She’d utterly failed at getting her hair out of her face. It stuck to her cheeks, glued there by tears. He eased the strands free of the mess and smoothed them back. For a moment, he debated digging out his handkerchief to give to her, but it was in the pocket against which she was pressed, and that would require more movement than he was willing to risk. “Do not be ridiculous, milaya. You did not bring this illness to London.”

“No. But I—I must have brought it—home.” She squeezed her eyes shut, and a new keening gathered in her throat. “From the—hospital.”

“No, milaya. You cannot blame yourself. It is everywhere, you know this. In the train stations, on the streets—in her school. We have had a few cases even in the OB. Your father or Clarke could have come in contact with it.” He shook his head and let it rest against hers. “There is no blame.”

She didn’t rebut his claim, not in words, but he knew his logic hadn’t found a hold on her heart. Not yet. He could only pray it would eventually. Pray she wouldn’t fall victim to the guilt that could eat a person whole and leave one’s spirit gaping, prime fodder for bitterness.

He had no idea how long she battled the tears, sometimes letting them have their way, sometimes fighting them back. Time didn’t much matter. He would send word to Hall when he could, but he had no intention of returning to the office today. He intended to stay right here until someone told him to leave. He couldn’t bear to let this family, this woman suffer alone.

After a while, she did shift, though, sliding to a seat beside him—primarily, he suspected, so she could dig her handkerchief out of her pocket. Mrs. Goddard slipped in not long after with water and tea. She didn’t say anything—her face looked as worn and streaked with tears as Lily’s—but she met Zivon’s gaze, nodded toward the tray, and then glanced at Lily. A clear command that he was to make sure she at least had a drink. He nodded his understanding.

Lily held out a hand to keep the housekeeper from leaving again. “Mama? I should go and check on her.” She didn’t look like she had enough energy to carry out the task.

Mrs. Goddard came closer, smoothed back Lily’s hair, and dropped a kiss on her forehead. Something he suspected she hadn’t done in a decade or more, as proper as she usually was. “I just came from there, luv. Your mother cried herself to sleep, so leave her to rest. The fever’s no worse than it was an hour ago.”