A Lady to Remember

by Samantha Grace

  She mumbled her thanks and returned to eating her soup. When his ridiculous flattery elicited no further response from her, he turned his full attention on Millicent. Adele’s stepmother lapped up his compliments like a thirsty dog.

  Surprisingly, Marcus’s mother seemed unaffected by the embarrassing display and engaged Adele and her brothers in pleasant dinner conversation. Marcus, however, sat stiffly across the table from Adele, his stormy eyes brimming with hostility. She caught his gaze and smiled encouragingly. The lines around his mouth softened. No wonder he had been irritable earlier—not only had she expected him to tolerate Harry and make peace, he had his own father to contend with this evening. Likely he had been dreading this dinner for days.

  A footman slipped into the room as the soup was being cleared from the table. He whispered to the butler who then approached Marcus’s father. She hoped Mr. Fletcher was being called away so Marcus could lower his guard and enjoy the remainder of the evening. Her future father-in-law’s thick, unruly eyebrow lifted as he peered at Adele.

  “Lady Adele,” he said, “a servant from Corbyn Place has a message for you.”

  Her heart leapt into her throat, her thoughts turning to Harry and her instructions to send for a doctor at once if her brother’s condition worsened.

  “Should I escort you to the drawing room”—Mr. Fletcher was still speaking, but she could barely hear him over the ringing in her ears—“or should I send him to the kitchens until after dinner?”

  She couldn’t speak around the giant lump in her throat. Thankfully, Marcus answered on her behalf. “Lady Adele will speak with her brother’s man now, and I will accompany her.”

  He pushed away from the table and came around to Adele’s side to pull out her chair. Her legs quivered as he escorted her to the drawing room. John, one of Corbyn Place’s eldest footmen, was fidgeting with his coat sleeves when they entered the room, but he snapped to attention when he saw Adele. A pained crease appeared between his light brown brows.

  She recovered her voice. “John, what brings you here this evening? Did my brother send you?”

  “No, milady. Mr. Scott sent me.” Harry’s valet. “You are needed at home. His Grace collapsed in his chambers.”

  Adele gasped and Marcus drew her close to his side. “Is he all right?” she asked. It was an inane question. Of course, her brother wasn’t all right, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask if Harry was still alive.

  “Mr. Scott says it looks grim, milady. I am to bring you home post haste. Dr. Furlong will meet you.”

  Leo came into the foyer. “Is something amiss at Corbyn Place?”

  She took his hands in hers for moral support. “Harry has collapsed. I must go to him, but you may stay to finish your meal. I will send the carriage around later.”

  Leo drew himself up to his full height, his eyes crackling with uncharacteristic annoyance. “He is our brother, too. We will all go. Wait while I retrieve Jefferson and Mother.”

  “Yes, of course.” Adele released him. Leo was right. He and Jefferson were family, and she shouldn’t try to keep them away. It had been just Harry and her for so long, she wasn’t yet accustomed to having others who cared about their well-being.

  Leo returned with Jefferson and their mother a few moments later, and Marcus ushered them outside. Once her family was seated in the carriage, Adele turned to him. “I am sorry.”

  He touched his finger to her lips. “Do not apologize. Go to Harry. He needs you. I will find Dr. Portier and bring him to Corbyn Place at once.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. He kissed her check before handing her into the carriage. “Godspeed, darling.”

  Back at Corbyn Place, Leo and Jefferson agreed to give her a moment alone with Harry while Millicent retired to the drawing room to partake of a sherry to calm her nerves. Adele thanked her brothers then rushed to Harry’s chambers.

  Dr. Furlong hadn’t arrived before her, but Harry was not alone.

  “Mr. Scott?”

  The valet bolted from the chair that had been dragged up beside her brother’s bed. He lowered his gaze, folding his hands at his waist. “Forgive me for disturbing your dinner, milady. I did not know whether I should send John for you.”

  “You were right to send for me.” Adele crossed the chamber to reach Harry’s bed, her footsteps muffled by the thick Savonnerie rug. His pale skin was damp, and his eyes shifted rapidly beneath his eyelids. A heavy weight dropped in her stomach. “Has he been unconscious this whole time?”

  “His Grace has been in and out of sleep, but he does not appear to know where he is.”

  She nodded as tears formed in her eyes. Mr. Scott retrieved one of Harry’s handkerchiefs from the bureau. She accepted it and sat in the chair before her legs buckled.

  “Soon, Mr. Fletcher will arrive with Dr. Portier,” she said. “Please insure they are brought to the duke’s chambers at once.”

  “Should Dr. Furlong be shown to the chambers as well?”

  “No,” she said with an edge to her voice. Perhaps it was unfair, but she blamed the doctor for Harry’s condition. Had he listened to her concerns rather than dismissing her, perhaps her brother would be well. “Dr. Furlong’s services are no longer required. Send him away.”

  “Yes, milady.” Mr. Scott gave a decisive nod. “If I may be so bold as to offer an observation, it seems you are making a wise decision. His Grace was unimpressed with the man.”

  She smiled half-heartedly. The valet’s validation was appreciated, but it meant very little to her now. “I trust the staff will heed my wishes and not be swayed by our stepmother. She is Dr. Furlong’s champion.”

  “I will convey your wishes directly to Mr. Quinton.”

  “Thank you.”

  When the valet slipped from the room to convey her orders to the butler, she slumped in the chair. Sitting up straight required too much effort. Harry didn’t stir. She tugged off her gloves and cradled his cool hand between hers.

  “You stubborn mule,” she muttered. “Why didn’t you let me send for the doctor sooner?”

  She was in the middle of praying when Marcus arrived with Dr. Portier and a young woman. Marcus introduced her to the doctor and his daughter then gently took her elbow. “Perhaps we should allow the duke his privacy.”

  She blinked. “Of course.” Her brother would not appreciate an audience.

  As he led her from Harry’s chambers, Dr. Portier’s daughter was unpacking his bag and the doctor had begun his preliminary examination.

  Thirteen

  Marcus’s gaze followed Adele when she bounced up from the sofa to pace the length of the drawing room. He and her brothers were already standing by the sideboard with barely touched snifters of brandy in hand while her stepmother nursed a sherry and prattled on about anything and everything that came to her mind.

  They had been awaiting news of the duke’s condition for the past hour. The tension could practically be heard crackling in the air during the rare moments Adele’s stepmother paused in her monologue to take a breath. The blessed reprieves were not long enough.

  “Lady Ellis is hosting a Mayfair Ladies Charitable Society tea tomorrow. The countess’s cook makes the most delicious apple tartlets. The last time she hosted, I was only able to enjoy one. Lady Lovelace, on the other hand, kept popping them in her mouth like they were grapes. Her gluttony was all anyone could talk about the entire afternoon.” She smiled smugly and added in a conspiratorial whisper, “I heard her appetite for tartlets is only outdone by her taste for handsome men in her bed.”

  “Mother,” Jefferson said with an edge of irritation to his tone. “Your silence would be appreciated, and you must send your regrets to Lady Ellis first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Whatever for?”

  Adele spared her stepmother a glance but continued to walk the carpet as if she was intent on wearing a path into it. Marcus couldn’t be certain she was even listening to the conversation. She had withdrawn into herself the moment he had esco
rted her from her eldest brother’s chambers; worried furrows seemed permanently etched into her forehead.

  Leo, Adele’s youngest brother, exhibited an impressive amount of patience with his mother. “Perhaps attending the tea would be viewed as unseemly when Harry is indisposed.”

  “And what if he is well by the afternoon? I will have missed the event for nothing.”

  “Allow her to do as she wishes,” Adele mumbled without breaking stride. “Let her leave now if she wants.”

  Her stepmother huffed. “I will go nowhere before there is news of Harry, although I am certain all this fretting is for naught. Perhaps we should take refreshment while we are waiting.”

  Adele clutched her hands to her chest as if praying, her stepmother already forgotten.

  Nothing Marcus could do or say would make her brother well or take away her worry, so he continued to observe her wrestling with despair, helplessness eating at him.

  He was failing her—perhaps he had been all along.

  He had underestimated the depth of her affection for her brother, unable and unwilling to believe it could be true. Harry Sinclair’s choices had been reckless. Running away with her to the Continent. Leaving her unattended and without protection while he cavorted about Paris with his ladies. Embracing a debauched lifestyle. Thievery, for God’s sake. Adele had been lucky to survive the duke’s adventures without any ill consequences. Yet, none of that mattered to her. And it couldn’t matter to him either, because he would never truly have Adele unless he forgave and accepted her brother.

  Her stepmother raised her empty glass. “I need another sherry.”

  Jefferson frowned. “You’ve had three already.”

  “And now it will be four.” Neither son moved to refill her glass.

  The long-case clock struck the hour—ten gongs to mark the passage of time. Adele glanced toward the door. “What could be taking so long? Why hasn’t Dr. Portier come to talk with us?”

  “I will go see.” Leo placed his snifter on the sideboard, but before he reached the drawing room door, it opened and Dr. Portier entered. All three siblings rushed the doctor, speaking at once.

  “What news do you bring?”

  “Is Harry all right?”

  “Do you know what ills him?”

  Dr. Portier did not offer the reassuring smile Marcus had grown accustomed to after years of house calls to treat his childhood ailments.

  “Perhaps everyone should take a seat,” Dr. Portier said. “I am afraid I have distressing news.”

  Marcus went to Adele, anticipating her need for support, but she lifted her chin. “I will stand, thank you.”

  Admiration for his beloved overflowed his heart and welled in his chest. Her brothers agreed that they would take the news standing, too.

  “No need to soften the blow, Dr. Portier,” Jefferson said. “We are not strangers to tragedy.”

  The doctor nodded with resignation, the deep lines of his weathered face conveying the direness of the situation without saying a word. “The duke appears to have been poisoned.”

  Adele gasped.

  Her stepmother snapped out of her drunken state and whipped her head toward the doctor. “Poisoned? How can you be certain?”

  “I detected the odor of garlic on his breath, which can be indicative of exposure to arsenic.”

  “Will he live?” Leo asked.

  “I’ve taken measures to purge the poison, but I cannot know if it has reached the duke’s organs. If it has, only a miracle will spare him.”

  Adele swayed, and Marcus placed his arm around her waist to steady her. She leaned into him, welcoming his support.

  “Couldn’t the smell of garlic also be an indicator of having eaten garlic?” Millicent’s voice grated on her nerves, but Adele had the same question. Millicent held up a finger as if an idea had just occurred to her. “Perhaps we should summon Dr. Furlong for a second opin—”

  “No,” Jefferson barked. “Enough about Dr. Furlong. Harry will receive the best care, and your doctor has already proven himself worthless. He shouldn’t have dismissed Harry’s symptoms so blithely when he examined him.”

  Adele exhaled softly, a slight tremor causing her hands to shake. Jefferson was right. They couldn’t afford to wait for a second opinion and delay any chance of Harry being saved. “H-how could this have happened?”

  Dr. Portier frowned. “It is not for me to speculate, Lady Adele. Some poisonings are accidental. Others are intentional. If your brother has enemies...”

  Adele looked toward Marcus for answers. “Is it possible he was exposed at the club? Do you know of anyone who has a vendetta against him?”

  “Everyone speaks fondly of your brother. I know of no one who would wish him harm.” He skimmed his hand up and down her back and murmured, “Perhaps now is not the time to focus on finding the culprit, darling. Let’s get through tonight first.”

  She nodded, her throat suddenly too constricted to speak as the implication hit her. Harry might not survive the night.

  “Arsenic, indeed.” Millicent clucked her tongue in disgust. “Harry is likely overtired and only needs a good night’s sleep. All this fuss will have been for nothing.”

  Adele bristled. What was wrong with the woman? Was she truly too selfish to notice anything outside of herself?

  “Mother, enough.” Leo raised his voice, his patience for his mother clearly exhausted.

  “Very well,” Millicent huffed. “I will not say another word, although I must say you should all be ashamed for believing the worst. Where is your hope?” She dragged herself from the chair and staggered toward the sideboard to pour a glass of sherry.

  Dr. Portier ignored the interruption and directed his comments to Adele and her brothers. “There is another measure I would like to take. A colleague has had varied success with a treatment called a transfusion.”

  “Do it,” Adele said, her heart lifting with the glimmer of hope the doctor provided. “Please, do whatever you must to save his life.”

  “Even with the procedure, my lady, your brother could use a miracle.”

  “We understand.” When Adele looked to Jefferson and Leo for agreement, they nodded.

  “The duke needs new blood,” Dr. Portier said, “which means someone must allow me to take some of his own to give to him.”

  “Take mine,” Marcus said.

  Adele inhaled sharply in surprise.

  His sincere blue gaze locked with hers. “I want to do this for your brother. For us.”

  “Marcus.” His name came out as a sigh. She hadn’t thought it possible to love this man any more than she already did, and his act of generosity had just shown her the error of her thinking. She was his, heart and soul, now and forever.

  Jefferson inclined his head toward her beloved. “Thank you, Mr. Fletcher, but this is a family matter. As his brother and the second eldest, it is my responsibility.”

  “Absolutely not,” Millicent piped up. “You will not allow this charlatan to bleed you.”

  “It is not your decision, Mother.”

  Adele nibbled her bottom lip, glancing back and forth between Marcus and Jefferson. “Is the procedure dangerous?” she asked.

  “No, my lady,” Dr. Portier said. “I am a cautious man and will not take much. The larger risk lies with the duke, but I see no other options. If Lord Jeffrey or Mr. Fletcher is willing, I might be able to save His Grace.”

  Leo took a step forward. “I am willing if they have second thoughts.”

  “No,” Jefferson said. “I am set on it. Let us move with haste.” He stalked toward the door.

  Leo announced that he wanted to see Harry before the procedure and accompanied the doctor from the drawing room.

  “I think you could use a soothing cup of tea,” Marcus said to Adele. “Allow me to go speak with your cook.”

  It was unnecessary for him to visit the kitchen when they could summon a footman, but she understood the need to get away for a breath of fresh air after all this
time waiting. She agreed that a cup of tea would be nice and thanked him.

  As soon as she and Millicent were alone, her stepmother marched across the room to stand in front of her with her hands on her hips. Her eyes appeared glassy and her gaze unfocused. “I hope you are pleased, Adele. Your younger brother is risking his life above stairs, and you are to blame.”

  Adele ground her teeth in frustration. “I would be pleased if it were unnecessary for Jefferson to give his blood, but he made the decision without any influence from me.”

  “You do realize one of the servants must be responsible. How else would Harry be exposed to arsenic? You should have been watching them closer.”

  “For God’s sake, Millicent. I thought you did not believe he was poisoned.”

  “I was in shock,” Adele’s stepmother said with an indignant sniff. “When I was mistress of Corbyn Place, nothing like this would have happened. Harry was a fool to leave you in charge of this household. You are an utter failure—just like your father predicted you would be.”

  At another time, Millicent’s barbs might hurt, but Adele had no feelings leftover for her stepmother. All of her energy was taken up with worry for Harry and hope for his recovery.

  “Harry might be on his deathbed,” Adele said, “and all you care about is reclaiming your position as mistress of Corbyn Place. You are a ridiculous, selfish, and petty woman.” She turned her back on her stepmother to return to the settee and await her cup of tea. “I almost pity my father for having married you, but he got what he deserved, I think.”

  “How dare you! You’ve always been an ungrateful little twit. I wish you had been poisoned instead.”

  Adele froze mid-stride and peered back over her shoulder. “What did you say?”

  “You are an ungrateful, selfish, little bitch, and I wish it were you on your deathbed.” Spittle flew from Millicent’s mouth as she railed at Adele. “I cannot wait until you are married and Corbyn Place is no longer under your control. You will never step foot in here again. Do you hear me? I will sic the dog on you.”