Free Christmas Bliss by A. S. Fenichel Page B

make you fight, Emma. I love
you.”
    Her skin warmed a bit and her lips pinked up slightly. The
bruise on her face appeared worse, but she was not nearly as cold to the touch.
    He heard the commotion downstairs when the doctor arrived
and slipped from the bed. He tucked the blankets around her, sat on the edge of
the bed and took her hand. Her fingers were still freezing, but her nails were
pink rather than the deathly blue they’d been when he found her.
    While the drama of the doctor’s arrival continued all the
way up the stairs, getting louder as it went, John prayed.
    The doctor, Fiona and a maid entered. John stood, kissed
Emma’s forehead and turned to the tall, dour gentleman. “My wife is very
precious to all of us, doctor.”
    “Of course, my lord.” He bowed slightly. “I will do all that
is possible.”
    John gave the man a nod and left the room.
    He found his mother and Oliver in the library.
    The boy ran over and immediately jumped into John’s arms.
“Is Sissy very sick?”
    “Not very sick.” John gave him a squeeze.
    “Sick like Papa?” Oliver did not cry, but John could see
that tears were brimming just below the surface.
    John looked over at his mother.
    “All the yelling woke him. The nanny didn’t know what to do,
so I told her to leave him here. She’s gone to get something for him to eat.”
The countess twisted a handkerchief in her hands.
    “It’s all right, Mother.” He sat down on the settee and
settled Oliver in his lap. “Your sister is hurt, not sick as your father was,
Oliver. Do you understand?”
    The child nodded. His eyes were wide pools of blue looking
up at John.
    “Good. You are very brave. We will just wait for the doctor
to come and talk to us.”
    Oliver touched John’s cheek. “Don’t worry, my lord. Sissy
promised to never leave me. She never breaks a promise.”
    John took the little hand in his and kissed it. “There you
have it, then, she will be fine in no time.”
    John wished he felt as sure as he sounded.
    The butler cleared his throat from the doorway.
    “What is it, Dorsey?” John asked.
    “My lord, may I have a word with you?” The butler looked
pointedly at Oliver and then back up at John.
    John ducked his head. “Oliver, will you keep the countess
company while she waits. I must go and speak with Dorsey.”
    Oliver dipped his chin, hopped down and rushed over to sit
on the footstool in front of Margaret.
    John rose, walked to the door and preceded Dorsey into the
foyer. Once the door was closed, John turned back to the butler. “What is it?”
    “I regret to inform you, my lord, that Trent was injured
during the tussle in the garden. Besides having been blinded in one eye, which
we presume her ladyship did, he hit his head rather soundly on the fountain and
has not woken as yet.”
    A part of John knew that he had to do something, but mostly
he didn’t give a damn about Drake Trent. If he died, then good riddance; if
Trent lived, John considered killing him.
    “Where is he now?”
    Dorsey looked a bit sheepish. “We have returned him across
the street, my lord. No one could stomach the idea of putting him in one of the
guest rooms after what he did to her ladyship. I hope I haven’t overstepped my
boundaries, sir.”
    The butler probably had, but John couldn’t fault him. “You
were quite right to keep him out of my home, Dorsey. When the doctor finishes
with her ladyship, I will send him across the street.”
    The butler puffed up a bit. “Very good, my lord.”
    Footfalls on the stairs drew John’s attention. The doctor
descended, wiping his brow with a very white cloth.
    “How is she?” John demanded.
    “She will live, my lord. Your wife is very strong. She will
likely be unable to speak for a few days, and I recommend you keep her quiet
for at least a week. Her throat was badly bruised and needs to heal. Give her
paper and quill if she needs to communicate, but don’t let her talk. The rest
of her injuries are minor and your