The Makeshift Marriage

by Sandra Heath

  “Yes.”

  “I fear he finds his tasks onerous at times, especially when they impinge upon his scholarly and uninteresting dreams.” He smiled at her. “About Nicholas….”

  “Yes?”

  “I will deal with the ague first. He has a temperature of one hundred and four degrees of Fahrenheit and his pulse is one hundred and twelve in the minute. That, together with his other symptoms, suggests to me that he has the disease we know as malaria. From its name you realize that many believe it to be caused by bad air, the miasma from stagnant pools, but I am of another opinion, and believe that it is caused by the bite of a mosquito. I know it is early in the year yet, but I would imagine that Venice and the Mediterranean have that insect in plenty already.”

  “Yes, it was very warm there, much warmer and more advanced in season than this country. But malaria can be treated, can it not?”

  “It can indeed, by the taking of Jesuits’ bark, which I will prepare for him. As to the wound in his arm—well, there I am less sanguine.”

  “Why?” she asked quickly, alarm creeping into her heart.

  “It was well done to refuse the amputation, but I must warn you that I am concerned that the wound has opened again. That is not at all a good sign. As soon as he has recovered from the rigors of the journey and as soon as I have managed to bring down his fever just a little, I will have to operate to remove the ball lodged in his arm. It is not my usual practice unless I see no other course, but I fear that the danger of putrefaction is too great. The balance is delicate.”

  She stared at him. “But will not the shock of such an operation—”

  “Do you trust me, Lady Grenville?” he interrupted.

  She looked into his dark eyes. Trust him? She hardly knew him. And yet…. “Yes, Dr. Tregarron, I trust you.”

  “Then listen to what I have to say and listen well, for it concerns an innovation which you will find hard to accept.”

  “I am listening, Doctor.”

  “Have you ever heard of Paracelsus, my lady?”

  “No.”

  “He lived in the sixteenth century. He was a physician of German-Swiss blood—he was also an alchemist and astrologer, but that does not concern us.”

  “Of that I am glad, for if you were about to resort to reading the stars, I am afraid that I would indeed find your innovation difficult to accept,” she remarked drily.

  He smiled at her. “It is Paracelsus the physician who interests me, Lady Grenville. In my opinion he was one of the greatest doctors of all time. I have read his works and there is a great deal to which modern medicine would do well to pay heed. As far as Sir Nicholas is concerned, it is what Paracelsus wrote of a substance known as sweet vitriol, or sulfuric ether, which is of importance.”

  “Is that not used in the treatment of coughs?”

  “It is indeed, but it has another property of which you will not know. Paracelsus wrote of it that ‘it quiets all suffering without any harm, and relieves all pain’.”

  “And does it?”

  “I fear that you find this claim to be of dubious character, don’t you? I hear it in your voice. But yes, my lady, sweet vitriol does indeed have the effect I have described. I know it does because I have used it upon myself. I was standing by my desk when I inhaled the vapor, and I immediately lost consciousness. I came around a little later to find that I had a very bad bruise on my forehead, and yet I have no recollection of receiving that bruise, I must have struck my head quite forcibly as I fell, but there was no pain at all. I have since used the substance upon a cat with a broken leg. The creature felt nothing while I set the bone and now she is as whole as any other cat. I am convinced that sweet vitriol is indeed a sovereign remedy for the removal of all feeling.”

  She looked at him in stunned silence and then slowly got to her feet. “And you wish to use this sweet vitriol on Nicholas?”

  “Yes.”

  His words echoed in her head as she went to one of the windows, holding the curtain aside to look out. Everything was black and she could see only her own reflection looking back at her. Daniel came to stand at her shoulder.

  “He will feel no pain and therefore no distress, which things are the cause of so many deaths on the operating table. Surgeons can pride themselves on their speed and dexterity, but such great and excruciating pain kills and there is no denying it. Believe me, I would not attempt to do anything if I did not consider it to be essential. The wound is angry and threatens to become poisonous—which in turn will mean amputation after all. If I can operate to remove the ball and thereby cleanse the wound, then I firmly believe all will be well.”

  “You suffered no ill effects from this sweet vitriol.”

  “None. I understand your skepticism. I felt the same way when first I read what Paracelsus had written, but I know it is correct and so ask your permission.”

  She looked across at Nicholas. “You have my permission, Doctor.”

  “You love him very much, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” She thought of something then. “Dr. Tregarron, do you know how word reached King’s Cliff that he had been killed?”

  “I believe the Earl of Langford was told, and I presumed the British consul in Venice had relayed the tidings.”

  “Nicholas’s cousin, James Grenville?”

  “The very same. God forbid that there should be two Earls of Langford!”

  She smiled. “You do not like the gentleman?”

  “Nicholas is the only member of the Grenville clan I have ever felt any warmth for—and if he’s a true Grenville, I’ll be surprised. I’ll warrant his mother had a secret to keep concerning his siring!” Daniel laughed. “You have only to look at the Grenvilles, all dark and swarthy, and then to look at Nicholas to see that he bears no resemblance whatsoever to them. Incidentally, perhaps earl will be beside himself with fury when he learns that Nicholas is alive, for at this very moment he happily believes that King’s Cliff is about to fall into his greedy little hands. A totally unlovable fellow, is the good earl, I fear. Nicholas is as far removed from his cousin as chalk is from cheese, and that is probably why I like the man you married so much. I like him all the more for bringing someone as lovely as yourself to reside among us.”

  She flushed at the compliment. “You are too kind, sir.”

  “Somerset will rattle about you for weeks. I’ll warrant that even by midday tomorrow there will not be anyone from one end of the country to the other who does not know about Nicholas Grenville’s Venetian match.”

  “No doubt they will all whisper that I married a dying man so that I could enrich myself.”

  “And did you?”

  “I married him because I love him.”

  “Then what does it matter what they say?”

  She smiled, liking him a great deal.

  “Your appearance on the scene will cause quite a stir in other quarters,” he said.

  “You refer to Miss Townsend?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can hardly expect her to be pleased. I know that he loves her and would have married her.”

  “Maybe he did love her, but the fact that he married you must surely mean that you have his heart now.”

  “I fear not, Dr. Tregarron. He married me because he thought he was dying and he was sorry for me. He did not for one moment imagine that he was still going to be alive over a month after the duel or even that he would be back here at King’s Cliff.”

  “I know it is none of my business, but I know Nicholas Grenville very well indeed. Henderson told me a little of what happened in Venice, and I suggest that if Nicholas felt only sorry for you, then all he needed to do was make financial provision for you; he did not need to go as far as marrying you. If he was well enough to put his name to a marriage certificate, he was well enough to sign a deed of gift.”

  “I wish I could believe what you say, but I think that a deed of gift simply did not occur to him.”

  He smiled then. “Perhaps it is more of a lov
e match than you believe, Lady Grenville.”

  “Oh, on my side it is. I love him with all my heart.”

  “I could almost envy him.”

  She blushed again. He was very liberal with his compliments. She glanced at him. He was a very good-looking young man, and no doubt well able to set the feminine hearts of Somerset all aflutter whenever he wished.

  “Lady Grenville, I imagine that you are far from looking forward to your first meeting with Augustine Townsend and her equally disagreeable mother.”

  “Equally disagreeable?”

  “I make no secret of finding both ladies decidedly abhorrent.”

  She stared at him. “But you are Nicholas’s friend—”

  “That does not mean to say I have to like Augustine Townsend. She and I loathe each other and always have done. Oh, I assure you I do not speak out of pique because she spurned me.”

  “Henderson told me that she was not liked.”

  “He spoke truthfully. She will do nothing to make your life here easy, she will do all in her power to hurt you. Never trust her, Lady Grenville, and if you need reason, then wonder only how she, who was expecting to marry Nicholas and who ordered the house into mourning, has still togged herself up like an altarpiece to go dancing with the odious Earl of Langford. The king is dead, long live the king. She will give her hand in marriage to whoever owns this house, her house as she so firmly believes. Nicholas is well out of a match with her.”

  “Is he well out of such a match? His marriage to me is unconsummated, and therefore is a marriage in name only and can be set aside. We both know that, Dr. Tregarron. When he is well, he will want her, not me. How can I expect it to be otherwise? I am the intruder here, and soon there will be no place for me. He loves her, he told me that in Venice, and whatever anyone else may say of her, he obviously does not agree.” She felt very tired suddenly, but she did not know that she had swayed until Daniel suddenly put his arm around her waist to steady her.

  “When did you last eat or sleep?” he asked.

  “I don’t really know.”

  “As the only doctor present, I recommend that you remedy both failings immediately.”

  “I cannot leave him—”

  “Rubbish, you have me to do the worrying for you for the time being.”

  “You will stay here?”

  “I am at your command, Lady Grenville. I may be persona non grata with Miss Townsend, but you are mistress of the house now. I will stay for several days if you wish me to.”

  “I wish that very much, Dr. Tregarron.”

  “Then I will do so—provided you promise to follow my prescription of taking some food and then sleeping.

  “I promise.”

  He led her to the door, and on opening it she saw that a maid was waiting outside.

  Daniel smiled at the girl. “Kitty Roberts, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Dr. Tregarron.” The girl looked adoringly at him, and Laura hid a smile. The handsome, dashing doctor did indeed have a way with him!

  “Well, Kitty, I imagine that you are to be Lady Grenville’s maid.”

  “Yes, Dr. Tregarron. With your permission, my lady.” The girl curtsied to Laura, her mobcap trembling on her neat, light brown hair.

  “Show her ladyship to her room then, Kitty.”

  “My lady?” The maid waited, her hazel eyes very wide and anxious. She knew as little about her new mistress as Laura did about her.

  Laura managed a smile. She followed the maid along endless passageways carpeted in deep green. Hazeldon Court had been a large house, but it was a small dwelling compared with King’s Cliff.

  The room that had been hastily made ready for her lay at the front of the house, but it was not one of the principal bedchambers. She supposed that those would be occupied by Augustine Townsend and her mother, which was natural enough. However, even though it was less grand that it might have been, it was still a charming room, furnished with gold and white Louis Quatorze chairs and tables, and with a beautiful bed hung with green and white floral curtains. A fire had been kindled in the hearth, for the room was a little damp still after the winter, and Kitty had laid Laura’s nightrobe over a chair to warm.

  Beyond learning that Kitty was Langford born and bred and that her father was one of the many gardeners employed at King’s Cliff, Laura did not engage the maid much in conversation. She felt too tired for small talk and was now quite beyond anything but a long, deep sleep. On reflection she was glad to have been spared meeting Augustine Townsend and her mother, for she no longer felt up to such a confrontation. She thought about Augustine for a moment. What was she really like? From Daniel Tregarron and Henderson she had heard similar accounts, but was it possible for Nicholas to be so mistaken about her?

  Before retiring, she sat in a comfortable chair to eat the light supper Kitty brought for her. She had just finished when she heard the crunch of carriage wheels on the drive. Going to the window, she stepped behind the shelter of the curtains to look down at the elegant landau drawn by six magnificently matched white horses. It was a breathtakingly expensive and handsome drag, that much was plain even in the darkness. The carriage lamps arced as the coachmen tooled the team around in front of the portico steps and two blue-liveried footmen jumped down to lower the iron rungs and open the door. Laura’s heart sank. It must surely be the Earl of Langford bringing Augustine and her mother home….

  A short, portly man in evening black emerged first, tucking his cocked hat beneath his arm as he turned to dashingly hold out his hand to the next occupant. Her graying hair and tightly laced waist marked her as being of an older generation than the man, who for all his paunch was only in his thirties. The earl and Mrs. Townsend, thought Laura, waiting with baited breath for her first glimpse of Augustine.

  In a dainty flurry of shimmering silver gauze, Augustine stepped lightly down, her hair very red in the tight of the carriage lamps. She was as beautiful as her portrait suggested. Her skin was pale and clear and her figure quite exquisite, and Laura could hear her tinkling laughter as she leaned coquettishly toward the adoring earl. She tapped his hand with her closed fan and moved away as he tried to seize her fingers and kiss them.

  Laura felt only loathing as she watched them. How they had enjoyed themselves tonight! Dancing the hours away and making merry when they were supposed to be in deep mourning for Nicholas! There was not the slightest hint of grief or sorrow in their manner. The earl’s attitude she could understand a little more—he and Nicholas had never liked each other and Nicholas’s death could only be to the earl’s advantage. But Augustine was quite another matter. She was to have married Nicholas, and yet so swiftly she encouraged the earl’s advances. What had Daniel Tregarron said about her? The king is dead, long live the king. Yes, and that was precisely how the beautiful Miss Townsend was behaving now. Nicholas was dead, the earl very much alive.

  “Oh, Nicholas,” she murmured sadly, “you do not deserve such a hollow creature as this.” She felt a savage pleasure at the thought of their faces changing when they learned what had happened in their absence. But the earl was spared the rude discovery, for he did not go into the house, but climbed back into his carriage and drove away. Augustine and her mother went up the portico steps and vanished into the house.

  Stepping back into the room, Laura glanced at Kitty. “I shall not need you anymore tonight.”

  “Very well, my lady.”

  “And I do not wish to be disturbed unless I am needed by Sir Nicholas or Dr. Tregarron.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Sleep well, Kitty.”

  The maid smiled shyly. “I shan’t sleep a wink, my lady, not after all that’s gone on today. Good night.” She curtsied and was gone.

  Laura went to the door and locked it. She did not want to see Augustine; she wanted to hide away now. She extinguished the lamps and climbed into the bed, lying there listening to the silence. By now Augustine would know.

  She distinctly heard the light, angry footsteps
approaching, and the rustle of silver gauze as Augustine halted by the door and saw no light shining beneath it. The handle turned slowly, but the door would not open.

  Laura made no sound at all and at last the footsteps went away again.

  Chapter 14

  The much-needed sleep refreshed Laura, but her spirits were still desperately low when she awoke the following morning. Her first thought was of Nicholas and she slipped from the bed, pulling on her wrap and telling herself that the fact that Daniel Tregarron had not sent for her during the night must surely be a good sign.

  She forgot Augustine as she hurried through the many galleries and passages she had memorized the night before when following Kitty. Her bare feet made little or no sound on the nighty polished floor of the main gallery overlooking the magnificent gardens, and she didn’t even glance at any of the statues or portraits lining the paneled walls.

  At his door, however, she stopped abruptly, for it stood ajar and thus afforded her a clear view of the room beyond. Augustine was seated on the edge of the bed, Nicholas’s hand held lovingly in hers as she leaned tenderly over him, the very picture of loving concern and care. The contrast between her behavior the night before and this sweet anxiety now was almost obscene. She looked so very lovely in a yellow muslin gown which became her striking coloring so very well. Her shining red hair was piled with apparent abandon of the top of her head, but the almost negligent effect must have taken her maid an age to achieve. There were yellow ribbons looped around the light curls, hanging down to the nape of her neck at the back, and a choker of creamy white pearls was her only jewelry. She was almost too beautiful, perfect in every possible way. Gently she ran her cool fingers over the scar the baron’s bullet had left on Nicholas’s temple, and his eyes flickered and opened. In spite of the malaria which still held him in its grip, he smiled up into Augustine’s loving green eyes, and the smile twisted like a knife in Laura’s heart.

  Augustine must have known the very moment Laura had appeared, for she turned now to look at her, a malevolent smile playing around her lips. Still smiling then, she bent to kiss Nicholas on the lips, lingering over the caress. Laura was unable to move, she could only watch in misery. The nightmare was real; she could only lose him to this woman.