Page 45 of Atone, Adonis

“He knows,” Fred said. “But he has not agreed. He won’t leave you.”

Julianna looked to the physician, who cleared his throat. “I must be plain, my lady. Remaining here will only hasten his decline. At Torquay he would have constant attention, proper care, and the benefit of the sea air. It is, quite simply, his best chance for recovery.”

“But he would be alone.”

“Not at all,” the physician said. “You may visit. It is not so very far. He would not be abandoned…only better cared for.”

Fred reached for her hand. “He may listen to you, Jules. I hope he will. He would not hear it from me.”

She looked back to the physician. “I do not want him to spend his last days away from us. I’d rather he be here, with family.”

“That is precisely the point, my lady,” the physician said. “These need not be his last days. With proper care, he may have months. Years, even. And they would be easier ones for him. Far more comfortable.”

Julianna put her head in her hands. Her thoughts were a swirl of guilt and confusion and hope too. She’d barely begun to consider her life without Thomas in it, and here the opportunity presented itself but in a vastly different way than the horrible one she’d imagined.

If she could convince him to try. If she should try to convince him at all.

“Alright,” she said, dismissing the physician. “Just give me a moment to think.”

The last thing she wanted was for her brother to be sick and alone in a strange place. But nor did she want him to let a true boon for his health pass him by. And there was still the matter of Fred not telling her things. Not letting her in.

“Take whatever time you need, dearheart,” Fred said. “Whatever you decide I will support you in it.”

She raised her head and looked at him. “What if I decide that I am tired of not being told the truth, what then?”

“Then I will do better, Jules. I promise you I will.”

“Truly?”

He took in a deep breath. “Yes.”

Julianna did not knock when she returned to Thomas’s room. She pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing it softly behind her. He was awake. Propped against the pillows, his eyes fixed on her at once.

“So,” he said. “They’ve sent you to finish the work.”

“No one has sent me anywhere, Tom.”

“No?” His mouth curved faintly. “You’ve been closeted with Fred and the doctor long enough. At least I can assume you made a show of resisting before agreeing to send me away.”

“That is not fair.” She perched on the edge of his bed. “The physician believes this will help you.”

“He says what Fred pays him to say.”

Julianna closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She reached for his hand but he jerked it away.

“So it is done then,” he said softly.

“I’d never send you to Torquay against your will. But Tom—they say it can give you more time. Real time. Not this”—she gestured helplessly—“this waiting while you get weaker and weaker.”

“It will spare you the inconvenience of watching it, certainly.”

“That is not what this is.”

“Isn’t it?” His voice sharpened. “You’ve your husband now. Your grand house. Your title. Perhaps The Quill was right all along and you are more calculating than—”

“Stop, Tom.” She cut him off. “Just, stop. Please do not say what you cannot take back. You are my brother and I love you.”

“But only until I become an embarrassment, is that it? I see the way you look at him. And certainly the way he looks at you. You wish to be left to your future as a Countess without the burden of me.”