“No, not this time,” Oliver shook his head regretfully.
Marybeth and Oliver had been friends since they were children. They had met while exploring the castle ruins. Oliver had been on a dare from the other estate children to test his bravery. Marybeth had been feeding her grandmother’s birds and had nearly scared him out of his senses. He had thought that she was the fabled Witch of Blackleigh and had run screaming from the ruins until Marybeth had caught up with him and explained that she was not as he had feared.
“The Dowager Duchess is in need of your grandmother’s healing skills, but when I went by the cottage, I did not find anyone home, so I knew that you would be here. Is your grandmother about?” Oliver explained coming over to embrace her affectionately.
“Grandmother passed away the night before last. I buried her myself in the forest.”
“Oh, Marybeth, I am so very sorry. Why did you not come for me?”
“It was my grandmother’s wish to be buried in the old ways. I did not wish to bother your Christian conscience with the question of morality concerning burial outside of consecrated ground.”
“It would not have bothered me one jot. I hate the idea of you going through such a terrible loss out here on your own.”
“I am well, Oliver. I promise you that I am indeed well. Grandmother had been preparing me for her demise for some time. It was not a surprise in the least to awaken and find her gone. Sad, certainly, but not surprising.”
“I am so very sorry to have to ask this of you, given the circumstances of your recent loss, Marybeth, but the Dowager Duchess is in desperate need of your healing herbs.”
“The Dowager Duchess?” Marybeth asked in confusion. She could not imagine a lady of such noble birth requesting the presence of a wild healer when she had all of London’s educated medical community at her disposal. “Does she not have a bevy of physicians at her beck and call?”
“All such efforts have been exhausted. It is quite possible that you are her last hope.” The seriousness of Oliver’s expression told her that he very much meant what he said.
“I cannot imagine what I can do for her that they cannot, but I will come and see if I might be able to offer her some comfort.”
Marybeth finished feeding the birds and then walked with Oliver back to her croft. After washing her hands, she moved about the croft gathering all of the supplies that she might need. She asked Oliver for a list of the Dowager Duchess’s symptoms and planned accordingly. When she was done, they both mounted Oliver’s horse and rode through the forest toward the manor house.
When they arrived at Arkley Hall, they rode straight to the stables where Oliver handed the reins off to another groom and led Marybeth through the back servants’ entrance and up to the Dowager Duchess’s bedchamber. When they opened the door, they found that she was sleeping, the room otherwise empty.
“I will go and inform His Grace of your arrival, Marybeth. You may begin your preparations so that you might explain it to His Grace when he arrives,” Oliver whispered so as not to wake the Dowager Duchess.
“Should I not wait until she awakens? I would be quite frightened if I were to awaken to a strange woman standing over me without explanation.”
“If you are quiet, it is unlikely that she will awaken. She suffers from severe bouts of fatigue and can sleep for hours without stirring. His Grace could ride his black stallion through Her Grace’s bedchamber and naught would startle her.”
“If you are certain,” Marybeth hesitantly agreed.
“I am.” Oliver squeezed her arm in reassurance and went to find the Duke.
Marybeth had never met either the Duke or his mother, so she was unsure what to expect. She had lived a rather insular existence with her grandmother in the forest, only having visitors when Oliver came to call, or a local person needed healing. Her grasp of the social niceties were somewhat lacking due to her preferred separation from society. She had never regretted her solitary existence and had indeed been grateful for it on more than one occasion.
Moving to lay her supplies out upon a table so that she would be ready to prepare the proper herbs for the Dowager Duchess, she passed a mirror and paused to look at her reflection. She had thick, long dark chestnut-colored hair, gentle intelligent grey eyes, and a warm complexion kissed by her many hours in the sun. She was a bit wild and ragged around the edges, but not at all unpleasing to look upon. Nodding her head in satisfaction, she continued on with her work.
“Grandmother I wish you were here with me now,” she murmured as she stood looking down upon the Dowager Duchess’s visage. She had never treated a person of noble birth before and wished for the reassuring presence of her grandmother. “I suppose you are just a person, same as anyone else upon the inside,” she spoke to the sleeping form before her.
A noise at the door caused her to turn, surprised at the speed in which Oliver had summoned the Duke. Instead of Oliver, she found the startled fear-filled eyes of what appeared to be a maid. The woman screamed as if she had witnessed a horrific murder and then fled the room as fast as her legs would carry her. She could hear the maid’s accusations of a witch’s curse as she shrieked to someone below stairs. She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I am not a witch!”
“That is good to know,” a weak feminine voice replied from behind her.
Marybeth turned her attention back to the bed. “My apologies for waking you, Your Grace.” She curtsied in respect, as was expected of her class.
“Nonsense, there are no apologies needed, my dear. You are the healer my son has arranged for me to see, I presume?” The lady’s tone was kind and gentle, as were her smile and general demeanor. Marybeth felt instantly reassured.
“That I am, Your Grace.” The Dowager Duchess smiled weakly up at her and took her hand in greeting.
“Mother?” a masculine voice inquired from the doorway. Marybeth turned to find a handsome young man, tall, broad-shouldered, with black hair, and deep green eyes.
“Felix, come in, my dear,” the Dowager Duchess greeted with a smile.
“And who is your guest?” he inquired, entering the room. “Not an actual witch, I think.”
“Nay, not a witch, my son. The young lady is a healer.” She reached out and took her son’s hand in her own, patting it affectionately.
“A healer? I was under the impression that the healer I had sent for was a woman of many years and experience.” The Duke’s expression was somewhat confused as his eyes scanned her youthful face and frame. Marybeth was not certain, but she thought she spied a glint of something akin to appreciation in his gaze.
“My grandmother passed away recently. I am afraid that I am all that is left.” Marybeth prepared herself to be forcibly escorted out of the house. People of his ilk seldom tolerated those of hers.
“I see. And you carry on her legacy?”
“I do my best, yes.”
He nodded slowly. “Very well; please, proceed.”
Surprised, Marybeth nodded in agreement and turned her attention back to the Dowager Duchess. She examined her thoroughly, just as her grandmother had taught her to do, asking questions as she worked. As they talked, Marybeth was not at all certain what had befallen the noble lady, but her healer’s heart felt great sympathy for the Duchess’s plight. Determined to help the Dowager Duchess, Marybeth began mixing a concoction of herbs that she thought might help.
“I am not certain what it is that ails you, Your Grace, but I have seen something similar to this before when I was a child. My grandmother spent a great deal of time and effort in helping the woodsman recover. He went from being on death’s doorstep to the robust man he had once been, but it took months of diligent care.
“And what is that awful smelling potion you are mixing?” The Duke wrinkled his nose in displeasure as he came around to peer over her shoulder.
Marybeth smiled at the comical expression on his face. It was clear that he had never spent very much time in a kitchen. “’Tis a mixture of garlic cloves
, oregano, valerian, and wormwood. When I am done with this, I will make a tea of honey, ginger, and white willow bark. ‘Tis the remedy that my grandmother used on the woodsman. I believe it to be the best way to begin.”
“And you think that this assortment of spices and vegetation will cure my mother?” Felix asked, doubt tinging his voice.
“Yes, I do.”
“Why, then, do not all the doctors in London know of this remedy?”
“Because they believe such methods to be that of witchcraft, Your Grace.”
“Is it?”
“No, Your Grace, it is not. God provides us with great bounty; we only need to open our eyes and minds to see the earth’s intended potential.”
“You claim to know God’s intentions? A bold claim indeed, Miss…”
“Wright, Miss Marybeth Wright,” Marybeth bowed quickly in introduction. “And no, I do not claim to know any such thing. I can only share what I myself have observed.”
“A bold young woman indeed,” the Duke noted examining her face in thought. Marybeth feared she might still yet be denied and that the poor ailing Dowager Duchess would be the one to suffer for it. Nodding, the Duke continued. “You may proceed,” he waved his hand in permission. “Perhaps you will succeed where all others have failed.” He moved back to the other side of the bed and observed as Marybeth administered the treatment.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Marybeth spooned the garlic mixture into the Dowager Duchess’s mouth, causing her face to pinch in disgust. “It is a bit unpalatable, I will admit, but it will help you, Your Grace.” She spooned the rest of the dose into her mouth and then moved to make the tea. She removed the kettle of water from over the fireplace and poured it over the ground ginger and white willow bark mixture, then stirred in the honey.
The Dowager Duchess sipped the tea and closed her eyes in pleasure. “That is much better,” she complimented.
“Yes, it is,” Marybeth smiled. “You will need to do this several times a day for as many months. I will need to get you more of every item so that you will not run out. I will teach you the proper dosage so that you can mix it for your mother when I am gone, Your Grace.”
“Gone?”
“Yes, when I return home.”
“Nonsense. You will stay here with us.”
Marybeth was surprised by his invitation. “I cannot simply abandon my home or my birds for months on end, Your Grace.”
“Birds?” the Duke questioned.
“Pigeons, Your Grace. They were my grandmother’s. She adopted the birds of Blackleigh Castle.”
“The pigeons in the medieval dovecot belong to someone? I always thought that they were feral.”
“They may come and go as they please. They simply choose to stay because she fed them, and now the task has fallen upon me.”
“So, they can care for themselves if need be?”
“Well, yes, I suppose that they can,” she admitted hesitantly. “But what of my croft?”
“I can arrange for a groom to take you there each week, if that is your wish. I do not wish to disrupt your life, Miss Wright, but I fear you will not be able to fully aid my mother if you are not present during her worst episodes. You are the first to offer any kind of a solution and to be frank, Miss Wright, you are our last hope.”
The sincerity she found in his eyes caused her to give pause. She considered his words carefully. He was right in that the pigeons were capable of caring for themselves, and did so most of the time. Feeding them was more of a pleasantry for her than it was an actual requirement. They were able to come and go from the dovecot at will, the forest and nearby stream providing them with all the food and water they could possibly hope for.
I could still visit them to feed them their wheat each week.
“I would wish to ride out to my croft each week to ensure that all was well and to replenish my supply of herbs.”
“That can of course be arranged.” The Duke nodded in reassurance.
Marybeth sighed. She knew the Duke was right and that it would be best if she were present to witness the full range of the Duchess’s symptoms, but she did so loath to leave the sanctuary of her forest home. “Very well, then,” she agreed reservedly. “But I must return home today to gather my things.”
“Of course. I will arrange for Oliver to aid you. The maids will have made ready a room for you upon your return. I believe it would be best if you were located near the Dowager Duchess’s room to ensure ease and speed of care.”
“I agree that such an arrangement would be best to provide optimum care.”
“It is settled then.” The Duke smiled warmly. “And might I extend my deepest condolences for the loss of your grandmother.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. I miss her more with each day that passes.”
“I am sure.” The Duke looked down at his mother, and Marybeth knew that he feared a similar loss.
Marybeth’s heart went out to him and she laid her hand on his arm in empathy. “I will do everything within my power to help your mother, Your Grace. Upon that, you have my word.”
The Duke laid his hand atop of hers and gazed down into her eyes with a mixture of hope and sorrow. “By all that is holy, may God himself ensure that your efforts are fruitful.”
Chapter 3
Felix watched as Miss Wright and Oliver rode away, her chestnut hair flying about her shoulders as the horse galloped toward the forest tree line. She sat astride the horse; her skirts hiked up enough to show her ankles and a portion of her lower leg. He raised his brows in surprise at such an indelicate display. He found himself enchanted by her compassionate manner and independent spirit. She was quite unlike any other woman he had ever met.
“Indecent,” he heard his mother’s lady’s maid, Mrs. Snow, gossiping behind him. “Mark my words, that is a wild witch if ever I saw one.”
“How can you be sure?” another woman’s voice asked. Felix recognized it as the cook, Mrs. Morgan.
“Did you not see the state of her? The spitting image of her witch of a grandmother she is. She is the granddaughter of the witch of the forest, didn’t you know?”
“That is Abigail Wright’s granddaughter?” the cook whispered in shock. “There was such a scandal around her birth and the death of her mother.”
“The girl was born quite on the wrong side of the blanket to be sure,” Mrs. Snow spoke as if she were some authority on the subject. “The story is that some lord or other forced himself upon the mother and that after having the child she killed herself.”
“Ladies, is there nothing better that you could be doing with your time than to speak of Miss Wright in such a manner?” Felix chastised disapprovingly turning to face them.
“Forgive us, Your Grace.” Mrs. Snow and Mrs. Morgan spoke in unison and then scurried away like a pair of hens.
Felix shook his head in exasperation. He would never understand the need to gossip about others as a pastime. He found that a busy mind and hands led to a much more fulfilling existence than to sit around a drawing room harshly passing judgement upon the actions or origins of others. He knew he was an oddity among his peers, in England for that matter, but he made it a priority to have kindness be the guiding factor in all of his interactions whenever possible.
Reentering the house, he climbed the stairs back up to his mother’s bedchamber. He found her sleeping once more, exhausted after her brief encounter with the healer. She had not said much during the exchange and he hoped that she was pleased with the arrangement. Closing the door gently behind him so as not to wake her, he returned to his workshop and finished both of the wheeled chairs for his mother.
* * *
Marybeth rode on the horse behind Oliver, her arms wrapped around his middle. She could not believe everything that had just transpired. “The Duke has invited me to stay at Arkley Hall,” she informed the back of Oliver’s head.
“So he said when he asked me to take you home. I am to bring you right back once you have gathered everything
that you need to aid the Dowager Duchess and for your own comfort.”
“Do you like working for the new Duke?” she asked curious. She had been struck by the nobleman and wished to know more about him.
“Oh, yes. I could not ask for a better employer,” Oliver cheerfully answered. “I have talked to some of the other lads in the county and they complain about their work, but I am quite content. The Duke and Duchess are most kind to all of us.”
A Duke Under Her Spell: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 3
