Chapter 26
Christmas came to the Duke of Raventon’s house and, yet, no cheer could be found. No decorations had been hung. No carols were sung.
A general air of mourning draped the house.
Days had passed. Diana did not wake up. Max refused to leave her side. He spoke until he was hoarse, until he could do nothing but whisper to her in broken tones.
He told her of the many artists, writers, politicians, and nobles he had smuggled out of France.
He told her of how Angeline Purcelle had taught him how to change personalities at the drop of a hat, how to trick guards and be a leader. She had taught him how to read people, thus gaining their confidence. He explained how Sophie Argyle had known The Dove. After all, who could not be proud of such an aunt?
And finally, Max told her how Angeline had died. . . betrayed and torn to pieces by the mob.
He told her of the battles he had marched in. . . of Tommy Adams who had been no more than two and ten years old when struck down. Of how it had almost broken him. Tears streaked his face in a way they had not done in years.
He even confessed to his role in the East End, of the spies he’d recruited to sort out the most dangerous gangs, and to discover where the roots of revolution might lie in his own country. For he would not see the streets run red in England as he had seen them do in France.
He told her of his plans to change the lives of the poor. How he longed to give them more rights.
And carefully, every few minutes, he raised a spoon to her lips, slipping water into her mouth, willing her to swallow.
He knew, somehow, that his friends were in the house.
They were holding vigils in some salon downstairs.
Nellie, too, had seldom left the room.
When his voice could no longer even whisper, Nellie read from what he assumed were Diana’s favorite childhood books.
The sounds of those tales drew him oddly close to his wife. And when the silence stretched, and it seemed as if her chest might never rise in another breath, he asked her to stay. When her eyes did not open, he begged with all his might.
Finally, Christmas morning, when all the bells rang out across London Town and she did not stir, he gripped her hand, harder than perhaps he should and he stroked back her hair from her face. “Please, my love. Please. You said. . . you said you chose me. Choose us now.” A tear slipped down his cheek. “Please choose us.”
The miracle did not occur.
To his heartbreak, her eyes did not open and she did not speak to him. It was not to be the greatest Christmas miracle.
Instead, she continued to be silent, like a cursed princess in a fairytale condemned to sleep for all eternity.
***
“I-t h-hurts.”
Diana frowned then winced. Her mouth wasn’t working properly and it was terribly dry. Actually, nothing seemed to be working properly.
She could not open her eyes. She strained but her lids felt too heavy. So, she allowed herself a moment. It hit her then. She’d had the most strange dream.
In fact, she could have sworn that Max had sat by her side and told her the story of his life. But surely, that was sheer and utter madness. Max would never do such a thing. Why should he?
She tried to open her eyes again and, this time, slits of light stung her pupils.
The room spun a bit and she blinked, trying to clear her thoughts.
At last, she looked up at the pale ceiling, the chandelier winking in the candlelight.
What time was it? Night, surely.
Slowly, she looked to the side, an effort which shocked her with its enormity.
The sight of Max’s dark head resting on the mattress as he held her hand stunned her. What the devil was he doing sitting beside her bed?
She blinked again. Nellie sat in a chair by the fire.
They both seemed to be asleep. But why on earth would they be in her room like this?
It rushed back on her. She gasped at the memory of it.
Hamish.
She drew in a shuddering breath. She was alive. My God! She had sworn she would not die. And here she was.
She looked down to her chest and, much as she expected, there was a bandage wrapped about most of her upper body.
Max yawned, let out a long breath, then slowly sat up. He wiped his free hand over his eyes.
“Och, mon, ye look dreadful,” she said gently, her heart going out to him. He looked as though he had been crushed by the weight of the world.
He stilled, and then he lifted her hand to his lips. Tears filled his eyes. “You’re awake.”
“I’m no’ asleep,” she agreed, trying to smile. But she found she was too tired. “That’s for certain, my love.”
“Nellie!” he all but roared.
Nellie jumped. “What’s happened? Has she—”
“She’s awake!” Max all but bellowed with joy.
Nellie darted across the room and let out a cry of sheer happiness.
She cleared her dry throat. “Ye both seem as if a miracle has come to pass.”
“It has, my love,” Max said as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “They tried to tell us you would die. But Nellie and I believed in you.”
“Ye both ken. . .” She drew in a slow breath. “I wouldna do what a doctor told me to. . .”
Max laughed, though the sound was one of relief.
Nellie rushed to the door. “I’m going to go and tell everyone. They’ll be so relieved.”
“Thank ye, Nellie,” Diana said, the work of speaking surprisingly taxing.
“Och, and Happy Christmas!” Nellie all but crowed.
“C-Christmas?” Diana queried.
“Oh, yes. It is Christmas Day and I have never kent a gift such as this.”
She nodded but then tensed, the action immediately paining her. “T-the Aid—”
“My darling, it has all been taken care of. Eglantine and Harriet sent me a note that all of the decorations, presents, and good cheer had been arranged and that they would all be sending you their good wishes and love.”
A relieved sigh escaped her lips. “I wouldna wish them. . . to be disappointed.”
Max kissed her gently. “I love you, Diana. I love your beautiful soul.”
“I love ye, too, Max,” she whispered.
“And Diana,” he said, his voice thick with passion and gratitude. “Thank you.”
She stared up at him, completely lost for what he might be thanking her for. “For what?”
Once again, his eyes filled with emotion and he wrapped his hands about hers. “For choosing us, my love. For choosing us.”