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Another moan escaped her. “Sorry, love,” he said. “You need this.”

The problem was how to get help. He could not leave her. The dog had stopped barking and collapsed, watching him.

“You did your best,” Gray told him. Hector was not the messenger he needed. He glanced up at the castle. If anyone looked out a window, Gray could wave. The sun’s first rays lit the tops of the battlements. The windows were dark eyes in the stone. Then he heard voices on the path.

“Hello!” he called. “Help!”

Finch and Winter burst out of the trees.

Gray waved and shouted, “Miss Staveley’s been shot.”

In seconds they were at his side. “Can you help me get her to the castle? Winter, she usually leaves a coverlet up on the trail. Can you get it?”

Winter took off instantly. Finch surveyed the scene. “We heard the dog barking,” he said. “She’s been shot, you say?”

“In the right shoulder from behind. She must have been in the water and gone under. I can’t find the dark cap she wears.”

Finch moved slowly down the beach from where Gray sat, holding her. He studied the waves, then moved a few paces east and fished the dark cap out of the wash. Winter returned with the coverlet. They wrapped her almost like a mummy and carried her up the path, trying not to jostle her. She groaned once, and Gray ate up the sound that meant she lived. The dog followed them. The coaches were gone from the drive, and Winter dashed ahead to prepare a space in his office to lay Cordelia down and to alert Mrs. Peachy to warm water.

Winter appeared again as they crossed the courtyard. He led the way into his office, where the worktable lay cleared of papers. Gray and Finch laid her down. Gray pulled open the coverlet and reached for one of her limp hands, taking it in his and trying to press his warmth into her. Mrs. Peachy came from the kitchen, gasped, and pressed her hands to her ample bosom at the sight of Cordelia lying cold and still, but snapped to at once with militant efficiency, issuing orders to all of them. Winter was to find Doctor Bradstock in the village, Finch was to build up the fire, and Gray was to get something for Miss Staveley to wear.

“We will get her warm and dry without any help from you gentlemen,” Mrs. Peachy declared.

“Her sisters?” Gray asked.

Mrs. Peachy frowned. “The doctor first, then you can get those girls. Now keep watch for a tick while Dinah and I get what we need to tend to her.” She hurried off.

“Cordelia,” he said. “Can you hear me?”

Her lids fluttered open, and he gave her hand a squeeze.

She smiled at him. “Oh, there you are,” she said. “Did you want to talk now? You must not marry Viola. She’s too young. You wouldn’t suit … for so many reasons.”

“I know.” He touched her lips with one finger. “But only one reason matters. I must not marry Viola because I must marry you.”

“Yes, I think you must.”

He felt her smile under the tip of his finger. Then her eyes closed again, and Mrs. Peachy bustled into the room, directing Dinah in the placing of a tub of water. “Now go, my lord.”

Gray let go of the small, cold hand in his, and Mrs. Peachy pushed him away from Cordelia.

He discovered the castle’s inconvenience anew. He had to cross the courtyard to the southwest tower to find a working stairway, then wind his way up to his room on the uppermost story. He did it all at a sprint that left him breathing hard. In his rooms, he wondered what item in a gentleman’s wardrobe would suit an injured lady. While his mind wrestled with the question, he shed his own wet clothes and dressed again in haste, at last grabbing the thing most at hand, a maroon silk banyan.

When he came down, he saw neither Finch nor Winter. In Winter’s office, Mrs. Peachy took the silk wrapper and sent him out of the room to wait. When he returned, Cordelia lay swathed in deep red silk, the coverlet wrapped around her feet. He took her left hand again. Her fingers were cool, but no longer icy. A bit of color had returned to her cheeks.

“Cordelia,” he leaned close and spoke into her ear. “Come back to us.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and he squeezed her hand to encourage her, his girl who knew how to face the sea.

“That’s it, my lord,” Mrs. Peachy said. “You keep talking to her. The doctor will be here soon.”

*

Cordelia opened her eyes to see Mir’s worried face break into a smile.

Mir squeezed Cordelia’s hand. “She’s awake,” she cried.

Cordelia lay on a pile of pillows, her head raised. There was some mystery to be solved. Her shoulder throbbed with a deep, dull ache. She wasn’t on the sand but on some hard, dry surface, with the castle’s old, dark beams above her in a room that smelled of smoke and age. Home.