuring around her. It seemed
faint and hazy, as though the people talking were a long way away.
If only she could make out what they were saying. She wondered if
it was one of ‘those’ dreams again where Dominic came to her, but
this time there was no swirling mist. She took a deep breath,
wincing a little at the tightening band across her
chest.

Feeling
more comfortable and at peace than she had been for some
considerable time, she lay there for several moments, and simply
enjoyed the luxurious softness of the pillow behind her, and the
scent of roses from the sheets surrounding her. She was lovely and
warm, something she had not felt in such a long time.

As she
lay simply revelling in contentment, she slowly became aware of a
growing sense of unease. Vague menacing shadows and strange
intimidating images flickered through her mind, filling her with an
increasing discomfort.

Where
was she? How long had she been there? Had she really been with
Dominic?

Quickly,
she opened her eyes, wincing at the bright daylight that permeated
the room.

“
Isobel?” Dominic’s wonderfully familiar voice was husky, and
so very close.

Turning
her head sideways, her gaze met and held his green gaze and she
smiled softly at him.

“
Thank God!”

She
frowned at his heartfelt sentiment, and watched as he rested his
forehead briefly upon the back of her hand as if in silent
prayer.

“
Dominic?” she croaked, aware that her voice was hoarse, and
her throat dry.

“
We nearly lost you,” he whispered, his voice laden with
suppressed emotion.

“
Lost me?” Isobel repeated in confusion, “but I am right
here!”

Dominic
remained silent.

“
Where am I by the way?” she asked, her gaze taking in the
graceful opulence of the room around her.

“
At home, where you belong,” Dominic declared, placing a
tender kiss upon the back of her hand. “Havistock Hall.”

Isobel
frowned as random events flitted teasingly through her mind. She
couldn’t be sure whether the events she could remember had indeed
happened, or were in fact something her fuddled mind had wishfully
created. She glanced warily down at her plain cotton night
rail.

“
How long have I been at Havistock Hall?” she whispered,
biting her lip warily.

“
Three weeks now,” Dominic replied, his face breaking out into
a smile as her eyebrows shot up incredulously. She was so beautiful
that he ached to look at her.

“
Three weeks?” Her voice was weak, but her beautiful blue eyes
were alive with astonished wonder.

Dominic
nodded, stuck for words. The memory of the last few days was too
raw and painful at the moment. “Your situation was poor -” was all
he could say, and allowed the conversation to lapse between them
briefly.

Isobel
felt her energy start to wane, and fought to stop her eyelids from
drooping. “I feel so very tired, yet I cannot remember anything.
Why is that?” She frowned at him in consternation.

“
You have been seriously ill my darling. You have had us all
worried.”

Easing
onto the bed to sit beside her, he tenderly tucked an errant curl
behind her ear before placing his lips there.

“
I am so very glad you are going to be well,” he whispered
softly, pressing a tender kiss on the soft skin of the temple.
Closing his eyes for a few moments, he simply rejoiced in being
able to absorb the essence of her.

“
You kept giving me some foul drink,” she accused gently,
lifting one tired eyelid in time to catch his slightly guilty look
as she slowly shook her head.

After
several moments of companionable silence, Dominic was certain she
had fallen asleep again, only to jump with alarm when she
spoke.

“
Why am I in your room, and not in the sick room, or guest
room?” Her voice held no accusation, just mild
curiosity.

“
We do not have a sick room here in Havistock, my dear,” he
replied, pushing himself away from the bed. “The main suite is
where you belong.”

“
But I am a guest,” Isobel argued, silently cursing the
exhaustion that once again gripped her.

“
Not at Havistock darling. You will never be a guest
here.”

Isobel
tried to understand the significance of his words, but found her
eyelids just wouldn’t cooperate. Making a mental note to ask him
about it later, she fell into a deep healing sleep once more,
content in the knowledge that he was nearby.

CHAPTER
FIVE

Three
and a half weeks later Isobel was feeling decidedly out of sorts.
Despite her lingering weakness, being confined to bed was boring to
say the least. She longed to be outside in the fresh air. It felt
like she had spent most of the first few weeks at Dominic’s home
either eating or sleeping, but could remember very little about
it.

For the
past few days she had been wide awake, and was now fighting growing
frustration at her lack of activity.

She was
so very sick of being tired and sick of being stuck in the
bed.

Days
were spent just lying in bed leaving her feeling more tired than
she had when she had been walking all day!

Her
wracking cough seemed to be getting worse instead of
better.

It took
every ounce of effort just to breathe, something she had managed to
do so easily for all of her life seemed just so damned
difficult.

If she
ate any more of that infernal broth Cook insisted on sending up,
she would throw the next bowl out of the window and be done with
it!

Aaahhhh!

She
fought the urge to thump her fists against the bed in temper, and
glared moodily out of the window at the snow-covered
ground.

Dominic,
bless his heart, was becoming a pest. Whenever she awoke he was
seated beside the bed, either stroking her hair or holding her
hand. Always present while she slept. On a couple of occasions, she
awoke to find him softly snoring in the chair beside the bed. The
dark shadows beneath his eyes testament to his own tiredness that
he seemingly refused to succumb to.

When she
did wake up to find him in the chair, he had remained with her for
a short time, patiently answering a plethora of questions as
frankly as he could. He would sit and converse with her for quite a
long time before taking his leave, ostensibly to allow her to
rest.

By
evening they would dine together, when he would gently tease smiles
out of her if she was feeling decidedly glum, and patiently fill in
parts of her arrival at the house that she couldn’t remember.
Despite his generosity and kindness, she always considered there
was something he was waiting for, something he was withholding from
her, yet she couldn’t think of what that might be. Nor did she know
how to ask him.

Maybe he
was waiting for her to vacate his bed? But he had placed her there
and wouldn’t consider moving her to a guest suite whenever she had
suggested it, so what could be wrong?

Over the
past couple of days, she was aware of a growing expectation that
was driving her mad. Only this morning he had paid her a customary
visit only for the tension between them to be palpable.
Conversation, usually flowing and familiar, had become stilted and
awkward. It was as though both of them had things they wanted to
say, yet were loathed to broach the subjects they so desperately
needed to raise.