Hello, everyone. I finally got off my lazy butt and wrote something! Okay, so this fic is just something that came out of an irrational desire to write a very sick and consequently very cuddly Kartik. It takes place the summer after Gemma graduates from Spence.
Special thanks to LunaEquus for all the help, and much love to my best friend Naz for everything to do with this fic, especially enduring the constant "Here, read this part. Does it work? Is it plausible? Do you like it? Is it ooc? Is it? IS IT?" :D You guys rock.
If I were Libba Bray, I would not have had to endure my very strange Biology teacher's annoyingly peppy lectures while writing much of this fic. Needless, to say, I'm not, and I did.
Oh, and there is no system for my alternating POVs. I just switch whenever I feel like it. :D Enjoy!
"Father, where is Mr. Kartik with the carriage? I'll be late to work." Tom paces the parlor, looking harassed at the very thought of a black mark against him where he is no doubt thought perfectly punctual. Heaven forbid the lunatics be forced to wait a few minutes on my beastly brother.
Father sits opposite me, ignoring Tom's pacing as he reads the newspaper and has a cup of tea. His condition has improved drastically after the combined stay at the sanitarium and my second magical attempt at healing him. Without looking up from his paper, he replies, "You'll have to hire a hansom, Thomas. Mr. Kartik has taken ill."
"Ill?" I hear myself repeat, looking up from Pride and Prejudice. Tom grabs his coat and hat and rushes out the door, a murderous expression on his face.
"Yes, I sent the poor fellow to the mews yesterday evening. Tried to tell me he was fine, fit for work." Father frowns thoughtfully. "I'm rather afraid it's influenza. We certainly wouldn't want that spreading. I sent a maid to check on him this morning."
"If you would excuse me, Papa, I've a sampler to finish," I say abruptly, referring to my dreadfully dull needlepoint, closing my book and standing.
"Yes, of course, dear." Father smiles at me. Sometimes these days, I feel almost as if I've the old Father back.
I exit the parlor and make my way out of the house, careful that no one sees me on my way to the stables. Finally, I enter a small room off the carriage house.
He is asleep on his bed in the tiny room, but he wakes when I close the door, despite my effort to do so quietly.
"Miss—Doyle?" He squints at me, as it's very dim. However, he seems to realize it is me, for he sits up rather quickly. I blush when I realize that he is not wearing a shirt.
"Father mentioned you were ill," I explain quickly. "Are you feeling alright?"
He leans over to light a lamp on his nightstand. Light floods the room, and I sit uninvited on the end of the bed. "Yes," he finally replies, hoarsely. "Much better." He coughs violently, and I find it hard to believe him. He is flushed and looks feverish and absolutely miserable.
"I'm terribly sorry," I say, ignoring his claims to feel "better". "Father said he thought it could be influenza."
Kartik lies back again and seems to consider this.
I look around the tiny room. There isn't much: a small wardrobe, a single window, the bed, an out-of-place bucket, and a nightstand. On the nightstand sit a single, framed photograph, the lamp, matches, and a tray with Kartik's untouched breakfast.
The tray seems to fill my stomach with ice, and I hear myself say with a false cheerfulness, "Oh, someone's brought you breakfast. Did the cook deliver it to you? She's so very…congenial." I see something flit across his face at my word choice, and I am not surprised. I have amazed even myself at my boldness, or rather, my cheek.
He hesitates a bit too long before answering, "No, Emily brought it to me."
"Emily?" I say, acting confused, as if I don't know exactly who Emily is.
"The maid," he explains rather flatly.
"Oh," I reply frostily. I should drown in this jealousy. I stand abruptly. "Well, you should eat it, then. I'm sure she's prepared it especially for you." The bitterness in my voice is plain, but I just can't seem to control it. "I should go. Wouldn't want to catch anything from you." This last bit, and the venom it holds, is simply too much, and I know it. Before he can reply, I sweep out the door.
Back in my room, I flop onto my bed and bury my face in my pillow, thinking of Emily chatting merrily with him, perhaps sitting exactly where I had. What is so special about Emily? Why doesn't Kartik think of me the way he surely thinks of her?
I let out a frustrated sigh. Really, this isn't Kartik's fault. It is, in fact, completely Emily's. How dare she fawn over Kartik and bring him breakfast in bed? Who is she that Kartik should be hers to care for? I shall show her.
So...you know you wanna review! I will try to update at least once a week, but I can't promise anything. If I don't update, you can blame it on my hateful teachers for giving me a ridiculous amount of homework. D: