by Gina Lamm
She paced down the length of the hallway, the rain keeping her from her usual thinking spot in the garden. Baron curled up by the front door, watching her.
She’d read everything of interest in the house three times. She was crap at embroidery and had no need to ever get better. She tried to teach Baron to howl after she said the word “ThunderCats,” but he lost interest and wandered into the kitchen. Typical male.
She flopped onto the settee and watched the raindrops roll down the glass of the window. Propping a cheek on her hand, she sighed. She really felt useless. She couldn’t go out and get a job, making friends there was something you apparently needed a college degree in societal relations for, and no one would even let her clean. She was stumped. Locked in a frozen computer screen, nowhere to go. And tomorrow she’d be dumped in a house that was even more lonely than this one. It was a hard pill to swallow.
When a knock came at the door, she nearly ran out to answer it herself, desperate for a new face to break the monotony. Just in time, she remembered Mrs. K’s warning: no one else must know she was living there. Period. At the moment, all society had was rumors from a jealous ex-lover, and the last thing they needed was cold hard evidence. Besides, with her luck, it’d probably turn out to be Collette. After that dream, she didn’t want to see her again if she could help it.
She hid behind the doorway and tried to listen, but the visitor’s voice was too quiet for her to decipher.
When the door shut, she went out into the hall, looking carefully to make sure there was no stranger there. “Hey, Thornton, who was that?”
“It was a shop boy.” Thornton turned to Jamie, a ribbon-wrapped box in his hands. “He said that his lordship had sent this package for you, Miss Marten.”
She smiled like a teenage girl who’s heard that her crush likes her back. Mike sent me a present? She bit her lip and skipped over to Thornton. “Really? It’s for me?”
The old man smiled fondly down at her as he handed her the package. “That is what the boy said, miss.”
She clasped the beribboned box to her chest. “Thanks.”
She flew into the sitting room, fingers picking at the knot before she’d even sat down. What had he gotten her? A book to keep her from going crazy with boredom? Jewelry because, well, they were engaged? Or maybe he’d talked to somebody about making her a toothbrush. Oooh, she’d murder for a toothbrush.
When the lavender ribbon finally melted apart, and she got the lid off the box, she realized it was none of those things.
It was candy.
They looked sort of like she’d imagined Turkish Delights would look. Like the White Witch gave to Edmond in the Narnia books. Little gumdroppy mounds of crystal sugarcoated color.
She smiled down at the box. She wasn’t a huge fan of candy, but since Mike had given them to her, she’d try one.
Reaching into the box, she picked one with a light dusting of powdered sugar. She sniffed it. A light citrus scent clung to the sweet. She parted her lips and delicately bit down into it. A strange mix of sweet and bitter filled her mouth.
“No!” Mrs. Knightsbridge flung open the door to the sitting room and flew across the room to Jamie. She knocked the rest of the candy from Jamie’s hand back into the box. “Spit it out, spit it out!”
Jamie spit the half-chewed bite into her hand. “What the hell is wrong?”
Mrs. K yanked the box from her lap and grabbed her arm. “That one too. Drop it in the box, quickly.”
Jamie did as she asked, completely confused. “Okay, mind telling me what the problem is?”
“We do not have time to lose.” Mrs. K grabbed her by the upper arm and dragged her toward the kitchen. “You have been poisoned.”
Twenty-Five
“What?” Jamie cried.
Mrs. K did not hesitate as she dragged Jamie from the room. “Collette has poisoned you. Come quickly!”
Fear sped Jamie’s heart and she followed the housekeeper as fast as she could. Mrs. K shoved the beribboned box at one of the kitchen maids.
“Here. Do not touch any of the sweets. They have been poisoned. Take that box as far away as you can and discard it.”
The maid’s face was as terrified as Jamie was sure hers was, but the young girl took off out the kitchen door at a dead run.
“Jean Philippe, I need soap, hot water, clean cloths. Quickly. Miss Marten’s life is in danger. Muriel, go and fetch her robe. Clara, bring the wooden box from beneath my bed. Now!”
The housekeeper sat Jamie down on a wooden stool and plunged their hands into the steamy bowl of water Jean Philippe set on the table in front of them. With a soapy stiff-bristled brush, she scrubbed at Jamie’s right hand, the one that had held the sweet Jamie thought Mike had sent her.
“How do you know?” Jamie asked through a terror-thickened throat. “How did you know to stop me?”
Mrs. K dipped their hands in the basin and started brushing again. The bristles scraped at Jamie’s skin, stinging with the strong soap. “My scrying bowl. The same one I saw you in. Collette. Louisa. The wine, the candy, the same violent shaking. It will happen again. I can only pray that we have caught it in time. Clara, set the box beside me, please.”
Jamie’s chest tightened, and she had trouble breathing. “Collette…poisoned me?”
Mrs. K nodded without looking up from her desperate task. “Jean Philippe, fresh water, now. Where is that robe, Muriel?”
After Jean Philippe delivered another bowl of hot water, he was banished from the kitchen. Jamie’s beautiful yellow gown was cut from her body and thrown straight into the fire, in case any stray particles of the poison had found their way into the folds of fabric. Muriel removed Jamie’s stays and petticoats, and dressed her in the nightgown. Muriel braided Jamie’s hair as Mrs. K scrubbed her hands and arms until the flesh was bright red and raw.
For the first few moments, Jamie was too terrified to move. She let them work on her, obeying when they told her to move, to sit, to bend, whatever they asked.
But then the skin of her face tightened. The taste of pennies and metal filled her mouth. She couldn’t sit anymore. She had to walk. To breathe. To run away. To shake off these small bugs crawling inside her skin. She had to get out.
“I…I’m sorry…Mrs. K…I can’t sit.” Jamie pulled away from Mrs. K as the housekeeper dried her arms. She needed to go. To move. Something.
She paced through the kitchen. Wringing her hands, she ignored the stares and worried voices of the maids around her. She was as juiced as she’d ever felt. More so than if she’d drunk a dozen Red Bulls. The room almost vibrated around her.
“Miss Jamie, drink this.” Mrs. K held out a small brown vial.
Jamie reached for it, but her hands trembled too much to grip the glass. Mrs. K held her head gently in the crook of an elbow and poured a dark brown liquid into her mouth. Jamie coughed but swallowed the woody-tasting brew.
“Now come. We must get you to your room.” Mrs. K laid a gentle arm around Jamie’s shoulders. Her head wobbled, almost like one of those little dashboard Chihuahuas, knocking against Mrs. K’s arm over and over. She couldn’t keep it still, no matter how hard she tried.
Flashes of light fringed her vision, and her heart ran faster than Baron after a handkerchief. Tears streamed out of the corners of her eyes as Muriel and Mrs. K helped her up the stairs. Her toes dragged on the carpet of the stairs, vibrating alien beings that no longer had any connection to her brain.
They reached the landing after a million years, but her legs gave out in front of Mike’s room. She collapsed to the cold wood, knocking the back of her head against the hall table.
“Thornton, George! We need your aid, quickly!” Mrs. K’s voice sounded shrilly, sort of far away.
Jamie’s heels drummed against the wooden floor. She tried to grab them, to stop them, but her hands were shaking too hard. Ice cold. Her limbs were freezing, but sweat broke out all over her body. Her teeth chattered.
A shock of pain skewer
ed her chest, arching her back in agony.
This is it.
I’m going to die.
She didn’t have to choose between a future with Mike or a future at home.
I have no future at all.
Several sets of hands picked her up. She wished she could have seen how they held her. She was flopping worse than a newly caught fish. But she couldn’t stop, no matter how hard she tried. Even after they laid her in her bed.
Jamie didn’t know how long she lay there, shivering, trembling, and shaking all over. Muriel and Mrs. K stayed right there with her. Mrs. K put cool cloths on her brow when her fever spiked higher.
The flashes didn’t stop. Whenever she moved her head, which was a lot because of the way her back continued to arch, another beam of light would skewer her. The pains in her chest continued, over and over and over again. She wondered how long it would take for this poison to kill her. She wished she could pass out and miss it. She was afraid. She didn’t want to die. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she fought the poison’s grip. It was too hard. She wasn’t going to be able to beat it. She’d die here in this Lemon Room, without the love of her life anywhere near.
“Mike,” she whispered hoarsely through the agonizing pain gripping her chest. “Mike.”
“Please, Jamie, oh please stay with us.” Mrs. K’s face was streaked with tears as she cupped Jamie’s trembling cheek.
***
Never in Micah’s life had he been such a slave to his own fear.
When the footman burst into His Grace’s estate room, all the gentlemen in it had stared at such a sudden intrusion. But Micah had leapt to his feet and followed George without so much as a by-your-leave to his host. Damn the consequences, for the look on the boy’s face could mean but one thing—his Jamie was in danger.
George caught him up on the wild ride back to the town home in Micah’s phaeton. When the words “poison” and “tremors” met the earl’s ears, cold terror closed his throat. He should never have left her. He whipped his horses into a gallop, tooling them expertly down the twining streets of Town.
After Micah pulled his team to a stop, he threw the reins to a surprised George and leapt to the ground, not stopping as he bolted into the house. Taking the steps two at a time, he hit the landing in a dead run. He rounded the corner of the hallway and skidded to a stop in the doorway of Jamie’s beloved Lemon Room.
Her limbs flopped and flailed, despite the restraining hands of both Muriel and Mrs. Knightsbridge. Her eyes rolled wildly, almost like an animal out of its mind with fear and pain. Anguished moans poured from her, and tears tracked down her reddened cheeks.
Micah slammed his lids closed and staggered backward. No. Not again. Not to Jamie.
“My lord,” Mrs. Knightsbridge called desperately. “Please. She’s called for you.”
The prison of his panic could not keep him from his love. Opening his eyes, he set his jaw and marched determinedly to her bedside. Muriel backed away in tearful deference, and he took the maid’s place at Jamie’s side.
“Jamie,” he said, ashamed at the naked pain in his voice. “Jamie, can you hear me?”
“Mike?” She focused on him for a moment, her head bobbing and trembling as she fought the poison.
“Yes, dearling, I am here. What has happened to you?” He laid his hand on her cheek, helping to steady her against the raging storm in her blood. Her teeth clacked together as her body fought. She didn’t answer him.
“Mrs. Knightsbridge, what can we do?” He had to keep himself composed. He could not afford to fall apart. Jamie needed strength, and by God he would give it to her.
“We’ve done all we can, my lord.” Mrs. Knightsbridge’s voice was clear, though her face was also tracked with tears. “Just be here with her, in case…”
“No.” He leapt to his feet, not releasing Jamie’s hand. His glare nearly skewered the housekeeper in half. “Do not invite tragedy here. She will survive. I refuse to accept any alternative. Is that clear?” She had to survive. He could not be responsible for the death of another woman, most especially the only woman he’d ever truly loved. And by leaving her, he was just as culpable as if he’d poured the poison down her throat himself.
“Yes, my lord.” The housekeeper turned away, busying herself with clean cloths and potions on the small table by the window.
“Mike?” Jamie’s voice was so faint he barely knew it was her.
He dropped to his knees by her bedside. “Yes, dearling.”
Her tremors worsened, and he fought them as best he could without bruising her, holding her shoulders lightly against the covers. “I…I…”
“Shh, love,” he said past the bitter lump in his throat. “Rest now. You can tell me when you feel better.”
With a sigh, she closed her eyes, and her body went limp under his hands.
His anguished cry echoed from the yellow walls she’d loved so. “Jamie!”
Twenty-Six
When Jamie woke up, she wasn’t dead. That kind of surprised her, so she blinked twice. Nope. Still here. She sat up and peered around. The Lemon Room, looking messier than she’d ever seen it, surrounded her. Basins, cloths, bottles of medicine, teacups, glasses, and clothing were scattered throughout the room. It almost made her feel at home—like, back in her time home.
She threw back the covers and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. Her body responded normally. Her jaw was sore, and her nerves jittery, but other than a weird desire to take up jogging, she was back to fighting form. Whatever Collette had used had apparently not panned out like she’d planned.
Even thinking the name of that bitch sent a cold shock down Jamie’s spine. Collette. She’d tried to kill Jamie twice now. The first time might have been an accident, but poisoning her? That was pure premeditation. Collette had it out for her, there was no denying that. If not for Mrs. Knightsbridge’s scrying bowl keeping a check on that psychopath, Jamie would be dead by now. Considering she’d only ingested a tiny amount of the poison, and the pain she’d gone through, without the housekeeper’s intervention she’d be pushing up tulips. Wait, those are from Holland, aren’t they? Lavender. Pushing up lavender. That sounds suitably English.
Jamie padded across the cream carpeting, avoiding a mound of white cloths, and headed for her old pal the chamber pot. While she was behind the screen, the hinges on the bedroom door squeaked.
“Be right out,” she called. She yanked her nightgown back down, rounded the screen, and headed for the basin to wash her hands. Mike stood by the foot of her bed, face pale and drawn. She half smiled at him, but he didn’t speak until she’d dried her fingers on a soft white towel.
“Jamie.” His strained voice brought her head around. “I cannot tell you the depth of my regret.”
Jamie shook her head, confusion wrinkling her forehead as she closed the gap between them. “Regret? Why…”
He stepped past her, ignoring her outstretched hand. “I have been unable thus far to discover the source of the poisoned sweets. I have hired a Bow Street Runner to assist in the search. I cannot imagine the anger you must feel for my failure. I will discover who sent them. I promise you…”
“But I know who sent them,” Jamie blurted, wondering why he didn’t.
He shook his head as he leaned against the mantel. His knuckles were white as he gripped it. “I know what you are thinking. Collette did threaten you, but she cannot have been responsible. She was with her protector all day yesterday. They were seen together.”
Jamie shook her head, sinking down on the edge of her bed as her knees went curiously weak. “That can’t be. There’s proof it was her! Mrs.…”
Jamie trailed off as Mike turned to face her. She didn’t know why her throat suddenly closed off, but the lack of air gave her a second to collect her wits. Mrs. Knightsbridge. A witch. Her nervousness about anyone finding out about it. As much as Jamie wanted Collette to pay for what she’d nearly done, Mrs. K had saved Jamie’s life. It wasn’t her secre
t to tell.
“I know it was Collette. I can’t tell you how I know, but you have to trust me.”
“What proof is there? Why can you not tell me?”
Jamie looked down at her toes as anxiety twisted her lungs into pretzels. “I just…can’t.”
After a moment of strained silence, Mike straightened his waistcoat. “Collette is being watched, but since you refuse to tell me the truth about your suspicions, I cannot be certain. I need to ask you a very important question.”
His stare speared her, and she took a shuddering breath.
“Do you yet know how to go back to your home?”
She wasn’t sure what made her hesitate to tell him the truth. This was Mike. Her earl. The best man she’d ever met, mule-headedness notwithstanding. He loved her. She’d probably hurt him by refusing to tell him about Mrs. K. She couldn’t hurt him more by lying to him now.
She nodded slowly.
He closed his lids and tipped his chin skyward. She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down above the white froth of lace at his throat.
“I must ask, for your own safety, that you return there.” His deep voice was as serious as his eyes were when they opened.
She stopped breathing. Swallowed hard. An odd prickle started in her eyes as she asked, “Will you be coming with me?”
She anticipated the shake of his head before it even happened. He hesitated, but the answer, when it came, was definite. “No.”
Tiny cracks ran through her heart, spiderwebbing the battered organ. “Oh.”
He took a faltering step toward her but stopped just shy. His voice was strong as he said, “I have failed you. I nearly caused your death.”
She jumped to her feet, indignant that he’d even suggest it. “No, you didn’t…”
He stopped her with a palm in the air. “I did. I should have anticipated the threat. I did not, and you almost paid with your life. It is unforgivable.”
