“Oh, is that so? I hadn’t heard,” her mother’s voice was filled with concern and Dorothea adopted a suitable expression of commiseration.
“I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for you with a sick parent. Why, I should simply die if something were to happen to my mother.” She said, her hand reaching up to clutch her pearls.
“Oh, you are sweet, Lady Dorothea,” her mother smiled at her before turning to the Duke. “If there is anything we can do, anything at all, just let us know.”
“That is very kind of you. But there is nothing much that can be done at the moment.”
Her mother made a sympathetic sound and Dorothea jumped into the breach. “Is that what delayed you yesterday?”
The Duke stared as if he did not comprehend her words.
“When you failed to show up for our walk,” Dorothea elaborated.
“Oh!” The Duke jumped as if startled. “Oh, yes. It was matters to do with my mother.”
“Well…you should have just said so. I am sure we could have come to you.”
“I…did not want to inconvenience you in such a way.”
“Oh, I do assure you, Your Grace, it would have been no inconvenience. I’m sure you’re looking for someone to help you look after your mother and I would be glad to take on that role as your wife.”
The Duke stared, looking quite speechless. Dorothea was proud of how she had managed to slip a proposal into her speech without seeming as if she was throwing herself at the Duke.
The silence stretched interminably.
“Th-thank you for the offer, my dear Lady Dorothea, but I am managing quite well.”
Dorothea frowned, not at all happy with having her offer thrown back in her face, however politely.
* * *
Harry felt very strongly that he should escape from this tea party before he was backed into a corner and forced to make a proposal he had no intention of making. There was no way he could ask his questions anyway as there was no natural way to turn the conversation from his mother to any potential siblings Dorothea might have had.
“May I ask you a question,” his mouth was saying even as he tried to think of a way to leave early without causing offense.
Lady Dorothea straightened up, her whole demeanor brightening. “Of course. You may ask me anything.”
“What is your date of birth?”
Both mother and daughter looked at him as if he was dicked in the nob. But he was a Duke and so he could get away with asking such things.
“Uh, I was born in the spring.”
“Is that so? Here or in London?”
“In London, of course. Mrs. Andrews, who was my mother’s lady’s maid at the time but now is our housekeeper, was acquainted with a foremost midwife—my mother’s confinement was difficult, you see.” Dorothea said, “And so they went to London to seek her out.”
“Oh, you had a difficult time? I expect you thank the Lord that it went well.”
Lady Cornhill dropped her eyes, looking upset.
“I’m sorry, did I say something to upset you?” Harry asked.
“N-no. It’s just…I do not like to think of that time. It was very painful for us.”
“Oh?” Harry was ashamed to press but it did not stop him. He just had to know.
“Yes, it turns out I was carrying not one child, but two…and the second one did not make it.”
Harry froze, “Is that so? M-my condolences.”
“Thank you. It was a long while ago.” She looked at her daughter with adoring eyes, reaching out to clasp her hand and squeeze it, “And at least we have Lady Dorothea.”
Dorothea smiled back.
“Yes, at least you have Lady Dorothea,” Harry repeated thoughtfully.
* * *
“But why did he ask those questions, Mother?” Dorothea inquired at dinner.
“It does sound most strange,” the Earl agreed.
“He seemed to be seeking something in our answers and I think he found it,” her mother said thoughtfully.
“What could he be seeking? Do you think he wanted to know if I would be any good at childbearing?” Dorothea could not help how her voice rose with excitement.
Lady Cornhill shook her head. “It seems unlikely. Why would he want to know that?”
“What if he is seeking a midwife?” the Earl asked.
Both mother and daughter whipped their heads around to stare at him in surprise. “Why would he need a midwife?” Dorothea shrieked.
“He did not ask for further information about the midwife,” Lady Cornhill added.
“What was it he really wanted to know?” the Earl asked.
“That is the question,” Dorothea said thoughtfully.
* * *
Harry walked into the offices of Alexander Cohen, private detective.
“Your Grace, this is a surprise,” he said, standing up from behind his old, worn-out desk.
“Yes, indeed, Mr. Cohen. I have an assignment for you.”
“Indeed? What is it?”
“I need for you to find out what happened at a birthing that took place nineteen years ago.”
“Oh? That sounds interesting. What would I be looking for exactly?”
“I want to know how many children were born and what became of them.”
Mr. Cohen cocked an eyebrow. “That is quite an assignment.”
“Can you do it?”
Mr. Cohen nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “I can certainly try, Your Grace.”
“What I know about the circumstances is all hearsay. The birth took place in London. The midwife was renowned. She was a friend of the lady’s maid who is now housekeeper.”
“Ah, so it is gentry we speak of. That will make it easier. Lots of servants to talk.”
“Yes. Although if what I think happened did indeed happen, it will be well hidden. A well-kept secret. The couple will not be aware of what took place. I am quite sure that the couple does not know what happened.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I spoke to them today.”
“And you are sure they would admit it to you if there were some sort of foul play?”
Harry stopped short, taken aback by the thought. “I…you are right. There is no reason why they would tell me if they had participated in any chicanery. But simply from how they dote on their surviving child, I would assume they were not…” Harry stopped, shaking his head, “I do not want to influence your investigation by telling you my theory. I shall give you the information and allow you to find out what you can.”
“Yes, that is probably prudent. May I ask, however, how this affects you?”
Harry shook his head. “I have recently been caught up in a mystery. I simply wish to solve it.”
“I see,” Mr. Cohen said, although it was obvious that he did not, in fact, see. Harry smiled.
“Just get the information and bring it to me. At the very least, we might change somebody’s life.”
Mr. Cohen nodded. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Alexander.” Harry nodded, depositing a pouch of gold coins on the table, “This should do well as a deposit.”
Cohen looked down at the pouch but didn’t touch it or seek to see how much was inside. “I expect it shall, Your Grace.”
“When can I expect some news from you?”
“As soon as I know something, Your Grace, you will, too.”
Chapter 7
Nurse Duties
At first, Adelia wasn’t sure what had woken her and she stared blankly into the darkness, confused as to why she was in a chair. Then she heard stifled coughing from across the room and remembered.
The Dowager Duchess.
She’d sat down to finish knitting her winter shawl while her patient slept and must have fallen asleep herself.
Moving quickly, she got to her feet and fumbled around for the candle that was on the table and lit it. In the dim glow that spread outwards, she could see that the Dowager Duchess had buried he
r face in her pillow to try to muffle the sound of her coughs.
“Please don’t choke yourself on my account,” Adelia begged, and strode over to take the Dowager Duchess by the arm. She hauled her upright and patted her between the shoulder blades when she continued to cough.
It was a harsh, wet sound that brought back that shivery feeling of alarm Adelia first felt when the Duke had told her of his mother’s illness. She felt for a moment that she held the Dowager’s life in her hands and prayed she was doing the right thing.
At the second pat, the Dowager Duchess let out a hoarse yelp between coughs and tried to shake her off. “What—cough—are you doing?” she demanded, finally seeming to get some semblance of control over herself.
“I’m helping you clear your chest?” Adelia asked, half in question and half as a statement of fact.
The Dowager Duchess leveled her with a bleary, watery-eyed glare. “Thank you, but that’s for pneumonia, which I do not have.”
Adelia stiffened, not really sure what the best way to proceed was. “I know you do not, Your Grace, but it certainly sounds as if you may have something stuck in your throat.”
“I do. But it won’t get out however much you smack my back,” the Dowager Duchess grumbled.
“I’m sorry.” Adelia was mortified. It was their first time interacting while the Dowager was completely conscious. She felt as if she was making a total mingle-mangle of it.
The Dowager Duchess looked like she wanted to say something else but instead was forced to turn her head away from Adelia to catch a rather inopportune sneeze against her shoulder.
“What can I do to help?” Adelia asked, feeling as if she’d won a victory when the Dowager Duchess let her take her weight.
The Dowager Duchess simply sniffled and fumbled toward the bedside table, managing to produce the handkerchief Adelia had placed there earlier. Adelia couldn’t help but cringe as the Dowager Duchess blew her nose into it, afraid that the exertion would be too much for her. She strongly felt that the Dowager Duchess should lie down.
“God, I feel terrible,” the Dowager Duchess complained once she had finished blowing her nose. She sniffled miserably and collapsed back down on the bed, curling into a ball on her side and staring balefully at Adelia. “Shoot me?”
Adelia managed the barest hint of a smile and shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. What else can I do, besides put a lead ball in you?”
The Dowager Duchess shrugged her shoulders and closed her eyes. “Nothing. Nobody can help me,” she replied tiredly.
Adelia could see that the Dowager Duchess was shivering, though, her shoulders trembling beneath her blankets. She placed a palm over her forehead and immediately noted the feverish warmth against her hand. Adelia wasn’t certain what to do about it. She debated asking, but Dowager Duchess looked ready to fall asleep again, face buried in her pillow once more.
Instead, Adelia decided to do the obvious thing and searched the room for a clean cloth and a basin, which she filled with water before returning to the bed with both items in hand.
“Can you turn over for me?” she asked. With her eyes still closed, the Dowager Duchess gave a slight nod and rolled onto her back. She grumbled as Adelia lightly shoved her sideways and sat down on the edge of the bed.
At first, the Dowager Duchess scrunched her nose at the feel of the damp cloth against her face, but it didn’t take very long for her to rest against Adelia’s thigh, her face smoothing out into a more relaxed countenance.
“Mmm…this is better, Miss Raby,” she mumbled.
“Shh, don’t speak,” Adelia said, but there was no real heat in the order. Instead, she continued to bathe the Dowager Duchess’s face and neck with the damp cloth until she went completely limp in sleep.
Adelia knew she could go back to her rooms. She was meant to look after the Duke’s mother in daylight hours while her lady’s maid did the night shift. But the truth was, her talk with the Duke had left her unsettled.
So instead, she folded the cloth and left it against the Dowager Duchess’ forehead. She hoped to draw out some of the feverish warmth from her skin and leaned back against the wood. With a sigh, she closed her eyes.
She meant to stay only long enough to tend to the Dowager Duchess’s fever, before calling her lady’s maid in for her shift but the anxiety from earlier was still thrumming its way through her veins, and Adelia barely felt it as she was tugged into slumber.
She found herself drifting, half-asleep, the sound of Dowager Duchess’s soft, congested snoring filling her ears.
It’s a short-lived rest, though. As the night wore on the Dowager Duchess’s fever rose until she was tossing and turning. Her discomfort manifested into a twitching restlessness that had Adelia jerking awake as the Duke’s mother rolled sideways and almost off the bed. When Adelia felt her forehead this time, it was hot to the touch and the Dowager Duchess squirmed beneath her hand, face creased in discomfort.
Adelia wasn’t sure what to do, so she laid her hand on Dowager Duchess’s shoulder. “Be still,” she said.
She was not surprised, however, to find that it was a useless gesture on her part. It didn’t take Adelia long to give up trying to keep her patient relaxed and covered, and instead let her sprawl over the mattress however she pleased.
The fever and the restlessness made Adelia just as uncomfortable as the Dowager Duchess. She stood up and begun pacing, pondering what she should do. The Duke had not returned to the sick room after he came back from wherever he went, and she did not know who she could go to for advice.
She debated going to get His Grace. However, she was afraid of returning to find the Dowager Duchess had hauled herself out of her sickbed like some sort of deranged invalid. She also debated getting Mrs. Belvedere and calling a physician, but it was not yet dawn and no one would charge a reasonable rate for a house call in the middle of the night. Especially this far out in the country.
Instead, she settled for encouraging the Dowager Duchess to roll onto her back so that she could bathe her forehead again with the water still left in the basin. She wetted and rewetted the cloth several times, but the Dowager Duchess didn’t seem to appreciate the gesture as she did earlier and tried repeatedly to fling it off.
At the third such attempt, Adelia grabbed her wrist at the last moment and the Dowager Duchess’s eyes opened to stare blankly up at her.
“Too cold,” she mumbled, shaking her head.
“It’s just your fever, Your Grace,” Adelia let her fingers thread through her patient’s greying curls and tried to keep her voice low and calm.
“No. It is cold. My ches—” the Dowager Duchess broke off into a hacking cough, unable to finish her sentence. Nevertheless, Adelia knew what was happening then and immediately put her hands on her shoulders. She was acutely aware of the heat of the Dowager Duchess’s fever and the trembling of her muscles beneath her palms.
The Dowager Duchess had closed her eyes again, but they opened to stare at her as Adelia shook her hard. “You’re going to be fine,” Adelia said. “The surgeon will come and everything will be all right.”
In response, the Dowager Duchess groaned out something unintelligible and tried to fling herself off the bed. She fought Adelia as she dragged the patient into a sitting position against her chest, arms wrapped around her to hold her still. It was awkward, holding on to a virtual stranger like this, but she was not sure how else to get through to her patient.
“Your Grace, wake up,” Adelia gave her patient a shake, followed by a light tap on the cheek.
Finally, and rather suddenly, the Dowager Duchess went still against her and her eyes opened again, looking at Adelia in confusion. “Julius?”
“No, it’s Adelia, your nurse. You’re here in your chamber at Rosemond manor, Your Grace.”
The Dowager Duchess still had a confused look on her face and seemed to want to say something. Whatever it was it got lost in a sudden fit of violent coughing that had Adelia bending her over her arm
to try to help her breathe. She remembered the Dowager Duchess’s reprimand from earlier and fought the urge to the pound her on the back.
The coughing didn’t last long, but when it was over the Dowager Duchess was lying sprawled on Adelia’s legs, red-faced and breathless. She managed to squint her eyes open and looked up at Adelia. “W-why am I in your lap?” she croaked out.
A Vixen For The Devilish Duke (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 6
