“This is worse than I thought,” her mother said, mostly to herself.

“Can you fix it?” Honoria asked.

“I don’t know. I can try. It’s just . . .” Lady Winstead paused, letting out a long, low breath through pursed lips. “Can someone wipe my brow?”

Honoria started to rise, but Mrs. Wetherby leapt into action, dabbing Lady Winstead’s face with a cool cloth.

“It’s so hot in here,” Lady Winstead said.

“We were told to keep the windows shut,” Mrs. Wetherby explained. “The doctor insisted.”

“The same doctor who did not notice this massive injury to his leg?” Lady Winstead asked sharply.

Mrs. Wetherby did not reply. But she did move to the window to open it partway.

Honoria watched her mother intently, barely able to recognize this focused, determined woman. “Thank you, Mama,” she whispered.

Her mother looked up. “I am not going to let this boy die.”

He wasn’t a boy any longer, but Honoria was not surprised that her mother still thought of him as such.

Lady Winstead returned to her work and said, in a very low voice, “I owe it to Daniel.”

Honoria went absolutely still. It was the first time she had heard her mother utter his name since he’d left the country in disgrace. “Daniel?” she echoed, her voice even and careful.

Her mother did not look up. “I’ve lost one son already” was all she said.

Honoria stared at her mother in shock, then down at Marcus, and then back up. She had not realized her mother had thought of him that way. And she wondered if Marcus knew, because . . .

She looked down at him again, trying to choke back her tears as quietly as possible. He’d spent his whole life longing for a family. Had he even realized that he’d had one in hers?

“Do you need to take a break?” her mother asked.

“No,” Honoria answered, shaking her head even though her mother was not looking at her. “No. I’m quite all right.” She took a moment to compose herself, then bent to whisper in Marcus’s ear. “Did you hear that? Mama is quite determined. So don’t disappoint her.” She stroked his hair, pushing a thick, dark lock off his forehead. “Or me.”

“Aaaargh!”

Honoria flinched, thrown back by his cry. Every now and then her mother would do something that hurt him more than usual, and his entire body bucked against the strips of cloth they’d used to tie him down. It was awful to see, and even worse to feel. It was as if his pain shot through her.