“Yes, she is. Her skin has blistered, and she will most likely bear scars for the rest of her life.”

Claire flinched. “I-I burned myself once. Just with a candle, but it hurt terribly. Ellie never even cried out. At least not that I heard. She must be very strong.”

Charles paused in his efforts to remove his right boot. “Yes,” he said softly, “she is. More so than I ever imagined.”

Claire was silent for a long moment, and then she said, “May I speak with her when she wakes up? I know you want to give her more laudanum, but it will take a few minutes for it to take effect, and—”

“Claire,” he interrupted, “can it not wait until morning?”

She swallowed again. “No. It truly cannot.”

His eyes locked onto her face and stayed there even as he rose to his feet. “Is there something you feel you should tell me?” he asked in a low voice.

She shook her head. “Ellie. I need to speak with Ellie.”

“Very well. I will see if she is up to a visit. But if she is not, you will have to wait until morning. No arguments.”

Claire blinked and nodded as Charles put his hand on the doorknob and turned.

Ellie opened her eyes and then shut them again, hoping that would stem the dizzy sensation that over-took her the instant she blinked herself awake. It didn't help, however, so she opened her eyes again and looked for her husband.

“Charles?”

No answer.

Ellie felt an unfamiliar disappointment settle in her throat. He had said he wouldn't leave her side. It was the only thing that had kept her calm as she'd fallen asleep. Then she heard the door creak, and she looked up to see him silhouetted in the doorway.

“Charles.” She had meant to whisper, but her words came out more like a croak.

He rushed to her side. “You're awake.”

She nodded. “I'm thirsty.”

“Of course.” He turned and said over his shoulder, “Claire, ring for tea.”

Ellie craned her neck as best as she was able to look behind him. She hadn't realized Claire was also in the room. It was surprising, that. Claire had never shown any interest in her well-being before.

When Ellie looked back to Charles, he was holding a porcelain cup to her lips. “In the meantime,” he said, “if you want to moisten your throat, I have a bit of tepid tea here. I've already drunk from it, but it is better than nothing.”

Ellie nodded and took a sip, wondering why, after so many kisses, it seemed so intimate to drink from his teacup.

“How are your hands?” he asked.

“They are quite painful,” she said honestly, “but not as terribly as before.”

“That is the laudanum. It can have very powerful effects.”

“I have never used it before.”

He leaned forward and kissed her gently. “And I pray you never will again.”

Ellie sipped at her tea, trying, unsuccessfully, not to relive the jam accident in her mind. She kept seeing the pot as it dropped to the ground and remembering that one horrific moment when she knew with absolute certainty that she was going to be burned and realized that there was nothing she could do to prevent it. And then, when her hands were in the bucket of icy water, and she could feel everyone's eyes upon her—oh, it was horrible, just horrible. She hated making a spectacle of herself, hated doing anything foolish. It didn't much matter that the accident had been just that—an accident—and it wasn't her fault. She couldn't bear the pity in everyone's eyes. Even Judith had—