chapter 71
Elena's POV:
Dr. Campbell arrived within twenty minutes, his medical bag in hand and professional calm intact despite the early hour.
"High fever, but nothing more serious," Dr. Campbell concluded, repacking his stethoscope. "Though I must ask—did Mr. Vane do anything unusual last night? Any exposure to cold temperatures?"
I felt heat creep up my neck. "He... took a cold shower. Late."
"Ah." The doctor's expression shifted to one of professional understanding.
He glanced at Sebastian's sleeping form, then back at me. "Given his current physical state, I'd say this isn't the first time. The stress on his system suggests this has been a pattern for some time now."
My face burned hotter. I focused on the washcloth in my hands.
"Mrs. Vane, I must be frank—frequent exposure to cold water, especially during winter months, can put additional stress on your cardiovascular system and may exacerbate any underlying circulation issues."
"You're right," I murmured, mortified. "I'll make sure he stops."
The doctor nodded approvingly. "Rest, fluids, and acetaminophen for the fever. I'll leave instructions with you later."
He turned to me with a gentler expression. "While I'm here, Mrs. Vane, how are you feeling? Any morning sickness? Unusual fatigue?"
"Some nausea, but manageable," I admitted.
"Make sure you're getting enough folic acid and iron. Avoid soft cheeses, raw fish, and alcohol. No heavy lifting, minimize stress, and maintain regular prenatal appointments. Also, given your husband's current condition, I'd recommend avoiding close contact until his fever breaks—your immune system is more vulnerable now."
"Understood." Sebastian's hoarse voice cut through as the doctor finished. His eyes had opened again, suddenly alert despite the fever clouding them. He was listening intently, as if committing every word to memory.
Dr. Campbell and I exchanged a glance—mine exasperated, his amused.
"I see my patient is feeling well," the doctor said. "I'll leave you to it, Mrs. Vane. Call if the fever doesn't break by evening."
I walked him to the door, thanking him quietly before returning to the bedroom. Sebastian had pushed himself up against the headboard, looking pale but determined to stay conscious.
"Lie down," I said, moving to his side. "You need rest."
For once, he didn't argue. As he slid back down, I pulled the covers up to his chest, tucking them carefully around him. When I moved to sit in the chair beside the bed, his hand shot out to stop me.
"No." His voice was gentle but firm. "You don't need to stay. Go on—I'll be fine."
I stared at him, stung. Here I was trying to take care of him, and he was dismissing me? "Fine. If you don't want me here, I'll go. I wasn't exactly thrilled about playing nurse anyway."
I turned to leave, but his fingers caught my wrist. He sighed softly.
"The doctor said you shouldn't be around someone who's ill," he said patiently, thumb stroking over my pulse point. "It could spread to you. That's all I meant."
I pulled my hand free without a word and left the room.
Within minutes, I'd moved my laptop, sketchpad, and a few other essentials to the guest room directly across the hall.
I left both doors open, creating a clear line of sight to his bed. From my new position at the desk, I could watch him sleep while maintaining the distance he apparently required.
I retrieved my portfolio of perfume bottle designs from my study, along with my pencils and the small lap desk I used for detailed work.
I bent my head to my sketches, trying to focus on the delicate curves of the bottle design I'd been refining.
But every few minutes, my gaze would drift to the bed, checking the rise and fall of his chest, the color in his cheeks. It was strange seeing him like this—vulnerable, dependent.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. Margaret Vane stood in the doorway, elegant even in her casual morning attire, her expression concerned.
"I heard my grandson managed to make himself ill," she said. She hurried through the door, her usual composure replaced by genuine worry.
"It's just a fever," I said, inexplicably feeling like a student caught by a teacher—though what I'd been caught doing, I couldn't say. "The doctor said rest and fluids."
I lead her down the hallway.
We stopped at the bedroom doorway. Margaret's shoulders visibly relaxed as she took in Sebastian's sleeping form, then her sharp gaze swept across to where I'd set up in the guest room.
"Good, you're keeping your distance," she said approvingly. "No direct contact?"
"No, I've been staying over here."
She turned to me, her expression thoughtful. "Perhaps you should come stay at the manor for a few days. Just until he's fully recovered. We can't risk you catching whatever this is."
I stared at her, momentarily speechless. All that rushing over, all that worry etched into her features—it hadn't been for her grandson at all. She'd been anxious about me potentially getting infected.
The unexpected tenderness of it caught me off guard. My eyes began to burn with sudden tears. Since my mother died, no one had fussed over me like this—no one except Sebastian.
"Oh dear, what's wrong?" Margaret's voice sharpened with alarm. She crossed to me immediately, hands hovering as if afraid to touch. "Are you feeling unwell? Any nausea?"
I shook my head quickly. "No, I'm fine. I just... I was thinking about my mother."
Understanding softened her features. She knew my history—the early loss, the years of neglect. Without hesitation, she pulled me into a gentle embrace.
"Sebastian lost his mother, too," she murmured against my hair. "I'm afraid you'll both have to make do with an old grandmother's comfort."
I wrapped my arms around her, breathing in her subtle perfume. "You're not old. You're perfect."
"As long as you don't mind," she said, pulling back with a pleased smile. "Now then, pack some things and come with me. James can bring the rest later—"
"Grandmother." Sebastian's voice drifted weakly from the bedroom. "Are you really going to rob a sick man?"
We both turned to find him propped up on one elbow, dark eyes fever-bright but alert. Despite his pallor, there was something almost petulant in his expression—like a child whose favorite toy was being taken away.