Page 16 of The Duchess’ Little Miracle

“Seraphina?” Leonora whispered from behind her. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’ll be back soon.”

Without another word of complaint, she turned right back toward the street, her heart hammering in her chest as she stepped into the carriage.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“He is the fourth physician I have summoned to this house since the clock struck ten, and if there were a fifth within a twenty-mile radius of Mayfair who possessed an ounce of medical competence, he would be standing here as well!”

William did not stop pacing to deliver the speech. He was a tempest locked inside the stifling nursery, his coat discarded and his shirtsleeves rolled violently up to his elbows. He looked frantic. His hair was thoroughly disheveled where his fingers had repeatedly plowed through it, and his eyes looked completely bloodshot under the glare of the candelabras.

“It makes no logical sense,” he continued. “None at all! A fever is a predictable biological response to an infection or an inflammation of the blood. It can be measured. It can be cooled with ice and treated with willow bark. But this... this erratic firing of the mind? The hallucinations? I have applied every known methodology! I have checked the nursery for drafts. I have demanded the cook verify every ingredient in the supper broth to rule out accidental poisoning. What am I supposed to do when the child simply refuses to obey its body mechanics?”

Seraphina stood just inside the threshold of the room, taking in the absolute chaos that had swallowed the nursery. On the massive, four-poster bed, Alice was thrashing beneath a mountain of quilts, her small legs kicking out blindly as if trying to run from an invisible predator. Her tiny face was slick with sweat, her chest heaving as she let out broken whimpers. The elderly governess was hovering over the mattress, her hands trembling violently as she tried to press a cool, damp linen cloth against the child’s burning forehead, while a somber-faced physician stood by the bedside, staring down at a useless bottle of laudanum.

“Your Grace, I would recommend a further application of leeches to the temples to reduce the inflammation of the blood. The fever has persisted long enough that we must draw the excess heat from the system before it reaches the brain —” the physician began, his voice hesitant.

“We have drawn enough blood to satisfy a butcher, and her pulse has only accelerated!” William snapped, completely cutting the man off as he stormed toward the window, his large hands clenching into fists. “There must be a rational explanation. The brain is an organ of order. If it is projecting monsters into the empty air, there must be a flaw we are failing to identify. Is it an excess of bile? Is it a pressure on the carotid arteries? Tell me something.”

“Your Grace,” Seraphina called out, stepping fully into the room.

William did not hear her. He turned on his heel, resuming his pace, his gaze locked onto the carpet as he ranted to himself. “I am trying to be what she needs. I am trying to provide the security required for a child of her station. That is the only logical course of action. It is not the child’s fault that she was born into the world. We bear no fault for the past, but now that she is under my roof, it is my absolute duty to maintain her preservation. But how can I preserve a child who is actively tearing herself apart from the inside out?”

Seraphina moved directly into his path. He was moving so quickly, completely blinded by his own thoughts, that he didn’t even realize she was there until he was less than a foot from colliding with her.

With a swift movement, Seraphina reached out and placed her palm flat against his forearm, catching the rigid muscle beneath his shirt. The contact anchored him. William stopped instantly, his chest heaving as he looked down at her.

“What is happening, Your Grace?” she asked, worried. “You look utterly undone.”

William stared at her for a fraction of a second, his jaw tightening so hard a muscle leaped along his cheek. He let out a breath that sounded dangerously close to a fractured growl.

“She is having nightmares,” he whispered. “That is the root of this entire disaster. It has been nightmares since the very day she arrived. Now, the fever has turned them into vivid, waking hallucinations. She keeps talking in her sleep. If she is not talking, she is screaming at the top of her lungs. She has not had a single, full night of sleep since you were here a week ago. She will sleep for ten minutes here, twenty minutes there, but never fully... never even an hour before she wakes up shrieking. I cannot understand why! What could have been so deeply, profoundly traumatic in her short life that it would permanently break her mind’s capacity for rest? I do not know.”

Seraphina looked up into his fierce gaze, her hand still resting against his arm. For a woman who spent her entire life reducing the universe to mathematical equations, political frameworks, and cold, predictable prose, this moment felt terrifyingly unquantifiable. The look of frustration, the desire of a proud, protective man trying to force the universe to be safe for a broken child, struck something incredibly deep within her.

It wasn’t logical.

She squeezed his arm, drawing his attention fully back to her. “Your Grace,” she said softly, her mind cataloging the room, the governess, the anxious nurse, the doctor, all of them crowding around the small, thrashing girl, looking absolutely terrified of William Carlton. “I think everyone should leave the room first. Except you.”

William’s brows drew together in confusion. “What do you mean? We cannot simply abandon her.”

“We are not abandoning her,” Seraphina countered. “But you told me yourself last week that Alice is hyper-vigilant. She does not sleep when people are in the room because her mind is always on guard, watching for threats. Right now, her senses are overwhelmed by a fever, and she is trapped in a room crowded with anxious adults, whispering, and poking at her skin. If her brain is already hallucinating monsters, we are giving her a dozen real shadows to feed those terrors. We need fewer people in this room. Just you and me.”

William looked from Seraphina to the child on the bed. He let out a long, ragged breath, the tension in his shoulders dropping slightly.

“Fine,” he murmured. “I will try anything at this point.” He turned toward the bed, and gestured. “All of you, retire downstairs immediately.”

The physician looked as though he wanted to protest, but one look at William’s expression silenced the man completely. Within a minute, the nursery was cleared, leaving only Seraphina and William with Alice.

Seraphina walked directly over to the bed, climbed onto the mattress, and sat down near the pillows, crossing her legs beneath her skirt.

William did not follow her. Instead, he retreated to the dim corner of the room, standing completely still with his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze tracking her every move.

Seraphina looked down at the little girl. Alice’s eyes were wide, but they were glossy and unfocused, rolling toward the ceiling as she let out a series of short, frantic whimpers. Her tiny hands were clutching at the air as if trying to ward off a blow.

“Alice,” Seraphina said quietly, without inflection.

The tone of her voice seemed to cut through the child’s panic. For a single, small moment, Alice’s legs stopped thrashing. Her eyes moved through the room until they locked onto Seraphina’s face. She didn’t stop crying entirely, but the frantic, terrifying screams began to subside, settling into a series of soft, trembling sobs.