He heard no moaning, yelling, or cursing from the room Richard was staying in, which would hopefully imply that he was unconscious still. Or asleep. One or the other, either was acceptable. He wanted no interaction with his brother if he could help it.

There was no guilt to be felt in that, he was certain. It was not as though he wished his brother dead. Just mute.

For life, if that were possible.

Surely there was some sickness that could render him that possibility.

He would not hold out hope, however. Hope died in the hands of Richard Basset.

The door to Richard’s bedroom was ajar, and he peeked in, knocking very softly. Emblyn and Adelaide were within, Emblyn changing the cool rags on his brow and Adelaide dabbing his neck and chest with additional wet rags. Both wore simple aprons over their gowns, both wore their hair in plaits they had pinned.

Apart from their difference in looks, they were identical in attire and presentation.

That was something to smile about.

“How does he fare?” he called softly, pushing into the room and standing at the foot of the bed.

Emblyn smiled a little. “‘E fares. No more’n before, an’ no less. Doctor says ‘e may continue to fever for a few days, an’ we mus’ keep it down as much as able. Broth when ‘e be awake, and laudanum for the pain.”

“No laudanum,” Harrison said firmly, shaking his head. “He’s addicted to opium, so not only will it have no effect, it will likely do him more harm than good.”

“Which is why I suggested willow bark tea,” Adelaide answered, keeping her voice down. “He has not been lucid enough to take some, but it will be ready when he is.” She dabbed her wrist on her brow, where he noted some faint perspiration. “I think I need a rest. Would you mind, Emblyn?”

“O’ course,” his sister replied without hesitation.

He moved to the chair to help Adelaide up, and she made no comment of protest about the help, which seemed significant. Her hand gripped his and did not release it as she moved out of the room, leaving him no choice but to follow along.

Once in the corridor, he spoke. “Are you all right? What is wrong?”

She shook head, exhaling. “I am only tired. And the baby is moving a great deal, and I cannot breathe in this dress, and my back is aching, and I need this dress loosened, or there will be another body to tend in this place.”

Harrison looked at her in surprise. “What? Should I call for a maid?”

“For pity’s sake, Basset, just help!” She stopped walking and turned her back to him as she placed her hands on the wall.

His fingers flew along the buttons there, the fabric gaping easily as though it had been straining in its efforts.