“You can see that he is ill,” she told Rushborough fiercely. “He cannot leave this house now. I do not believe that you have the authority to turn him out if Lady Saville invites him to remain.”
Rushborough stared at her and turned abruptly on his heel. The door slammed behind him.
Eden laughed, because the only alternative was sheer panic. She doubted that Rushborough would now consider her a suitable marchioness. She was spared the need to explain that she would not marry where she could not love. That she would not marry, ever again.
“Come with me,” she said, taking Hartley’s weight upon her shoulder. “You must rest.”
“Donal—”
“Someone is already looking for him, and we will go as soon as you are able.” How easy it was to say “we” when their son might be in peril.
Lady Saville all but leaped upon them when they entered the hall. She prattled something about Rushborough and then noticed Hartley’s pallor.
“Oh! Oh, dear! Are you not well, Mr. Fleming?”
“Would you be so kind as to allow my cousin to rest in a private chamber, Lady Saville?” Eden asked, continuing toward the stairs.
“To be sure! I will summon a footman at once, and have a room prepared. Shall I give your regrets to our guests?”
“Please do, Lady Saville.” She half dragged Hartley, sensing with alarm that his condition was worsening with every step.
Somehow she managed to get him to the bottom of the stairs, and he pulled himself up by clinging to the bannister. Two footmen intercepted them on the landing and took Hartley’s weight between them. A maid rushed out of an open door, flushed and breathless, and Lady Saville’s housekeeper followed.
“My lady,” the woman said, “We have prepared a chamber for Mr. Fleming. I shall send for the doctor—”
“‘That is not necessary,” Eden said, following on the footmen’s heels. “It is some recurring ailment from India, I believe. He only requires rest.”
“Just as you say, my lady!” The housekeeper supervised the footmen as they carried Hartley into the room and laid him on the bed. Eden sat beside him.
“Would you bring clean water, and cloths, and a little food?” she asked the housekeeper.
“At once. Shall I leave Prudence with you?”
“No. I will care for my cousin.”
She breathed again when the housekeeper, maid, and footmen had gone. Hartley’s skin was like hot coals under her hand. He might be dying. Dying, while Donal was God knew where with a possible madwoman. What could she do now but trust her father?
“Hartley,” she whispered, stroking his forehead. “Fight. Surely you are stronger than any mere mortal. Fight, for Donal’s sake.”
His eyelids fluttered and opened. “Eden.”
“I am here.”
“Donal—” He sighed and closed his eyes.
“You must regain your strength. What can I do to help?”
He tried to shake his head. “I am… weaker away from Hartsmere,” he said haltingly. “My tie to the land is too strong. The journey was difficult. Iron is everywhere here, and the wound was deep. I have only so much… power.”
“You risked your life coming after us. Why do you want Donal so badly? Why take him from me? My aunt… Claudia said—”
“She said too much. And you believed her.” He laughed faintly. “The old tales. Men have always… shaped us to their image. Because they feared us, they gave us a hundred names and a nature they could despise. We were evil, and without souls.”
“I do not believe that, Hartley.” And she realized it was true; she did not believe it. “You must have a soul.”
“I am no… philosopher, Eden, nor a theologian like your priests. I know only that… I am not without a heart.”
She squeezed his hand, as if she could pour her meager strength into him. “I know that you love Donal.” She did not let go, though she realized the things she must ask might bring only more pain. It was time to dispense with all the secrets, all the lies. “Why did you court me, Hartley? If you wanted a half-human child, there must have been an easier way. You could have found a woman who would not expect marriage or a lifetime of companionship. There are no doubt women who would… sell their own children.”