“How does he fare?”

Josephine looked up to see Francine walk into the bedchamber, her eyes wide with concern.

“I’m afraid he has the fever,” Josephine replied, gently. “But we have begun to treat him almost immediately, which I am sure is going to help.” She swallowed her own fear, suddenly terrified that she would lose Lord Dunstable to the fever, just as she had lost her own mother and father. Everyone who mattered to her had already been taken, and now, just as she and Lord Dunstable had been on the verge of something inexplicably wonderful, he had been struck down by the fever. Turning back to Lord Dunstable, she saw him toss his head from one side to the other, clearly struggling with the fever already.

“Here,” she said to Gillian, handing her the cool cloth so that she could dab at Lord Dunstable’s forehead whilst she herself continued to mix up a fresh batch of vinegar and feverfew. Rising to her feet, she took Francine’s hands in her own and tried to put as much certainty into her expression as she could.

“Your brother is strong,” she said, in a calm, firm voice. “He will battle through this, I am quite sure of it. It may take some days but I will do all I can for him. I swear to you I will not leave his side.”

Francine nodded tightly, her expression growing troubled. “And what if he does not recover?” she whispered, her fingers tightening on Josephine’s. “What do we do then? The title will go to –”

“You need not think in such a way,” Josephine interrupted, firmly. “Do not let fear take hold of your heart and mind, Francine. Trust that your brother will have the strength to pull through this terrible sickness. You and your mother have the same spirit and you have both recovered.” She managed a small smile, seeing Francine’s eyes fill with tears. “You must rest also. Your strength is not what it once was as yet.”

Francine nodded. “I will help you whenever I can,” she said, hoarsely. “I suppose I must write to Georgina. Last Dunstable said, she was still in London.”

Josephine frowned, unsure as to who Francine was referring to. “Georgina?” she aside, letting go of Francine’s hands in order to make up her mixture of feverfew and vinegar.

Francine nodded, moving to her brother’s side and taking his hand. “Miss Georgina Wells, my brother’s betrothed.”

Josephine’s hands stilled, her heart suddenly beating violently in her chest. Lord Dunstable was engaged?

“She was here for a very short time,” Francine continued, clearly unaware of the devastation her words were causing to Josephine. “But the moment she knew the servants were unwell, she left this place and returned to London in order to return with her father to his country seat. From what Dunstable said, Georgina’s father, Viscount Armitage, had already begun his journey back to the country and had not yet sent his carriage for her.” She shook her head, shooting a glance towards Josephine who felt as though she were frozen in place, confusion and upset mounting with every moment. “The foolish girl thought it best to remain in London, where the fever rages, rather than return here to aid us. I know Dunstable was terribly upset over her recent letter to him, but regardless of that, I should still inform her of his condition.”

“Of course,” Josephine replied, woodenly, recalling just how upset Lord Dunstable had been some days ago, when he had read a letter in the kitchen and then crumpled it up in his hand. She did not know at the time why he had been so upset but now realized that this letter must have been from his betrothed, Miss Georgina Wells. Daughter of a viscount, part of the nobility and certainly a good deal more suitable for a baron than the likes of her.

And yet, Lord Dunstable had drawn near to her upon receiving the letter, hadn’t he? He had been upset that his betrothed showed him no concern, showed no consideration for the illness of his mother and sister and then, subsequently, had stepped closer to her. The air had grown thick between them and she had felt her heart beating with a frantic hope, only for Jones the butler to interrupt them. Even this afternoon, Lord Dunstable had spoken to her with such truth in his eyes that she had struggled to accept what he had said. She could not doubt it now, surely? Not when he had held her in his arms and told her plainly that his feelings for her were feelings of affection.

Closing her eyes, Josephine continued with her task, feeling tears prick at her eyes. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall in front of Francine. Regardless of what Lord Dunstable had said, Josephine knew that to allow herself any sort of hope was foolishness indeed. She could not let herself believe that Lord Dunstable would ever take someone like her as his bride. He had promised her that she would not be his mistress, which was what she first thought he had been suggesting, but what really could she expect from him? To have affection for her was one thing, but to be able to act upon that affection was quite another. She was nothing like Miss Georgina Wells, nothing like the kind of lady a gentleman of quality would take for a wife.

Her heart sliced into pieces as she dragged in a breath. This was ridiculous. She needed to put all such thoughts out of her head entirely. Lord Dunstable was engaged, and a gentleman did not break off an engagement without good cause. The only reason they had become close of late was due to the fever and their need to work closely with one another in order to keep the house in order and the sick cared for. Had that not occurred, then they would be worlds apart, just as they ought to be. There could be no hope for her, despite what Lord Dunstable had said.

“His fever is rising, miss.”

Josephine turned at once, taking over from Gillian who immediately went to fetch a tea tray for both Josephine and Francine. Placing the cloth in the bowl, she let the mixture seep into the cloth before wringing it out and gently placing it on Lord Dunstable’s forehead. Her eyes lingered on his face for a moment, feeling her heart swell with something deeper than affection. Taking a breath, she turned away for a moment, growing all the more frustrated with herself.

“Do you think he has had the fever for long?” Francine asked, softly, taking her seat beside her brother’s bed. “Or did it only strike him this afternoon?”

Josephine found another cloth and placed it in the bowl, using it as a distraction so that she would not have to look at Lord Dunstable for fear that Francine would see on her face all that she was trying to hide. “He showed a little weakness and pain when we were out at the lake,” she replied, thinking back to that day. “I think that was the start of it.”

There was a moment of silence. “He took you to the lake?”

Josephine blushed furiously, keeping her back turned. “Indeed, but it was only to discuss the situation at the house. I had thought to return to London soon since you and your mother are both well recovered. The staff has come back and there was no appearance of the fever – until Lord Dunstable almost collapsed.”

Slowly turning back around, Josephine shot a glance at Francine and saw that she was looking at her with a good deal of confusion on her face. “You thought to leave us, Josephine?”

“Of course,” Josephine replied, beginning to gently dab Lord Dunstable’s neck with the second cloth. “They will need me back at the Devil’s basement in Smithfield Market. The fever still raged in London, from what I hear.”

Francine reached across and grasped Josephine’s hand, looking suddenly desperate. “But you will not leave us now, will you?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Not when my brother needs  you.”

Josephine smiled softly and set the cloth down so that she might put her free hand on top of Francine’s. “I will not leave this house until your brother’s fever has broken,” she promised, knowing that the moment Lord Dunstable’s fever left him, she would have to make plans to return to London. “I give you my word, Francine.”

Francine’s face crumpled. “Oh, thank you, Josephine,” she whispered, letting go of Josephine’s hand so that she might sit back into her seat. “I am so afraid and I do not know what to do.”

Josephine frowned, a little concerned at the paleness in Francine’s cheeks. “I think you can pray, my dear. You must return to your bed now, I think. You are tired and I do not want you to weaken yourself.” Smiling, she moved around the bed and took Francine’s arm. “Come. I will help you to your room and Gillian will bring you your tea tray in there.”

“You will tell me if anything changes?” Francine asked, casting one last glance back at her brother. “And you will tell Mama what has occurred when she wakes?”

Josephine nodded, helping Francine back into her own bedchamber. “Of course I will,” she said, knowing that Francine needed her reassurance. “I will not leave his side, Francine. You have my word on that.”

Francine nodded and climbed back into bed, relief etched on her face. “Thank you, Josephine,” she whispered, her face pale with exhaustion. “I know I can trust you.”

––––––––

Some hours later and Josephine felt herself grow tired also. She had spoken to Lady Dunstable, who had been shocked and horrified at the news, but who also had taken it with an abundance of steady resolve to do all she could to aid her son. Josephine had elicited a promise from the lady also, that she would not do more than she was able, given her still weakened state. However, Lady Dunstable had come to sit with her son for an hour or so, so that Josephine might eat and rest for a time. Now it was late and Josephine had sent Lady Dunstable and Francine to bed, promising each of them to rouse them should there be any news.

Not that there was any particular change with Lord Dunstable.

Josephine dipped her cloth back into the bowl of water and rested it gently on Lord Dunstable’s forehead, watching the drips trail down over his temples. He muttered something incomprehensible and shifted his head back and forth on the pillow.

“Hush,” Josephine soothed, running the cloth over his cheeks and down his neck, trying to bring his temperature down. “You are all right, Lord Dunstable. You are safe.” She saw him twist and turn his head again, his lips moving but no sound coming out. Hating that he was in such distress and that there was very little else she could do, Josephine inclined her head and let out a long breath, feeling herself tremble just a little. She did not want him to grow weak and tired, as her parents had done, only for the fever to take the last of their strength.

In the loneliness and the growing dark of the room, Josephine felt herself fall close to despondency. She was struggling to escape from her own fears, worried that despite all of her assurances to Lady Dunstable and Miss Peters, Lord Dunstable would not survive the scarlet fever. Yes, he was strong and yes, he had as much care and attention as she and the others could give him, but deep down, Josephine was worried about how the last few weeks had affected him. He had not been at his best, having worked tirelessly looking after the house and stable, his mother, his sister, and the ill servants. Whilst he was what she would consider, a healthy and strong gentleman, he had been working himself to exhaustion of late. Would that mean that the fever could take a stronger hold?

Her eyes closed tightly as tears began to form. She had not cried in a long time, knowing that she needed to keep herself strong as she worked with those who battled this dreadful disease. To have seen so much death and so much suffering, Josephine would have thought that she would have been able to remain strong when faced with Lord Dunstable, but she found that her strength began to slowly shatter. Even though she knew she could not stay here, even though she knew that to stay here, in his house, by his side, was nothing more than a foolish dream, she was terrified that he would be taken from this life and placed in the next. What would Francine and Lady Dunstable do then?

He is engaged.

Tears crept through her closed eyelashes and brushed onto her cheeks, refusing to be held back. The truth of what Francine had told her tore at her heart again, aware that Lord Dunstable had not told her anything of the sort. Why had he said nothing to her? Why had he held her in his arms and told her of his heart’s affection when he was already betrothed to another? She ought to be angry with him, ought to turn away from him entirely and let her heart settle in its loneliness once more but looking at him now, seeing him so weak and so in need of her aid, she could feel nothing but a desperate affection that longed for him to recover, even though there was no future for them both.

“Oh, Dunstable,” she whispered, a small smile on her lips as she recalled how he had asked her to use his name in such an informal manner. “Why did you not tell me about her?”

There was no immediate answer, although Lord Dunstable seemed to settle a little. She found his hand amongst the bedsheets and held it, wishing that he could open his eyes and coherently explain to her why he had done such a thing. Lowering her head to her chest, Josephine gave into her sadness and her confusion, letting tears fall from her eyes as her body shook with sobs. There was no-one to hear her, no-one to comfort her. Aside from Lord Dunstable, she was entirely alone.

“Josephine?”

Her breath caught and she lifted her head to see Lord Dunstable looking at her with half-closed eyes, his breathing quick and fast.

“Dunstable,” she breathed, her fingers tightening in his as she half rose to her feet, leaning over to look at him. “You should have something to drink. Here.”

Holding the small glass of water to his lips, she waited patiently for him to swallow, which he eventually did. One hand went to his throat and he groaned softly, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Dunstable?” she murmured, gently, brushing his hair from his forehead. “Can you drink any more? You must try to get your temperature down.”

There came a few minutes of complete silence and Josephine, believing that Lord Dunstable had returned to his delirium, sat back in her chair whilst still keeping a hold of his hand. He had already had his medication, but he would soon need another dose, which she was all ready to supply him with. Once they passed the ninth day, if they managed to pass the ninth day, then Josephine would expect him to recover. For the moment, all she could do was wait.

“Josephine.”

His voice was thin, barely loud enough for her to hear and yet, despite herself, Josephine leaned forward, her right hand already in his. “Yes, Lord Dunstable?” she asked, softly. “I am here, my lord.”

Slowly, almost painfully, his eyes flickered open and, much to Josephine’s surprise, fixed on her face.

“You are a wonderful creature,” Lord Dunstable announced, evidently trying to put as much firmness into his voice as he could. “You have my heart, Josephine. I love you.”

Closing her eyes, Josephine let the tears fall to her cheeks before looking at Lord Dunstable again. She did not know what to say and certainly did not know how to react, given his profession of love from his delirious state. It brought such joy to her heart and yet that joy was tinged with sadness, knowing that she could never expect him to say such a thing to her again when he was in his right mind. He was betrothed to another and, even if they did care for each other, it could never be.

Her heart was broken and, as she wiped away her tears and picked up her cloth once more, Josephine found she could not take her hand away from his. Even if it was only for a short while, she would give all the love and affection she could to this man, praying that her efforts would not come to naught and that he would be restored, in time, to his family – and his bride to be.