Karen Harbaugh (16 page)

“Thang you, doe—thad is, no!” He gave her a fierce glare and bent to his dinner.

What a stubborn man he is! thought Linnea, poking her fork ruthlessly through a piece of roast beef. She was only advising him for his own good. What use would it be if he caught lung fever from this? She watched him smugly as he winced, attempting to swallow some food. His throat was probably quite sore. He looked up at her.

“Well? What is it?”

“Nothing at all, Will,” she said sweetly.

“You are rejoicing in my bain—
pain
—I can tell.”

“
I
? Never. Nothing of the kind.” Linnea sliced an apple and put it daintily on her plate.

“Oh? Then why were you looking at be in thad manner?” he said slowly and distinctly.

Linnea almost smiled. He was trying hard not to sound congested. “I was merely reflecting on how stubborn you are.”

“Oh, were you?” He sneezed once again and blew his nose.

“Yes. Here you are with a putrid cold, and an obviously sore throat, but you absolutely will not take any sort of remedy for it. Where is the sense in that?”

“My dear Linnea, I am more than ten, believe be, and habe taken care of myself in the past. If I wanted to be coddled and cosseted, I would habe taken up residence with one of my sisters.” He gave her another impatient look and bent himself once again to his dinner.

Silence. Then: “My lord, is there no way I can be helpful?”

“Helpful?” Rothwick raised his eyebrows. “You are my wife. You may do as you please here.”

“But there is nothing to do!” Linnea cried. “Your household is orderly, your menus made up by a most excellent cook. Your servants never need correction, and your tenants are well cared for and healthy. You even have a village school, taught by competent teachers!”

The earl’s lips turned up in amusement. “I habe neber thought these were things to be complained about.”

Linnea could not help smiling, albeit reluctantly. “Of course they are not. But it leaves me nothing to do but sit and be idle.”

Rothwick looked at her measuringly. “So you would rather be in London, amongst the ton and amusements?” His voice was cool, indifferent. “I can arrange that, if you wish.”

She gazed at him uncertainly, suddenly feeling as if ice had closed around her heart. His face was still and expressionless, but his eyes stared into her own, as if he were looking for something. Was this the beginning, then? The beginning of going their own way, of having separate lives? She had agreed to his terms, to be sure, but she had thought perhaps they might come to know each other first and not be complete strangers. Indeed, it seemed they were on far more familiar terms than she had ever thought they might at first. And yet now, abruptly, he had become distant. Was it, perhaps, something she had said? She shook her head and sighed.

“No, my lord. It is just that I wish to have some occupation. I have always had something practical to do; I ran my father’s household when my mother died, and even before that, I helped care for the needy. When I stayed at my cousin Boothe’s house, I was given errands to run, and other household chores. I was busy, and at least at my father’s house, content.”

Rothwick grinned, and this time a hint of laughter appeared in his eyes. “So, the former Beggar Maid wishes to scatter some ashes upon her palace floor, just so she will feel at home?”

Linnea chuckled. “Yes. Or better yet, I wish to do something that will actively help you.”

He gazed at her in a thoughtful manner. “Have you thought, ma’am,” he said slowly, “that perhaps you might want to know what a life full of amusement, idleness, and... pleasure, might be like?”

“I—that is, I have never... I, I don’t know. I have always been busy with something useful. I have never had the time...” She looked at him, nonplussed, and, remembering the abortive wedding night, blushed.

A lazy smile grew on his face. “Perhaps you should learn. I could, of course, teach you.” Suddenly he sneezed three times and pressed his handkerchief to his nose. Linnea was hard put not to laugh.

“But, alas, not right now,” she said, and rang for Bartle.

When the butler entered, she smiled at him. “Bartle, please have Cook prepare some sustaining broth for Lord Rothwick. He has a sore throat, and cannot eat this most delicious dinner. Indeed, he may even be starting a fever,” she said, looking at the earl’s reddened face.

“Bartle, my lady does not doe of what she speaks,” Rothwick said pleasantly, casting a chilly glance at Linnea nevertheless. “I—Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!”

A small smile hovered around Bartle’s mouth but disappeared swiftly at Rothwick’s black look. The butler turned to Linnea and bowed. “As you wish, my lady,” he said calmly, and left the dining room.

“Bartle! What the deuce do you think—” Lord Rothwick began, but it was too late. The door had already closed behind the butler. The earl turned and looked at Linnea’s laughing face. “I suppose you think this is exceedingly humorous.”

“Oh, yes, I do,” Linnea replied. She pushed herself away from the table. “Just like a little boy who will not take his medicine.” Lord Rothwick watched her speechlessly as she moved to the door, affront and irritation flashing across his face. “A most delicious meal, my lord. I am so sorry you are not able to appreciate it fully. I expect I shall not see you after dinner, as you are going directly to bed, are you not?”

As Rothwick’s answer was more like a snarl from a caged lion than anything that may have issued from a human throat, Linnea clapped her hands over her ears, laughed, and quickly left the room.

She had not much cause to laugh the next day, however. Rothwick had grown feverish, and fearing it could be influenza or worse, Linnea sent for Dr. Grenwich. The good doctor had shaken his head and recommended that the earl stay in bed until fully recovered. Barley tea, lemonade, good hot broths were all the patient should drink.

Dr. Grenwich shook his greying head again upon leaving Rothwick’s rooms, and Linnea felt a chill clutch her heart.

“Is... is it influenza, sir?” she whispered.

The doctor raised his grizzled eyebrows and smiled. “Yes, but it may not become at all severe, my lady. Your husband has a very strong constitution. He will be up and about in less than a week’s time
if
—and I emphasize
if,
Lady Rothwick—he heeds my warning about arising before he is completely well!
And
if he takes the saline draughts as I have prescribed, as well as his medicine.”

Linnea bit her lip and looked at the doctor doubtfully. “I do hope he will do as you direct. I have found Lord Rothwick can be a very stubborn man, Dr. Grenwich.”

“That, too, has been my experience,” he said, smiling wryly. “He was ever such as a lad, always dogging my heels, never mind I shut the door on him time and time again. He would climb in a window, like as not, so I soon gave it up and let him follow.” The doctor sighed. “If he were not a nobleman, my lady, he would have made a fine apprentice and physician.” He shrugged and smiled.

“But, but how am I to make sure he does not throw out all your medicines?”

Dr. Grenwich’s smile turned wide as he picked up his bag. “My lady, you are newly wed, are you not? I depend on your considerable charm to persuade him otherwise. Good day to you, ma’am.” He bowed to her and left.

Linnea watched the door close behind him and gnawed her lip. She was not at all sure she could charm anyone. She sighed. She would have to try.

* * * *

Lord Rothwick took a turn for the worse. His valet, who had been watching over his master while Linnea was at supper, anxiously requested her presence just as she put down her fork.

“What is it, Potter?” said Linnea, her heart sinking at the servant’s pale face.

“It’s his lordship, my lady. He’s not talking any sense, and doesn’t seem to know me.”

“Oh, heavens.” Linnea rose hurriedly and followed Potter to his master’s chambers.

Lord Rothwick’s eyes were closed, but he moved restlessly and had kicked off the bedsheets. He had no nightclothes on except for his underbreeches, and thus Linnea was exposed to the full glory of his naked torso. She had not remembered how his body looked on their wedding night, for it had been dark, and she had been too sleepy. But now the candlelight outlined each muscle as Will strained against the fever. His shoulders were broad, and his lightly furred chest looked as hard as slabs of granite. She wanted to touch him, to see if his chest was indeed as firm as it looked. She could feel herself blushing and sternly reined in her wayward thoughts. She turned to the valet. “Potter, has he no nightshirt?”

It was the valet’s turn to blush. “I am afraid, my lady, his lordship does not. He has never liked them, and thought them a waste of money. He prefers to sleep, er, as you see him.”

“I see,” she said. “It is just as well; he will need to be sponged to keep down the fever. And we will need extra quilts and blankets, for when he gets chilled. And cold water and cloths for his head. Except... Wait! Potter, does Staynes have an ice cellar?”

The valet looked at her curiously. “Why, yes, my lady.”

“If possible, have someone cut some ice from it, and put it in a bowl. We must cool his head to keep down the fever. And tell Cook to prepare some lemonade if possible.”

Potter’s face brightened with hope. “Yes, my lady! I shall do so straight away!” He hurried out the door.

Linnea pulled the bedclothes over Rothwick again.

She put her hand to his forehead. Good heavens, he was burning up! She was glad she had thought to ask about the ice cellar.

Rothwick moaned and moved his head toward her. A lock of his hair tumbled across her hand, and she brushed it back gently. He sighed. She touched his hair again, tentatively. It was soft. She hadn’t thought it would be, for it was black, thick, and usually impeccably styled. A tendril of warmth curled up around her heart, and she let out a long breath. Absently she continued stroking his hair, running her fingers through the thick waves. Rothwick sighed and seemed to relax. “Mother,” he whispered.

Linnea smiled widely. Now was that not the way of it? It seemed most men still had a little boy within them that wanted coddling—bluster and complain as they might. Why even her father and brother had sometimes turned suddenly meek when they were ill. Then, however, she knew she had to worry, for that meant they were quite ill.

She sobered. Her husband, she feared, was very ill indeed. A knock sounded on the door, and she turned. Potter entered, carrying a large block of ice in a bowl, towels draped over his arms.

“Here, my lady, is the ice you wished for.” The valet hovered indecisively next to the bed.

Linnea smiled at him reassuringly. “Thank you! On the washstand, if you please.”

“Do... do you think his lordship will recover?” said Potter in hushed tones. “I... I have never seen him this ill, my lady, not in all the fifteen years I have served him.”

“You need not worry, Potter. It is always such with men who have strong constitutions. They are rarely ill, and when they do become so, they have it worse than weaker souls.” The valet looked relieved. Linnea only wished she were as sure as she sounded. Her father had also had a strong physical disposition, but he had finally succumbed to the influenza when it had developed into lung fever. And she had worked so hard to make him well!

Linnea pressed her lips together firmly. But her husband was young, not old like her father. That, certainly, was in his favor. And he had ceased coughing. That must be a good sign. Potter cleared his throat, and she was recalled from her thoughts. She looked at him. “Yes?”

“Is there anything I can do, my lady? To help Lord Rothwick?” He looked uncomfortable and uncertain. “I shall do everything in my power to make him comfortable. Perhaps I can watch him during the night?”

She smiled at him. “No, Potter, I shall watch him tonight. Dr. Grenwich has given me remedies that must be administered at precise times tonight. Believe me, your master will be safe in my hands. I have nursed many people in my father’s parish and was known as a good nurse.”

“But, Lady Rothwick...!”

“I see you are anxious about His Lordship, and believe me, I do appreciate it. What I—and Lord Rothwick—need from you is for you to get your rest, so I can rely on you later, should he become any worse.”

The servant’s eyes widened, and he nodded. “I understand, my lady. And please do call for me should you need any help.”

Linnea smiled. “You are a good man, Potter. I shall make sure Lord Rothwick knows of your devotion.”

The man blushed and disclaimed, but she could see he was pleased.

“Now, do go and finish the rest of your duties, and make sure you are well rested.” She waved him away.

“Yes, my lady.” The valet left.

It was going to be a long night, thought Linnea. She sat on the chair next to Rothwick’s bed, read a book, then did some needlework by the light of the candles. After several hours she yawned and looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece. Eleven o’clock! She went through the connecting door to her room and rang for Betty to change into her nightgown so that she might be more comfortable. But when she returned to the chair by Rothwick’s bed, the nightgown’s sheer softness and the warmth of her robe only made her feel sleepy. Determined to stay up, she refreshed herself with some tea kept warm by a stub of a candle underneath a pot in Rothwick’s room.

Rothwick grew no better. His forehead remained hot despite the ice-cold cloths Linnea put upon his head. Soon he was moving restlessly again, and then it turned to an ague. He shivered uncontrollably, and this seemed to wake him.

“Linnea!” He stared at her in apparent incomprehension.

At least he seemed to recognize her. She went to him immediately. “Yes, Will, I am here.”

“I am so cold....” He closed his eyes again.

Linnea glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was time for another of Dr. Grenwich’s medicines. “Here, my love, you need to drink this.” A shock went through her. “My love.” Dear God. Why in the world had she blurted that out? She bit her lip. Had Rothwick heard?

He opened his eyes again but said nothing. She put the cup to his lips and he drank, his teeth tapping against the glass. He sank back into bed and appeared to sleep, but she could still hear his teeth chattering together, and the bed shook with his shivers.