Page 62 of Dare to be Wicked

“Oui, and I meant it,” replied a terse voice before her father could speak, and the fellow strode in. “However, there are some forces even I cannot resist. You have some unpleasant friends, monsieur le duc.”

Her father frowned at the doctor in consternation.

“But….” he began, only to hush as his wife grasped his arm and shook her head.

Lottie agreed with her mother. Let the man think they had unpleasant friends bringing undue influence to bear, if it got this apparent miracle maker to Eliza’s side. For the first time in weeks, Lottie felt her heart lift.

He was a man in his forties, prematurely bald but with monstrous white eyebrows that gave him a dreadfully fierce appearance. His eyes were sharp and intelligent, though, and compassionate, if she was any judge.

Please, oh, please. Let this man be the one.

“Sortez!” said the doctor, waving an irritable hand at them all. “Everyone out. You may station a footman beside the door to attend to my requirements. Other than that. Go away!”

The doctor remained with Eliza for most of the next three days, refusing to give them any information as to his diagnosis, though much to Lottie’s relief, he did not recommend further bloodletting. Eliza was so pale, so terribly fragile, that the very idea of taking more blood from her made Lottie want to weep.

By the time he eventually deigned to speak to them, her parents were in a state of high agitation, not that you would have known it when they faced the man. Mama sat straight-backed and still with Father standing beside her, one hand on her shoulder, which she grasped with all her might. Lottie sat at her side, willing herself not to fidget, weep, or fall into hysterics, though she felt like doing all three.

“Your daughter is in a coma state due to a severe blow to the head,” the doctor said, his English precise and clipped. “However, it is my professional opinion that she will make a full, if slow, recovery.”

Mama made a desperate sound, clapped a hand to her mouth and got to her feet, flinging herself into Papa’s arms.

“Robert, Robert,” she wept, laughing and crying all at once.

“Yes, yes, my love.” Her father’s voice was very thick as he held his wife close.

Lottie watched them, able to draw a proper breath for the first time in what felt like months, tears streaming down her face.

“How?” she asked, hardly daring to believe him. “How can you tell?”

“She is responding to light and sound and pain.”

“Pain?” her mother cried in horror.

“Just a pinprick to the fingers and toes, your grace, do not fret. The reactions are slight, no more than a flickering of her eyelids or a tiny jerk of response. Easily missed, but they are there. Indeed, they have become more apparent in the past twenty-four hours. This is an excellent sign and should become more pronounced over the following days. There is still the concern as to whether any permanent damage has been done, but I believe we have cause to be optimistic. I hope to tell you more by the end of the week.”

Lottie hardly heard the rest of the conversation as the doctor gave her parents detailed instructions on Eliza’s care and ongoing treatment. She was too overwhelmed with relief. A tiny voice in her head told her not to get excited, that other doctors had been wrong, had promised and failed to deliver, but her heart told her this one would bring Eliza back to her.

As soon as she was able, she ran to find Cassius.

He was down in the summerhouse, staring bleakly at an unfinished canvas, when she burst through the door. She had not questioned him when he had put the portrait of her aside, the one he had begun the day Eliza had fallen. Lottie felt the same way: their happiness must wait.

“Cassius,” she said, as he stood in alarm, staring at her.

“What? What is it? Is Eliza…?”

Lottie flung herself at him, trying to get the words out. “Archambeau s-says she will g-get better. He says she will recover.”

Cassius made a strangled sound and clung to her, holding her tight. “Oh, thank God, thank God.”

They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other and wiping away tears.

“Do we still not know who sent him?” Cassius asked.

“No, and he won’t say anything more than that he was forced. Blackmailed, Papa says.”

Cassius frowned, shaking his head. “I wonder who would go to such lengths for her, and why?”

“I do not care who or why, though I should dearly love to thank whoever it was, with all my heart.”