“He didn’t even flinch,” Honoria said with surprise.
Her mother didn’t look up. “That’s not the painful part.”
“Oh,” Honoria said, turning back to Marcus. “Well. See, that wasn’t so bad.”
He screamed.
Honoria’s head snapped back up just in time to see her mother handing a bottle of brandy back to a footman.
“Very well, that was bad,” she said to Marcus. “But the good news is it’s unlikely to get much worse.”
He screamed again.
Honoria swallowed. Her mother had adjusted the scissors and was now actually trimming away bits of tissue.
“Very well,” she said again, giving his shoulder a little pat. “It might not get better, either. The truth is, I have no idea. But I shall be here with you the whole time. I promise.”
“This is worse than I thought,” her mother said, mostly to herself.
“Can you fix it?” Honoria asked.
“I don’t know. I can try. It’s just . . .” Lady Winstead paused, letting out a long, low breath through pursed lips. “Can someone wipe my brow?”
Honoria started to rise, but Mrs. Wetherby leapt into action, dabbing Lady Winstead’s face with a cool cloth.
“It’s so hot in here,” Lady Winstead said.
“We were told to keep the windows shut,” Mrs. Wetherby explained. “The doctor insisted.”
“The same doctor who did not notice this massive injury to his leg?” Lady Winstead asked sharply.
Mrs. Wetherby did not reply. But she did move to the window to open it partway.
Honoria watched her mother intently, barely able to recognize this focused, determined woman. “Thank you, Mama,” she whispered.
Her mother looked up. “I am not going to let this boy die.”
He wasn’t a boy any longer, but Honoria was not surprised that her mother still thought of him as such.
Lady Winstead returned to her work and said, in a very low voice, “I owe it to Daniel.”
Honoria went absolutely still. It was the first time she had heard her mother utter his name since he’d left the country in disgrace. “Daniel?” she echoed, her voice even and careful.
Her mother did not look up. “I’ve lost one son already” was all she said.
Honoria stared at her mother in shock, then down at Marcus, and then back up. She had not realized her mother had thought of him that way. And she wondered if Marcus knew, because . . .
She looked down at him again, trying to choke back her tears as quietly as possible. He’d spent his whole life longing for a family. Had he even realized that he’d had one in hers?
“Do you need to take a break?” her mother asked.
“No,” Honoria answered, shaking her head even though her mother was not looking at her. “No. I’m quite all right.” She took a moment to compose herself, then bent to whisper in Marcus’s ear. “Did you hear that? Mama is quite determined. So don’t disappoint her.” She stroked his hair, pushing a thick, dark lock off his forehead. “Or me.”
“Aaaargh!”
Honoria flinched, thrown back by his cry. Every now and then her mother would do something that hurt him more than usual, and his entire body bucked against the strips of cloth they’d used to tie him down. It was awful to see, and even worse to feel. It was as if his pain shot through her.
Except it didn’t hurt. It just made her feel sick. Sick to her stomach. Sick with herself. It was her fault he’d stepped in that stupid fake mole hole, her fault that he’d twisted his ankle. It was her fault they’d had to cut off his boot, and her fault he was so sick because of it.
And if he died, it would be her fault, too.
She swallowed, trying to quell the choking lump that was forming in her throat, and she leaned a little closer to say, “I’m so sorry. I could never even begin to tell you how sorry I am.”
Marcus went quite still, and for a breathless moment Honoria thought he had heard her. But then she realized it was only because her mother had paused in her work. It was her mother who had heard her words, not Marcus. But if her mother was curious, she did not pursue it. She did not ask for the meaning of Honoria’s apology, just gave a little nod and went back to work.
“I am thinking that when you are better you should come to London,” Honoria went on, fixing her voice back into a facsimile of good cheer. “If nothing else, you will need a new pair of boots. Maybe something of a looser fit. It’s not the style, I know, but perhaps you can set a new trend.”