From The Ashes (The Ministry of Curiosities #6)(80)

Gus clapped Seth's shoulder. He glanced at me then Lincoln. "He all right, Doc?"

"We need to make him comfortable," Dr. Fawkner said. "Hopefully he'll wake up soon."

"Hopefully?" Lady Harcourt cried. "Is that all you can do? Hope"

Fawkner took a wary step away from her and almost tripped over a pot. "Head injuries are unpredictable. I…I'm sorry."

"Take Lincoln to his rooms," I told no one in particular. Buchanan and Harcourt came forward and lifted him. They carried him out, led by Doyle with two candlesticks.

To Fawkner, I said, "You may go home now. The danger is past and you're free." I looked at the general's feet, avoiding seeing his face. "We'll notify Dr. Bell tomorrow."

Fawkner stretched his neck out of his collar and eyed Lady Harcourt carefully. She, however, only had eyes for her stepsons as they carried Lincoln away. I resisted watching too, even though every part of me wanted to race after them.

"I'll check on your friends first," Fawkner said.

I touched his arm. "Thank you."

Seth drew me into a brief hug. "Go and be with him, Charlie. I'll see to everything down here."

I walked off, only to have Lady Harcourt attempt to race ahead of me.

Seth caught her. "No," he growled. "You have to help clean up."

"I do not clean," she said with the defiance I expected from her, but hadn't seen of late. "I am Lady Harcourt."

I caught up to her stepsons as they lay Lincoln on his bed. They removed his jacket and waistcoat, but left his shirt on. I thanked them then sat on the edge of the mattress. I wasn't aware they'd left the room until I heard the door click closed.

Lincoln lay motionless, the bruise on his forehead a deep black against his pale skin. It wasn't right. Someone with Lincoln's vibrancy and strength shouldn't be rendered weak. He would hate it, and he would hate me seeing him like this.

I touched his cheek. It felt cool so I pulled the bedcovers up and tucked them around him. His eyelashes fluttered and I held my breath, but he didn't wake. I stroked his cheek, his forehead, traced the line of his brow to the edge, beneath the bruise. Injuries to the head were unpredictable, so Fawkner said. Lincoln could wake with memory loss, or his speech could be affected, or his body. Or he might never wake.

My stomach lurched. Tears spilled, even though I thought I'd shed enough. If he died…the hole his absence would leave in my life and heart would never close.

Soft footsteps approached. "Charlie," Doyle whispered from the door. "I brought you tea. I thought you may need it." He set the tray down on the bedside table and poured me a cup.

"Thank you." I took my cup out to the adjoining room with the butler. "How are the others?"

"The guests have left. It was decided that the police will not be informed. The gentlemen removed the general's body and, er, what remained of his coachman. The coachman will be disposed of and his family informed, but they were not forthcoming on the particulars of the disposal. The general's body will be left in his carriage near his house. Any questions from the police will be quashed by their superiors and the proper arrangements made for the funeral et cetera."

"He had no family," I said, numbly. "Only Lincoln, of sorts."

"Seth and I are seeing to the clean up in the kitchen with Cook overseeing proceedings. I had to make tea in the drawing room fireplace."

"Be sure Cook and Seth get some rest, too. And Gus?"

"In bed."

"Good. Thank you, Doyle."

He gave me a flat smile. "Let's just be glad Bella was given the evening off and her mistress is out."

I checked the clock on Lincoln's desk. "She'll be home soon." I sighed, not looking forward to the explanations. "I'll come downstairs and help."

"It's not suitable work for a young woman. Stay here and watch over Mr. Fitzroy."

"I've cleaned up blood before." And bits of brain and skull, belonging to Lord Harcourt's brother-in-law.

"Seth will have my head if I allow you downstairs. Rest in here or your own room."

"Very well. Thank you, Doyle. You're a marvel."

He left, but I neither rested nor returned to Lincoln's bedroom. I was too tightly wound to sleep. I set my teacup down on the desk and began searching for a list of the supernaturals and where they'd gone. The task helped distract me from the man lying on the bed, and from what had transpired tonight. I didn't want to think about the general, of what he'd done and tried to do. Nor did I want to explore the emotions rolling through me.

Yet I couldn't help it when I saw my engagement ring in its box. The box was open, as it had been every time I came into Lincoln's rooms.

I rummaged through drawers, willing myself not to think about our broken engagement, of what might have been if he'd never sent me away. But I couldn't help it. The ring drew me back again and again, until I finally picked up the box. It was a beautiful ring with its multi-faceted diamond, but it was no longer mine.

Unless I wanted it. I suspected Lincoln wanted me to be his fiancée again, but I couldn't go back to the way things were, the way I was. I wasn't that girl anymore. I wasn't foolishly in love with the perfect man. Lincoln wasn't perfect.