by Lynda Hurst
Nodding in agreement, Sam wheezed out, “Yes, my lady. But my father says you’re just a woman. What can you do to help me? The doctor told me I won’t get better either.”
Keeping her anger at his hapless father hidden behind a mask of pleasantry, she answered, “It pains me that you are suffering, but I’ve come to ease some of it; if you will let me.”
Looking askance at his mother who arrived with the warming pan and matches, and when she nodded her assent, Sam replied, “All right. Will it hurt?”
“Not at all. It will seem strange to you at first, but I want to help you breathe with a little bit more comfort than you have right now.” Looking to Mrs. Coulton, she asked, “May I move him so that he’s sitting upright?” Mrs. Coulton nodded and handed over the requested items to Brielle so she could help Mary prop Sam up into a sitting position, adjusting the pillows behind him.
“Brielle?” Mary called, and her maid handed her the items which Mary then spread on the bed next to Sam. Eyeing the items curiously, Sam asked cautiously, “What will you do with those?”
Mary explained, “I am going to fashion a tent for you to breathe in my remedy. Since you are too young to smoke a pipe, this will have to do.”
Sam’s eyes grew wide, as he rasped out incredulously, “If I were a year older, then would I be old enough for a pipe?”
Mrs. Coulton hushed her son, and admonished, “Hush now. Let Lady Mary finish her work.”
Mary smiled and produced a small sachet of dried thornapple leaves she had prepared herself and placed several pinches of it in the warming pan. With a match, she lit the leaves on fire, blowing lightly onto the little flame, and waited until it smoldered to replace its lid. She placed the smoking pan in front of Sam and urged, “Breathe in the smoke, Sam. Brielle, please take the handle while I place the towel over him. Mrs. Coulton, you can help me tent the towel over him like so.” Mary demonstrated what she meant, and both women had each one corner in one hand to trap most of the smoke inside the makeshift tent.
Sam coughed fitfully at the first few inhalations, and Mary crooned at him to continue breathing until it eased the effort it took to breathe. He obediently complied as his mother looked on anxiously. Slowly, the herb’s efficacy was taking effect in the young boy as his breathing improved from its raspy quality to a steadier and less labored breath. Only then did Mrs. Coulton’s weary face break into a grateful smile aimed at Mary.
Before the woman could utter a proper thank you, the bedroom door burst open suddenly, crashing into the wall, and in strode an angry Mr. Coulton.
“What witch’s spell is this?” he bellowed, as he took in the picture of his son inhaling a strange cloud of smoke about him while being aided by his wife and the very witch he was fearful of.
Immediately understanding how the man saw her, she recalled Kit’s warning about ignorant men and their tendency to attack things they don’t fully understand. In her own defense, Mary cried, “This has nothing to do with spells! Only a simple remedy to help him regain proper breathing!”
Pinning Mary with an accusatory glare, he advanced on her, pointing a fat forefinger in her face. Spittle flew from his mouth as he spat, “How dare you interfere with the natural course of things here with your so-called charity! Your kind of charity has no place in this God-fearing household. How dare you use your witch’s knowledge on my son! It can’t be borne, not when your kind consorts with the devil himself. Begone, witch!”
Mrs. Coulton placed a placating hand on her husband’s and timidly said, “She was helping him, Thomas. Sam is now more comfortable than he was last night, and I –”
She was cut off as her husband now pointed that offensive finger at her. He raged, “And you! You allowed her into our home to do her devil’s work on our son and waited until I was out of the house to do it, eh?”
Cowering at her husband’s voice raised in ire, it was all Mrs. Coulton could do except to raise her eyes to Mary who caught her forlorn glance. In a voice reedy and thin, Mrs. Coulton said, “You had best go, Lady Mary.” Rounding on Mary once more, Mr. Coulton yelled, “Make no mistake, your ladyship. I will have you forcibly removed from our parish for witchcraft after what I have witnessed today!”
Poor Sam’s frightened stare at his father spoke volumes to Mary of what was not being said, and she feared that Mrs. Coulton and Sam would suffer greatly for her actions. With fear for them emboldening her, she said loudly and clearly, “Very well, but I will have my brother the earl to personally come and see how Sam is faring, along with extra provisions for his continued care.”
Mr. Coulton hissed, “We will take nothing from you or your kind.”
Mary only shrugged. “What you do with a gift freely given is entirely your responsibility.” Then she motioned to Brielle to follow, and with her head held high, she left the room and cottage as regally as a queen.
Only when the pair of them left a good distance from the cottage did Mary finally display her true feelings. “Oh, that boor of a man! How dare he risk the life of his own child for the sake of his own ignorant beliefs! There was no other recourse except for what I could provide, short of what Doctor Cardinal could administer. But even he is not available to be in two places at once as he is assisting the vicar’s wife’s birthing in the next parish over.
“Oh, but, Brielle! I fear Mr. Coulton will punish the poor woman for only seeking to help her son, and it was all I could do to protect them by dragging Jackson into this.”
Brielle said soothingly, “My lady, I have known you a long time, and there has never been a time when you would use the Ellesmere name to press your advantage until now. That only speaks of your strength of character.”
Sighing helplessly, Mary said, “Thank goodness, you were with me, Brielle. Without you there, I would have forgotten myself and hurled that warming pan at that man, with no thought of what recompense would befall me.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, that horrid man deserves a good thumping for his ignorance. But as a lady, you were right to stay your hand,” Brielle observed.
“You are right. I would hate for such behavior to get back to Mother and then I would never hear the end of it.”
“And what of Lord Ellesmere, your brother? He will have to know what happened here today.”
Groaning, Mary frowned. “Again, you are right. He will have to make an appearance at the Coulton cottage, if only to see how Sam is doing. I suppose I will have to tell him that he is expected there soon.”
The two young women continued their conversation as they strode towards the Hull cottage, unaware of the malevolent stare aimed their way.
6
Ellesmere Park, The Next Evening
It wasn’t easy for Mary to be the target of her twin’s disapproving glare while at dinner with the family. Neither was it often that Jackson had good reason to be displeased with her, and the feeling didn’t sit well with her. Mary felt four inches tall under the weight of the stares aimed at her across the dining table from not only Jackson, but from her mother and her new sister-in-law, Margaret.
After she and Brielle had left the Coultons, the Hull cottage hospitality only offered more of the same treatment she had received from Mr. Coulton. Mr. Hull shared the same sentiment as Mr. Coulton when it came to her work, and there was no question that the two must have consulted with each other prior to her visits to their cottages. Both of them had spouted the same nonsense at her, where they both accused her of witchcraft and consorting with the devil. None of what they said had the power to affect her, but she did feel a little nervous about what their behavior portended for her.
In the Ellesmere dining room, however, that nervous energy was presently being channeled into the indignation rising within her at being chastised for doing nothing wrong. She had not relayed the events of the incident with Jackson until today, and perhaps he was unhappy that she waited too long to tell him. Or maybe her delivery of her version of yesterday’s events could have used her misplaced sense of tact
. But in her own defense, her tongue had unleashed a simple solution while in the moment, and she had only a small amount of time to think of one on the spot.
Jackson continued his rant at her with a derisive question. “And what did you think to gain by saying I would be making an appearance at the Coultons? You had no right to think I would interfere in a man’s personal decisions that harmed no one. If he refused your services, then that is his prerogative!”
Mary stubbornly stated, “And that is where you are missing my point! I only threw your name into the mix because it was a hastily made effort, as poorly conceived as it was, to protect Mrs. Coulton and their son! He looked ready to beat her on the spot for what he called my interference.”
Jackson sighed heavily, clearly conflicted between protecting Mr. Coulton’s rights as the head of his own household while still upholding his duty to protect all under his care who were helpless to help themselves. And while he supported Mary’s headstrong stance against marriage with Valerian de Baptiste, he discovered he was more angry at the fact that he could not protect her from her own foolhardy choices than being angry at her. And he knew that for most English men, they would prefer their women biddable and docile, while Mary was anything but. There was no changing Mary now, but as the head of the family, it was his duty to inform her of the consequences of her impulsive actions.
However, the reprimand he had meant for Mary came from an unexpected quarter as his wife Margaret joined in the conversation. “Mary, you know I would support anything you did, but this matter seems to upset Jackson on another level you have not yet considered. What I believe he is trying to say in not so many words, is that these people may find a way to pay retribution for your hand in all of this.”
Mary protested, “Then that is the price I will pay if it means that Sam and his mother are safe. If Mr. Coulton could just see how much good I can do, then maybe he –”
Jackson interrupted, “That is just what I have been trying to tell you, Mary. Men like Thomas Coulton will not see anything they are not willing to see, even if you dance all of the facts before his face. He has it in his head that you are a witch, and I fear that he may make good on his threat.”
“Oh, pooh,” Mary scoffed. “The most that man could do is hurl empty threats at my head.”
“Oh, no. Don’t think for a minute that I don’t know you and how you think, dear sister,” Jackson reminded her. “If you think hiding behind my title as earl will keep you safe, it will only get you so far.”
Before Mary could open her mouth to issue a rebuttal, Chaucer appeared at Jackson’s side to declare, “My lord, my ladies, please excuse the interruption while you are at dinner, but there is someone here to see Lady Mary. Shall I let show him in to meet with you here?”
Jackson muttered something to Chaucer, most likely assent, their earlier discussion forgotten in lieu of the newcomer, but Mary didn’t hear a word he said with the sudden ringing in her ears. Was it Mr. Coulton come to collect recompense for her unwanted help? Or was it the Comte Loire come to collect her as his bride? Around her, servants flurried around the room, rushing to place another setting at the table for their visitor. Mary’s breath had caught at the announcement, with dread freezing the blood in her veins. Whether it be Mr. Coulton or her betrothed, she couldn’t decide who terrified her more.
Vaguely aware of asking the visitor to join them for the meal, Mary snapped herself out of her bad humor and boldly looked the newcomer straight-on. Her eyes flared a little at the sight of the largely built man who now seated himself across the table from her. Recognizing him from his portrait, Mary beheld Comte Valerian de Baptiste for the first time in all of his Adonis-like glory, golden all over, except for his icy blue eyes. Watching him now, she looked about him to try to spot at least one flaw that would lessen the effect his beauty had on her, but she found none, or rather, none outwardly at least.
Observing Mary as he did, Valerian was glad to see that she was nothing like the English miss he had been picturing the entire journey here. Instead, he appreciated the vision of womanly beauty before him and was thrilled that his father had chosen a bride he was at least attracted to. He amused himself with the thought of fully entertaining the idea of the betrothal having seen his bride in person. Although the English fashion was to uphold women of pale skin and slender figures as the ideal, he tended to favor more shapely figures such as the one Lady Mary obviously possessed, and her skin had the perfect amount of glowing health that could have only come from time under the sun’s rays. For Valerian, this woman appealed to all of his senses, with his attraction to her pleasantly surprising him.
However, Lady Mary was his betrothed, and he reminded himself he came here to fulfill his king and queen’s wishes. He supposed he must see to observing the necessary proprieties first before determining what his next steps with the lady would be. First and foremost, he was a titled lord who must still navigate the formalities with everyone else in the room before he indulged his curiosity about Mary, and there would be time enough for that later. With Bastien’s and Anastasia’s orders to him, it would not be long before it would be just the two of them on the road to Mont-Blanc, and he looked forward to getting to know her better then.
“I apologize for the lateness of my arrival,” Valerian began. “I am Valerian de Baptiste, Comte Loire, and I have come a long way from my home in Mont-Tremblant to meet my betrothed. I also apologize for the delay that the questionable weather in the mountains has caused my tardiness.”
Jackson took his cue to welcome the man, as well as make introductions all around. “Ah, Comte Loire, we have been expecting you, and we had even worried if the weather in France prevented any aspect of your journey. I am the Earl of Ellesmere, and this is my lovely wife, Lady Margaret. My mother, the dowager Countess of Ellesmere. And my sister, Lady Mary.”
At the mention of her name, Mary looked up to meet eyes with the comte, whose gaze burned into hers with a smoldering intensity the likes she had never experienced before with any man. If he could heat her insides with just a look, how could any other mortal man after him compare, she thought.
With her mother and sister-in-law murmuring their pleasure at their meeting the comte, Mary followed suit as well. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Comte Loire,” she said, pleased that she successfully avoided blushing at how much of the truth was in her uttered words.
“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Mary. And please, call me Valerian. We are betrothed after all.”
Choosing to ignore Valerian’s last two statements, she deliberately replied, “My lord, it truly is a wonder you made it all the way here to our corner of England. Please, tell us how you fared on your journey here.” Despite the surprisingly sudden attraction to the man, she also wanted to avoid coming to terms with the betrothal while in front of her family and him.
Valerian did not miss Mary’s display of obstinacy in not using his given name, nor did he fail to notice her avoidance of the subject of their betrothal. While he had believed that Mary had known of their betrothal for much longer than he learned of it, he supposed that she had had that much time to accept it. This far into their meeting, he now suspected that there was more here to the story than he originally suspected.
For the sake of the social niceties, Valerian decided to humor Mary and regale them all with some of the sights he had seen while traveling north through France. Each dinner course was served seamlessly between tales from Valerian and a few questions from the Ellesmeres. By the time dinnertime was over and the food all consumed, Jackson eyed both Mary and Valerian meaningfully and suggested, “While this conversation has been most fascinating, I do believe that the two of you have things to discuss. Mary, why don’t you show our guest the north gardens, while I arrange for Chaucer to see to a room for him?”
Mary narrowly stopped from rolling her eyes at her brother, knowing full well that she and Valerian were given a golden opportunity to be alone while in full view from the vast windows at the fro
nt of the house. Instead, she rose from her seat, as Valerian followed suit and offered her his arm. “Thank you, Jackson, that is a lovely idea. My lord? If you will follow me, I can show you my mother’s favorite flowers.” Behind Valerian, both Lady Diana and Margaret beamed encouraging, hopeful smiles her way, making her groan inwardly.
“I would be delighted, Lady Mary,” he replied, trying not to sound overly eager at the prospect of being alone with the very woman who was both a temptation who appealed to his senses and a repellence who signified an end to his bachelorhood.
7
Leading the way with her hand tucked under Valerian’s arm, Mary was hyperaware of everything about the man. While not facing him, she could feel the warmth of his solidly firm bicep radiating against the backs of her fingers. She could sense the magnitude of masculine power emanating from his whole body as he walked easily alongside her. This man was no court dandy; the aura about him spoke volumes of military training and of hours spent outdoors. Despite his handsome features, Mary noted that his body was chiseled and honed as though he were a steel sword, deadly and menacing.
