While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(13)

Mackenzie stood utterly still—clearly stunned as she hugged him. He lifted a hand and awkwardly patted her slender back.

Without fully releasing him, she pulled back enough to look him in the face. She clucked and touched his cheek. “You look very much like your father. I see it so clearly.”

Struan’s expression tightened at this, but he managed to nod in acknowledgment of what must be a compliment. Looking at the two brothers, the late duke must have been a beautiful man.

The dowager continued, “Marcus must have seen the resemblance, too. He wanted to believe it wasn’t true, but he had to know.” She shook her head forlornly. “It was difficult for him to accept that his father had been unfaithful. He knew his parents weren’t a love match, but it’s another thing to accept . . . well, you.” Smiling wistfully, the dowager dropped her hand from his cheek and stepped back from Mackenzie.

A brief stretch of silence fell over the chamber. Everyone looked at the duke, still as death on the bed, willing him to wake.

With a sigh, the dowager did the inevitable and turned her gaze to Poppy. “You really saved our Marcus?”

Poppy cleared her throat. She felt uncomfortable claiming responsibility. It made her sound overly noble, so she attempted to explain it in a way that made her actions appear utterly normal. “His Grace was in the middle of the road and a carriage was bearing down on him—”

“And she saved him! Pushed him out of the way, she did.” Mrs. Wakefield dove into the conversation.

“You pushed him out of the way?” the dowager breathed, her lashes blinking over her liquid-dark eyes.

Poppy shrugged and nodded awkwardly. “Y-yes.”

The dowager clasped her beringed fingers together in front of her as though in prayer. Poppy tensed, uncertain what to expect. It certainly wasn’t what happened next.

Apparently deciding it was her turn now, Lady Autenberry seized Poppy’s shoulders and pulled her into a suffocating embrace. “You saved his life.” Astonishingly, she started to weep. “We can never repay you for saving him, but we shall try.” The shoulder of Poppy’s pinafore was soon damp from her tears. Unaccustomed to such public emotion, especially from the likes of a duchess, Poppy patted her back clumsily.

“I advise you not to hold out too much hope, Your Grace,” Dr. Mercer interrupted, shifting uncomfortably. “The duke’s life, I’m afraid to say, may yet be lost.”

Still sniffling, the dowager pulled away from Poppy to face the physician. “What are you saying?” A linen handkerchief appeared out of nowhere for her to dab at her eyes.

Poppy winced. She thought the man had been perfectly clear.

The physician sent a pained glance in the direction of Autenberry. “He’s in a false sleep . . . a coma, as it were. Now while there are the rare cases of individuals who wake up after weeks in a coma, you must prepare yourselves. He may never wake again.”

The dowager started bawling, dropping her face into her hands. Even her young daughter succumbed to tears. Only the stern Lady Enid maintained her composure, although her bottom lip quivered.

Struan Mackenzie didn’t bat an eye, of course. His gaze was bone dry as he stared ahead.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Lady Enid asked, her voice the height of practicality. “Please? There must be something.”

“Tend to him. Keep him warm and comfortable. Try to get him to take as much nourishment as you can. You don’t want him to grow too weak.”

The dowager and housekeeper nodded in unison. “Of course.”

“And pray,” he added.

Everyone nodded again, their expressions solemn. It reminded her of when Papa had died. Even weeks before his death, when he was just a wraith of himself and withering away, everyone tiptoed about her wearing expressions precisely like that.

The physician backed away as the duke’s family gathered around his bedside. Poppy edged back a step, confident that this was her cue to cut a hasty retreat.

She felt Struan Mackenzie watching her and sent him what she hoped was an indifferent glance. “Going somewhere, Miss Fairchurch?” he asked.

His voice drew everyone’s attention back to her.

She smiled tightly and froze. She hoped his blackening eye hurt like the devil. “Just leaving so that the duke can have some time with his family.”

“Would that not include you? In a manner?” His eyes flashed with mockery.

“What do you mean?” the dowager asked. She looked back at Poppy, her lush lips dipping into a frown. “What does he mean?”

“I—I . . .” She shrugged helplessly, suddenly yearning to blacken Struan Mackenzie’s other eye.

“Why, she’s his fiancée,” Mrs. Wakefield volunteered.

“His fiancée!” the duchess declared, bright color flooding her face. “How can that be?”

Voices erupted. Everyone started talking all at once, turning the room into a loud din.

“Marcus is engaged?” the youngest girl squealed, clapping her hands and in that moment reminding Poppy a great deal of Bryony.

“Why did Marcus not tell us of this?” Lady Enid demanded.

Poppy attempted to speak, waving her hands and trying to correct everyone from the misapprehension that she was the Duke of Autenberry’s fiancée, but it was impossible to be heard over the clamor.