Twelfth Night with the Earl (The Sutherland Sisters #3)(44)

It had happened so quickly, and yet at the same time he’d felt as if he were moving underwater, battling against a sucking current determined to drag him back, to hold him down as he fought to reach her in time.

Five steps. Perhaps six, but no more. That was as far as he’d gotten before she lost her footing and began to plummet to the hard marble floor below. He’d known at once he’d be too late to stop it. He’d only had time to throw himself in her way, and pray his body would break her fall. The impact had knocked him backward those few steps, but Thea had fallen the entire way, down all those stairs . . .

There hadn’t been any blood, not like with Andrew, but for that one frozen moment when he’d struggled to pull breath into his lungs, that still form at the bottom of the staircase hadn’t been Thea at all.

It had been Andrew.

He’d seen his brother lying on the floor, and he’d known, even before he reached him, it was too late.

But it wasn’t Andrew. It was Thea, and it wasn’t too late. Not this time. He wouldn’t let it be. Whatever he had to do, whatever he had to say, and whoever he had to pray to, he’d do it.

Whatever it took.

He wasn’t letting her go.

This house had seen enough tragedy. The nightmares, the memories that haunted him, the ghosts he couldn’t lay to rest . . .

It all ended here.

He dragged his chair closer to the bed, gathered her limp hand between both of his, and drew a shaky breath.

“I do remember the picnics on the west lawn with my mother, sweetheart. I remember everything we did together. The picnics, and swimming in my father’s fishing pond late at night. Searching for mistletoe with Andrew, and my mother’s Christmas Eve parties. I remember one year she tried to teach you to play the pianoforte, but you didn’t have the temperament for it. You always wanted to be in the kitchens, or exploring the woods with Andrew and me, and you couldn’t bear to sit still for hours.”

He smiled a little now, thinking of it.

“You only ever did learn one song. “The Twelve Days of Christmas”. I had to hear you play that song over and over again. For a long time I thought that was the reason it drove me mad, but I don’t think so anymore.”

He pressed her hand to his cheek. “I think I’ve always hated it because it reminded me of everything I’d lost. When you wake up, you’ll play it for me again, won’t you? I think I could love it now.”

He wrapped his arms around her and let his head fall to the bed to rest on her chest. “I want you to know I remember everything, Thea—all my happy memories of Cleves Court. There are so many of them, and all of them . . .” His voice caught, and he cleared his throat. “All of them include you, Thea. You’re part of every one of them. Part of me.”

He didn’t move for a long time, but stayed there, holding her, trying to take comfort in the steady movement of her chest under his cheek. He didn’t look up when he heard the door open. Becky, the children, the other servants, and the villagers who’d heard about Thea’s fall—they’d been in and out of her room all day. Aside from pitying looks and whispered prayers and reassurances, they’d kept away from Ethan, but this time a small hand touched his shoulder.

“Miss Sheridan is still asleep.”

He sat up, startled, to find Martha standing next to him. “Yes. She is.”

Martha’s lower lip trembled as she looked at Thea. “Why won’t she wake up?”

Ethan shook his head. He’d never felt so helpless in his life. “She’s hurt herself, and her body needs to rest to feel better, but the doctor thinks she will wake up.”

“But what if she doesn’t?” Martha turned dark, fearful eyes on him. “What if she never wakes up?”

Ethan looked at Thea, his heart heavy as a stone in his chest. “She will.”

Martha was quiet for a moment, then, “Lordship?”

“Yes?”

Tears were running down Martha’s cheeks. “I’m scared.”

He didn’t think about it, he just opened his arms, and Martha never hesitated. She went to him, climbed into his lap, grabbed his shirt in her little hands, and buried her face in his chest.

She felt tiny in his arms, her thin back shuddering with sobs. Ethan wished with everything in him he could reassure her, tell her Thea would wake, any minute now she’d open her eyes, but all he could manage was a choked whisper. “I’m scared, too.”

After a while Martha’s sobs quieted, and then she fell asleep, her small body exhausted with weeping. Ethan continued to hold her on his lap, stroking her hair as the shadows lengthened and gathered in the corners of the silent room.

“The golden rings . . .”

A soft voice broke the silence, and Ethan’s hand froze in mid-stroke. His gaze darted to the bed, but he was afraid to move, afraid to breathe, even.

Thea stirred in the bed, a faint frown on her lips. “That song . . . it’s about birds.”

Ethan jostled Martha gently to wake her, never taking his eyes off Thea’s face. “Martha, quickly. Run and tell Becky to send for the doctor. Miss Sheridan is waking up.”

Martha woke with a start, took one look at Thea, who was still murmuring about birds, and flew from the room, shouting for Becky as she ran down the hallway.

Ethan dropped to his knees by the side of the bed, his heart in his throat. “Don’t go back to sleep, sweetheart. Open your eyes, and tell me more about the birds.”