hadn't been loved, and he suspected that thousands of children across Britain had shared similar fates.
Over in the bed, Belle had grown fitful. John immediately turned his full attention to her.
'Stop,' she moaned.
'Stop what, love?'
'Stop!'
He leaned over and gently shook her by the shoulders. 'You're having a nightmare.' Dear God, it tore him up to see her this way. Her face was flushed and feverish, and her entire body was covered by a thin sheen of perspiration. He tried to push her hair out of her eyes, but she batted his hand away. He wished he knew how to use one of those blasted hair things she always had lying around. She'd be more comfortable if he could secure her heavy tresses away from her face.
'Fire,' Belle moaned.
'There's no fire here save the one in the fireplace.'
'Too hot.'
John quickly wrung out the wet cloth.
'No, no, stop…' Belle suddenly sat up and screamed.
'No, love, lie back down.' John started wiping the sweat from her body, hoping the motion would cool her down. Belle's eyes were open and she was looking at him, but John didn't see even a flicker of recognition in her gaze.
'Stop, stop!' she shrieked, slapping his hands away. 'Don't touch me! It's too hot.'
'I'm only trying to-'
'What the devil is going on?' Caroline burst into the room.
'She's delirious,' John said, trying to cover Belle up with the sheet.
'But there was so much screaming.'
'I said she's gone delirious,' John snapped, attempting to hold the sheet over Belle's writhing form. 'See if we've any laudanum. We need to calm her down.' He sighed, remembering that he was talking to his mother-in- law. 'I'm sorry, Lady Worth. It's just-'
She held up a hand. 'I understand. I'll go look for the laudanum.'
Belle started fighting him in earnest, her strength fueled considerably by her fever. She was no match for John, however, whose firmly muscled body had been honed by years in the military. 'Wake up, damn you,' he said fiercely. 'If you wake up the fire will go away. I promise you.'
Belle's only response was to struggle harder.
John didn't budge an inch. 'Belle,' he pleaded. His throat worked violently. 'Please.'
'Get off of me!' Belle screamed.
Caroline chose that rather inopportune moment to reenter the room with a bottle of laudanum. 'What are you doing to her?'
John replied with a question. 'Where is the laudanum?'
Caroline poured some into a glass and handed it to him.
'Here you go, Belle,' he said softly, trying to pull her into a sitting position and keep her still at the same time. He held the glass to her lips. 'Just a little now.'
Belle's eyes focused on something behind him and she screamed again. Her hands shot up to her head, knocking the glass from John's hands. It rolled onto the floor, spilling the drug.
'I'll feed it to her this time,' Caroline said. 'You hold her down.' She held the glass to her daughter's lips and forced her to take a gulp.
After a few 'moments Belle calmed down, and both mother and husband breathed a weary sigh.
'Shhh,' John crooned. 'You can sleep now. The nightmare is gone. Rest, my love.'
Caroline pushed some of Belle's heavy locks from her face. 'There must be some way we can make her more comfortable.'
John walked over to the bureau and picked something up. 'Here is one of her hair contraptions. Perhaps you could pin her hair back from her face?'
Caroline smiled. 'It's called a barrette, John.' She lifted Belle's hair and secured it into a sloppy bun. 'Are you certain you don't want to sleep for a few hours?'
'I can't,' he said hoarsely.
Caroline nodded sympathetically. 'I will sleep then. You'll be weary in the morning. You'll need help.' She moved to the door.
'Thank you,' he said abruptly.
'She is my daughter.'
He swallowed, remembering when he had been sick as a child. His mother had never come to visit him. His mouth opened and closed, and then he nodded.
'It is I who should thank you,' Caroline continued.
John looked up sharply, his expression clearly asking the question, 'Why?'
'For loving her. I couldn't ask for more. I couldn't hope for more.' She left the room.
Belle soon fell into a deep sleep. John scooted her over to the other side of the bed, where the sheets weren't so sweaty. He leaned down and kissed her temple. 'You can fight this,' he whispered. 'You can do anything.'
He walked back over to his chair and slumped into it. He must have dozed off, because when he next opened his eyes, it was past dawn, although one could barely tell for sure through the driving rain. The weather was intensely bleak, and the rain didn't show any sign of letting up. John's eyes searched the scene, trying to find one small piece of the cityscape which might give cause for optimism. And then he did something he hadn't done in many years.
He began to pray.
Neither Belle's condition nor the weather improved for several days. John remained ever vigilant at his patient's bedside, forcing her to drink water and broth whenever possible, and giving her laudanum when she grew hysterical. By the end of the third day, John knew that she would be in serious trouble if the fever did not break soon. She hadn't eaten any solid food, and she was getting thin, much too thin. The last time John had bathed her with the damp cloth he'd noticed that her ribs had become painfully prominent.
The doctor had come every day, but he hadn't been especially helpful. They could do nothing other than wait and pray, he had told the family.
John swallowed down his worry and reached out to touch Belle's forehead. She seemed completely unaware of his presence. Indeed, she seemed unaware of anything other than the nightmares which plagued her fever-ridden mind. John had been calm arid purposeful when he began to care for her, but now his even temper was beginning to deteriorate. He'd barely slept in three days, and he hadn't eaten much more than Belle had. His eyes were bloodshot, his face was gaunt, and a look in the mirror told him that he looked almost as bad as his patient did.
He was getting desperate. If Belle didn't pull through soon, he didn't know what he would do. Several times during his vigil he let his head fall limply into his hands, not even bothering to try to stem the tears that ran down his face. He didn't know how he would be able to make it from day to day if she died.
His face bleak, he crossed over to her bedside and perched on the mattress next to her. She was lying there quite peacefully, but John detected a slight change in her condition. She seemed still, unnaturally still, and her breathing had grown shallow. Panic gripped John like a hand around his heart, and he leaned down and grabbed her by the shoulders. 'Are you giving up on me?' he demanded harshly. 'Are you?'
Belle's head lolled to the side, and she whimpered.
'Damn you! You can't give up!' John shook her even harder.
Belle heard his voice as if it were coming to her through a long, long tunnel. It sounded like John, but she couldn't imagine why he would be with her in her bedroom. He sounded angry. Was he angry at her? Belle sighed. She was tired. Too tired to deal with an angry man.
'Do you hear me, Belle?' she heard him say. 'I will never forgive you if you give up on me.'
Belle winced as she felt his large hands squeezing her upper arms. She wanted to moan at the pain but she
