“No, she hasn’t. But Dr. Barton is hopeful that she will soon.”
“Does he know what is wrong with her? Is she hurt at all?” And if he shook Mary, would she answer his questions faster?
Mary gestured toward a window seat down the hall with a bench. “Can we sit a moment?” She rested a hand on her middle. “I need a rest while we talk.”
“Of course.” He followed his sister at a sedate pace that made him want to curse.
She turned to face him after they were seated but still he didn’t see any revelations in her eyes. “Until Daphney wakes up, we won’t be able to know exactly what happened. But the Doctor was able to assess that she has a sprained ankle and a few bruised ribs, most likely indicating that she was thrown from the horse.” Mary was talking slowly as if English was not his first language. “That would explain why you found her on the ground. Dr. Barton suspects that once she was thrown, she had trouble walking from the pain and got trapped in the rain. The rain mixed with the frigid temperatures made her body temperature drop lower than what it should be, resulting in what is called hypothermia.”
“I know what hypothermia is. But why is she unconscious?” His knee was bouncing. He felt the need to pace again but didn’t give in to the urge.
“Apparently, that is the body’s natural response when its temperature gets too low. Before that, she likely could not even think soundly and lost the use of her limbs.” Mary paused, her eyes conveying the unspoken message he was looking for a moment ago. “You found her just in time.” That was a polite way of saying the woman was half dead when he finally got to her.
Anger boiled inside him. He was not Rose’s hero. A hero would have been there at the first sign of trouble. A hero would have asked her why she had been crying instead of selfishly kissing her in the hallway.
As if reading his thoughts, Mary took his hand in hers. “None of this is your fault, Carver.”
His fists clenched and his words raced. “Yes—it is. I should have found her sooner. I should have noticed that she wasn’t in the ballroom.” His voice grew louder, more desperate with each word. “I should never have left her side. I should have been home when she came to see me—,”
“Who?”
“Claire!” he shouted and then felt the weight of her name settle into every inch of that hallway. His face fell blank, and he felt stunned from his own word.
A heavy pause filled the space between him and Mary. When had his thoughts turned back to Claire? But really—they never left her, did they? Not ever. He was a wreck.
He dropped his face in his hands. Mary placed a soft hand on his arm, not saying anything, just letting him process his own words. “I should have been there that day, Mary,” Carver spoke into his hands.
He would never be able to forget that fact that if he had just been home when Claire had ridden her horse over to find him, she would not have ridden right back home. Her horse would never had stepped into that rabbit hole and she would have never fallen to her death. If only he had been there…she might be alive today. And if he had been watching out for Rose, she would not be fighting for her life in the next room.
Mary’s voice was quiet. “You couldn’t have known, Carver. Asking yourself what if will not bring her back. It will only continue to torment you. Things in life happen for reasons we will never be able to know. Give yourself the freedom to accept that it happened and know that Claire’s decisions were out of your control.”
“I can’t, Mary. If I accept it...If I say it out loud—then it will be real. She will be gone.” His voice shook with barely suppressed emotion. He felt like he was barely holding himself together. Ready to break.
“Carver,” the tenderness of Mary’s voice wrapped around him. “Claire is gone.” She rested her hand on his back again. “She won’t be coming back. But you do have a woman in the next room who is alive and who loves you.”
He felt numb and weary, and couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Life was moving around him but he felt trapped in the past. Claire is gone. She’s not coming back. After a while, Mary patted his arm and then left him alone with his thoughts.
After the rain began to slow and the house settled into a quieter rhythm, Carver was told that he could finally go in to see Rose. He opened the door and found his mother quietly working on her needlework in the corner of the room. It was a stark contrast to the frenzied chaos of earlier in the evening. Felix had been sitting by her bed holding her still hand, but when the man saw Carver enter he stood and crossed to him. He looked in Carver’s eyes and nodded, offering his thanks and blessing. One that Carver did not feel at all worthy of receiving.
He reverently made his way to Rose’s side and took the seat beside the bed. Other than the steady and comforting lift and fall of her chest, she did not move. Her golden brown waves cascaded over the pillow making her look more like a woman in a painting than his real-life Rose. Something in him needed reassurance that she was really there and alive. He reached out and gently stroked her blessedly warm forehead all the way down her soft hair.
A slight pink had returned to her cheeks, removing the last bits of fear from his chest. She would wake up. And the doctor was fully confident that she would make a complete recovery. But would he? Carver wasn’t sure he would ever be the same after that night. He felt as if he had lost Claire all over again. But he had been granted another chance with this woman in front of him who he loved very much.
Carver had learned enough about Rose to understand that she deserved and needed a man who could tenderly hold her heart and patiently put back together the pieces that life had torn apart. And for the first time, he could admit that he wasn’t strong enough to be that for her. If he continued to pursue her as he was, he would only break her further.
He ran the back of his hand down her warm arm until his fingers clasped around hers. She looked peaceful and light in her sleep. The creases that often rested between her brows were cleared. She was beautiful. He took a deep breath, feeling a resolve settle in his chest. It was time to face the truth he had been avoiding. He leaned in and placed a kiss on her temple and let go of her hand.
Chapter 35
The first thing Rose noticed before opening her eyes was that her body was no longer on the hard cold ground. In fact, wherever she was, felt like heaven. Was this heaven? Had she died? That question was quickly answered by the sudden and massive ache in her head, ankle, and ribs, as well as a general overall discomfort that one might have after being forcefully thrown from a horse.
With a jolt, all of Rose’s memory rushed back. Her eyes flew open and she propelled herself up in bed. The pain in her rib came sharp and strong. She winced and caught her hands around her abdomen. Pain coupled with a rush of emotions when she realized that she was no longer out in the cold, freezing to death, but alive and safe in the house. Tears burned her eyes.
“It’s alright, Rose. You’re safe now,” said a comforting voice. But not Carver’s voice. And also one that knew her real name. “Lie back down, dear.” The duchess’s sweet, motherly words went a long way to soothe Rose’s nerves. But not as far as Carver’s would have gone.
With a hint of nervousness, she looked around the room. Her room. The fire was lit, mounds of blankets were lying on top of her, and a man’s cravat sat crumpled on a chair by the fire.
“What happened? How did I get back here?” Rose asked.