The carriage rolled to a stop in the dark courtyard. Immediately, before Mr. Rye could even get down from his seat, Eric opened the door himself and gently carried Delia's limp form out into the cold night air.
He turned to his trusted driver. "Mr. Rye," he said, his voice urgent and strained. "Could you please go and call for Mrs. Agnes? She lives just down the lane. Tell her it's an emergency. I need an extra hand in taking care of Lady Delia tonight."
"Right away, Your Grace," Rye said with a worried nod. He bowed and left at once, disappearing into the darkness.
Eric carried Delia into the grand, silent house. He didn't take her to the drawing room or her own bed. He carried her straight up the stairs, into her room, and through to her private bathing area. He gently sat down on the cold floor, cuddling her close to his chest as if to shield her from the world with his own body. He held her there, in the quiet darkness, just waiting.
