Chapter 66 - Sixty Six
The rain fell in relentless, slanting sheets, turning the courtyard into a muddy lake. Mr. Rye, his own coat already soaked through, carefully lifted the Duke’s heavy, unconscious form. He carried Eric to the waiting carriage, his face grim with worry. Delia followed close behind, her simple dress clinging to her, her own body shivering from the cold, but her mind was entirely focused on the man in Mr. Rye’s arms.
As they got to the carriage, Rye took off his own dry coachman’s coat. "Milady, please," he said, offering it to her. "You are freezing. You must keep yourself warm."
Delia took the heavy wool coat, but she did something that surprised him. She didn’t wrap it around her own shivering shoulders. Instead, she carefully draped it over Eric’s still form once Mr. Rye had settled him on the seat. She tucked it around him, then took his cold, limp hands in her own, rubbing them vigorously and blowing her own warm breath onto his skin.
"Please be alright," she murmured, her voice a low, desperate prayer lost in the sound of the storm. "Please, please be alright."
A few agonizing moments later, they arrived back at the Duke’s private residence. Mr. Rye, with a strength that belied his age, carried Eric inside and up the grand staircase to his bedroom. As he laid the Duke on the large bed, Delia gave him a firm, clear command, her own discomfort completely forgotten.
"Get the doctor," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Immediately."
Rye left at once, his footsteps hurrying down the hall. Delia was left alone in the quiet, dim room with Eric. His clothes were soaked through, and she knew if he stayed in them, he would catch a terrible cold on top of whatever else was wrong with him. A wave of hesitation washed over her. It was highly improper. But the thought of him falling more ill was far worse than any breach of etiquette.
She turned away, her cheeks burning, and promised herself not to look. Her hands trembling, she worked quickly, unbuttoning his wet shirt and trousers, carefully changing him into a set of clean, dry day wear she found in his wardrobe. When she was done, she pulled the heavy duvet up to his chin.
She stayed with him, sitting in a chair by his bed, watching the erratic rise and fall of his chest. His breathing was still too fast, and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead again, despite the coolness of his skin.