The Complete Regency Bestsellers And One Winters Collection. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.
had also been here for the past hours, but Cassie could see that she was tired and so sent her off to bed.
Hence she was alone, the weak and pain-filled moans cutting through all sense and making her as fearful as she had ever been. By eleven o’clock she had had enough. Scrawling out a note, she asked for one of the Northrup servants to deliver it immediately to the Lindsay town house and wait for an answer.
She wanted Nathaniel here. She wanted a man who might love her son as much as she did and who could bring some sense and calm into a situation that was spiralling out of control for her. A tiny whisper that predicted Jamie might not recover was also part of the reason. If her son died, then Nathaniel would never have seen him. She shook the thought away and ordered back sanity.
It was a simple fever with a high and sudden temperature probably brought on by the dousing he had had in a rain shower in the garden. Visions of young children who went on to develop rashes and stiff necks came too, however, and she had seen enough of life in the past years to know that things did not always turn out happily.
Yesterday in the park Nathaniel had offered her the chance of reconciliation. Tonight all she wanted was his strength and his composure. She tried to regulate her breathing so that Jamie would not pick up on her panic, but found that the beat of her heart was going faster and faster, a clammy dread beginning to take over completely.
She should have called the doctor, she knew she should have, but the Northrup physician was a man who still believed in doing things in his way and even after she had stressed a number of times to him the importance of clean hands and tools he had not taken up the learning. Her father had wanted to replace him, but the traditions of the Batemans attending the Cowper family in the capacity of medical practitioners had been a difficult one to break and so he had given up. Usually Cassandra dealt with any sickness and she did it with such acumen and success they seldom asked for the physician’s attendance.
Jamie was so deathly still, that was the problem, and the lukewarm water that she sponged his little body with was making no inroads to a gathering heat. She had used infusions of camphor, basil and lemon balm, angelica and hyssop, yet nothing seemed to be making any difference.
The sound of footsteps had her standing, heart in mouth, and she turned to the door as Nathaniel walked through, his shirt opened at the collar as if he had not even had the time to find a necktie, pale eyes taking in the scene before him without any sign of panic.
Cassie burst into tears, an action so unexpected and unfamiliar that she even surprised herself for having done so. He did not break a step as he gathered her into his arms and brought her with him over to the bed, his eyes hungrily taking in the features of his son.
‘How long has Jamie had the fever?’
‘All...day.’ She swallowed, trying to make her voice sound more like it usually did.
‘You have bathed him?’
‘Many times, and I have used up all my remedies.’
Jamie’s fit began with a twitch and a quiver, the right side of his body tensing and moving in a rigidity that spread to his legs and feet. While paralysing fear held Cassandra immobile, Nathaniel whipped off the thin sheet and spread it on the floor, lifting Jamie down to lie on his side and crouching by him.
He did not restrain him or hold him in any way, but let the shaking take its course for ten seconds and then twenty, just watching to make sure that he did not injure himself with the movement. Finally, when Cassandra thought it might never pass, Jamie relaxed, vomiting across the boots of his father.
‘So this is what it is to be a parent?’ Nathaniel turned towards her, his hand passing across the forehead of his son and relief evident.
Nodding, she thought that she had never loved Nathaniel more than she did at that moment, his certainty and strength edged with gentle compassion and humour.
‘I had the same sort of fits when I was a child, Cassandra, and the St Auburn physician assured my mother and father that they would disappear as I grew older. Which they did. He will be fine. Better than my boots, at least.’
He leaned over to wipe the traces of moisture from his fine dark-brown Hessians, the gleam of leather a little tarnished. ‘If you straighten the bed, I will lift him back up for I think the worst is over now.’
* * *
Nathaniel felt as though he were lifting treasure, his son, the small and damp body smelling of sickness and fatigue. Yet he was beautiful in the way only small boys could be, a scrape upon his left kneecap as if he had been running somewhere too fast and his colouring exactly that of a St Auburn heritage.
The same dark hair and skin tone, the same line of nose and cheek he had seen in the drawings of himself as a child. His heart turned in his chest and squeezed with a feeling that was foreign, half fear and all love, the utter storm of fatherhood beaching upon him, winding him with its intensity, fervour and suddenness.
‘Thank you for calling me.’
‘Thank you for coming.’
‘He is beautiful.’
‘I think so.’ For a second a smile tweaked at the corner of her lips, the worry and fright beaten back a little, the tears drying on her cheeks.
‘Is it the first time this has happened?’
‘It is. Jamie is usually so well and full of energy. It was the fright of the difference, I think.’
‘I had three of these fits across the space of a year when I was about his age and, according to my mother’s diary, she was always as worried as you appear to be.’
Jamie suddenly opened his eyes, the pale grey confused. ‘Mama?’
‘I am here, darling.’ Cassandra took his hand and brought it to her lips, kissing the fingers one by one. ‘You have been sick, but you are getting better now.’ The small face came around, questions contained within it.
‘This is Nathaniel Colbert Lindsay, Jamie.’
‘Nearly my name?’
‘He is your—’
‘Papa.’ Jamie finished the sentence, and that one word sealed a lifetime of loyalty. Glancing over, Nathaniel saw Cassandra nod, and he came down on his knees beside the bed to take the offered hand of his son. Warm fingers curled into his.
For ever.
‘I used to get sick like this when I was little, so I know exactly what to do and you will soon feel a lot better.’
‘Did you come from France?’
‘Pardon?’ Was confusion a part of this sickness?
‘No, Jamie. Your papa lives in London now so you may see him when you want to.’
‘Can you stay here now?’
‘Can I?’ Nat looked over at Cassandra and smiled when she nodded. ‘It seems that I can.’
‘Good.’ With that Jamie simply closed his eyes and went to sleep, his breathing even and the fever that had ravaged his body less than a few moments past, broken.
The silence stretched around them all, the gratitude of seeing a small child’s recovery being a big part of that. His wife clasped Jamie’s hand on one side of the bed and he held the other, a link of family and vigilance and concern. Outside distant bells chimed the hour of twelve, as the night softened into quiet.
‘Would you like a cup of tea? I could go down to the kitchens and make it and then bring it back here.’
Tea? Nat would have far rather had a stiff brandy, but he wondered how she might feel about drinking in a child’s room so he nodded at the offered drink. He felt as if he had been plunged into a different world where everything was altered and extraordinary. But right somehow. He smiled at that fact.
Left alone with his son, Nathaniel observed every feature, every part of a child who had been conceived