My Divinely Decadent Duke

by Sandra Masters

  “Malaria?” Cassandra asked. “How many times has this happened and over what period?” she demanded to know.

  “Since he incurred the island disease in Barbados, he’s had three seizures. The physician will be here soon. He is familiar with this and will bring a container of quinine to administer.”

  She went to her husband, held his hot hand, and whispered, “I will get you well, Gordon. Trust me.”

  Cassandra gave orders similar to a gunnery sergeant in the military. Her experience in the hospital when she volunteered taught her to think clearly and not panic. “Help me lift him to the settee. Strip the bed and get clean sheets. Get his nightshirt,” she commanded the valet.

  “The duke doesn’t favor nightshirts and sleeps without under garments.”

  Would a true wife not know this? She’d assumed whenever they lay together, that he preferred both of them to be nude.

  “He must have cloth to absorb the perspiration. Send one of the servants to the library to find me a book on the disease. With such a history, he would have one on hand. Quickly, Chester. How long before the doctor comes?”

  Before Chester could answer, she asked, “Would he have quinine in his cabinet?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Please check.”

  Chester went to the specific cabinet and advised her there was none.

  She covered Gordon with a light linen blanket to preserve his dignity, while a maid slipped in and changed the sheets. His body covered at all times, as they positioned him from side to side. Water was also brought into the room along with the cloths.

  She lifted the top sheet, and placed a towel underneath his lower legs. “Give me the wet cloth.”

  It was handed to her and she gently pressed it to his skin. She did the same to his upper torso when she asked for more wet cloths, and then dry ones. She sponged his fevered brow with the well water, dried his face, and continued her ministrations. Time and time again, it was necessary to keep him cool, prevent the fever from rising, and avoid the shivers.

  The two grooms entered the chamber and were given instructions. The drapes were partially drawn. One of the men fanned over the top of the duke, while the other fanned his lower body. The patient was uncovered as much as permitted for decency, but Cassandra’s attention was drawn to his tattoo. Lion ancestors of my husband, Althorn, please keep guard over him and do not allow him to be taken by evil demons.

  Then to assure herself, Angels in heaven, please guard my beloved and hear my prayers for his recovery. Sweet heaven, help me.

  He experienced severe chills. She saw him about to cast up his accounts. Cassandra slipped a water bowl under his mouth. Chester held him upright while she steadied his head as he then gave way to wet heaves, staining her hands. She struggled to contain her stomach at the smell of vomit. He tried to get out of the bed and had to be restrained. Chester summoned a servant to assist. The young man was new to the household staff and did as directed.

  “Where is the doctor?” she questioned, wiped her lips with a wet cloth, and rinsed her hands in yet another bowl. “Place pillows at his back and have others in the ready when they are soaked with perspiration.”

  She asked in a calmer manner, “What else do you know about this disease?”

  Chester answered, “I’m told it is transmitted by a vector. The islanders are immune to the parasite, yet Europeans succumb quickly. On his first trip to the plantations with Sir Tomas Martinez, he was infected after four months and was transported home. Sir Martinez informed me that he wasn’t in his right mind when they took ship back to England.”

  A knock sounded on the door. The physician entered. “Your Grace, I am Dr. Fitzhugh.” He took a look at the patient and spoke calmly, “Malaria is one of the only infectious diseases with an effective medication. I’ve brought some quinine powder with me.” He looked around. “I will need a small sturdy metal cup and some light wine to mix it, and we will spoon feed him with its medicinal qualities.” Chester was out the door, down the steps, and into the kitchen.

  “Mix with wine? No water?” she asked.

  “Yes, it’s the combination of mild alcohol and the powder that will quell the fever and chills. It’s imperative we get the fever down and for the tremors to stop. I see you’ve taken all appropriate steps.” His smile was kind.

  Chester returned with a pewter cup, a spoon, and a jug of wine, handed it to the physician who took a pestle and ground the powder into a finer element. He added the alcohol and went to the patient. He motioned to the majordomo. “Please help him sit up. We will give it to him by the spoonful. Watch carefully, how I level it, Duchess. He is to get three of these every two hours, and then three hours later, and then at four hours, we will reduce the dosage to two tablespoons. It has a bitter taste and he fights it, but we must get him to keep it down. It will only delay his progress.”

  She gazed at her helpless husband and her heart tore into little pieces. Cassandra vowed she wouldn’t allow anything to trample on their dreams. No more. Enough. She’d be strong for both of them. He had to get well for her and their baby. Their child needed him. Most of all, she needed him and to see him in this debilitated state, humbled her. Her husband was indeed a good man.

  Another knock sounded on the door.

  The dowager saw her son in such a state, and she swayed.

  “Chester,” Cassandra called, “see to Mother Madelaine. Get her a chair and place it near him for the moment. She spoke to her mother-in-law, “I won’t let him die, Mother Madelaine. We will get him well.”

  The doctor intervened, “I understand your concerns, however, we should take care because of the dowager’s age and her recent injury. The less people in the room with him for dignity’s sake, all the better. Perhaps she can wait nearby and we can advise her of his progress?”

  “I’m concerned for my mother-in-law’s health, Dr. Fitzhugh. I bow to your decision. I do not know as much as you about this malady right now, but I will learn quickly. With no intention to offend, should we send to London for another opinion?”

  “I don’t believe it’s necessary, Duchess, but that is entirely up to you. I am confident about his ability to defeat the malaria. Medicine has come quite a way these past years. The duke is young and strong.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Should I strip him to his waist?” Cassandra asked. “I’m afraid with the fever and chills, his reaction will be severe. Is it possible he could die from this violation of his body?”

  All the while, she continued to bathe his arms, his neck, his chest, and his face, and then blot with clean soft linen, only to start the entire process again and again. Chester took the dowager and settled her in an adjoining bedroom, where she was accompanied by Anna, the maid.

  The doctor observed his patient’s labored breaths. “Quinine is rapidly absorbed orally, and reaches peak concentrations in one to three hours. It is distributed throughout the body fluids and is highly protein-bound. It will give him strength and a form of nourishment.” He turned to Cassandra. “Your Grace, understandably you’re upset and concerned. I do not believe he will die. Fortunately, he is in good health. With the quinine to be taken at particular intervals, it should dissipate. Be aware, he will be left in a weakened condition. It is possible he will experience some delirium and could do harm to himself. He must be observed twenty-four hours a day.”

  “I will stay by his side.” Her voice was firm and intent, and she would take no redress.

  “There are those who might diagnose a lesser dose of quinine, but my studies indicate a larger dosage has better results. My supplies are limited, and I will seek out apothecaries for additional amounts should they be needed.” The doctor had a soft bedside presence and the fact that he wasn’t in panic calmed her.

  “Chester will see to your needs if you need the carriage or funds. Please do whatever is necessary. When will you return?”

  “In two hours, Duchess.”

  She moved her gaze to her husband
who seemed to rest and in accordance with the physician’s wishes, she alone remained in the room with the grooms who fanned at a steady pace, and Chester at the outside door.

  The majordomo tapped on the door, entered the room, and placed the tea on a table near her. “Madam, you will need sustenance for you and the child.”

  She looked up at him, ready to fall apart completely, but thanked him for his kindness; tears now trickled down her cheeks. “He will get better, won’t he? I’m so new to this,” she lamented and continued to bathe him.

  Chester stood tall. “If I may say so, with you by his side so brave and true, I know he will recuperate. At some point, he’ll need nourishment. We have learned to keep to liquids such as barley water, until he threatens us if we do not give him solid food.” He chuckled, “That is how we know he’s better.”

  “Dear Chester, I needed that humor. Are the children worried?” Her concern was more than genuine and the realization she could lose him overwhelmed her. It was important to be positive, but such hope could only go so far.

  “The children are with their nanny and the governess in the dowager’s room. They would like to see you and the duke. Young people frighten easily.”

  Cassandra knew she mustn’t think about all that could go wrong, and believe, with all her heart that her love would restore him. Since now she had some modicum of what to expect, she could handle whatever life delivered. She would not and dared not believe he would die after all that happened. Aren’t we entitled to some measure of happiness?

  Chester called in another servant to assist in the bath process while Cassandra rested in her chair. She watched as the duke went from one symptom to another. She covered him when he shivered, uncovered him appropriately when he heated, and after a moment dozed off in the chair.

  Abruptly there was a violent scream, and he spoke loudly. “Second sons are worthless. Need to establish a presence. Quell rebellion. Tomas! Tomas! Watch your back. What’s that witch doctor up to? Tomas, what’s that needle? No, Tomas. No! Don’t let him touch me. Where’s Tatenda? Did the overseer send her away? I’ll kill him.”

  The problem was that even in his weakened state, he was too strong.

  She screamed for Chester, who came in. She ministered to the duke in the throes of his delirium, his hand hit her shoulder. Stunned, she put her knee to his chest, and then maneuvered to sit on his supine body, her legs over the side of the bed.

  “Take deep breaths,” she muttered to herself. Yet she knew it was necessary to be careful of her child.

  Chester went to her. “I recommend a few minutes out of this room. I will stay with his Grace and restrain him from harm. The children and Lady Madelaine ask for you. This will pass, my lady. I assure you.”

  Cassandra left the bedchamber and headed to the dowager’s rooms. She tapped lightly, and went in. All eyes were upon her.

  She gathered every ounce of courage to speak calmly, “He’s been given the medication. We will follow the dosage precisely as the physician described. His body is fanned to keep him cool. I would venture to say he demonstrates signs of improvement.” Sweet heaven, she prayed, please let it be so.

  The children ran to their auntie. “When will we be able to see Sir Uncle?” Alicia asked, her cherub face showing concern.

  “Perhaps tomorrow for a short time, but surely the day after. He wouldn’t have you see him in such a weakened state, and we wouldn’t want him to feel embarrassed, would we?”

  They shook their heads.

  “I will call you immediately from your studies when the time is appropriate.” She nodded to Miss Dutton. “Please take them to the nursery and occupy their minds with pleasant thoughts.”

  “I have a grand idea, children,” the governess said. “We can write the duke a note and maybe draw illustrations of what we feel will cheer him up. Perhaps the dogs? We will address it to Sir Uncle.”

  The children’s faces brightened as they raced to their schoolroom.

  “Now tell me the truth, Cassandra. How bad is he?” The dowager spoke in a quiet tone.

  “I have nothing to judge by, Mother Madelaine. Chester found a medical book I can read about the malady. From what the physician says, he appears little concerned and has verified we are doing what is necessary.” She knelt at the dowager’s feet. “He looks so helpless. We must pray, too. In truth, he is in God’s hands.”

  “And yours,” said the dowager. “My son is a mountain of strength when necessary. He has much to live for. Have hope, my child. I will remain in my rooms and wait for your messages. Above all, he needs rest.” She patted Cassandra’s head. “Make sure you do not neglect yourself and the babe. Have you eaten?”

  “Chester takes good care of me, Mother. I’ll return after I’ve cleaned up. His room smells of sickness.” It was a bad omen.

  She went to her room and changed her dress and freshened up. On the way back to his room, she instructed one of the servants to convey a few potted plants with fragrant aromas from the conservatory to the sick room. Chester handed her the medical book she requested, and between the baths and the fans, the duke settled down to rest.

  “Have you sent for Sir Tomas?” Cassandra questioned Chester.

  “Yes, hours ago. He should arrive soon, my lady.”

  “Have you heard the duke speak about his Barbados trip when he was ill?”

  The expression on the majordomo’s face remained unchanged. “A few times, but in incoherent sentences, and it wasn’t my place to question him.”

  Cassandra medicated the duke with the third dosage as instructed. Time hung heavy as she watched the clock. New grooms came in to relieve them. It was late in the evening as she prepared another dose of the quinine concoction.

  A knock sounded. “Enter.”

  “Sir Martinez has arrived,” a servant advised.

  “Have him come upstairs.” She arose from the chair, and bookmarked the medical encyclopedia.

  Soon Tomas was given entry and he walked to her, took her hand. “Your Grace, I wish we could meet under better circumstances. How is he?” He glanced to the bed and saw the servants’ ministrations.

  “Please sit, Sir Tomas. I, too, would prefer a more joyous occasion. Since I wasn’t aware of my husband’s relapses, perhaps you can help me understand exactly what happened?” She reached for the small medical book and showed him the title. “There is much to read about.”

  He sat opposite her in a sturdy chair. “I understand your concern, Duchess. I will try to tell you of all I am aware. There are other things only my friend can explain to you. I would prefer it that way.”

  “You make everything sound mysterious,” she questioned, her head tilted toward him.

  “No, it’s just that it was an unsteady moment in our lives. We were subject to island taboos, natives who clamored for freedom, as well as the need to quell the rebellion of other plantation owners and their slaves. To say our lives were in jeopardy at all times would be an understatement.”

  Cassandra took a deep sigh, brushed away a strand of hair from her face, and gazed at him. “Forgive me, Sir Tomas, I’ve been remiss. May I offer you refreshment of some kind? Perhaps something stronger, and if you’ve not eaten, I can arrange for a meal to be provided.” It took every ounce of courage to keep silent. A thousand questions were bursting into her head. “I see the duke rests. Perhaps this would be a good time to talk privately? We can retire to the other room. In that way, I can be made aware of his progress.” She arose and Tomas followed her, after he stopped by the bed to see his old friend.

  “The worst may be over, my lady.”

  “I hope so. He mumbles, but I don’t understand very much. Sometimes he speaks in a strange tongue.”

  Her hand went to her belly. “This has been hard on me in consideration of my condition.”

  “Forgive me, you mentioned your condition? Do you have good news?” His smile was broad.

  “Yes, it was in the Tattler Tales. Gordon and I expect an addition to our family.”


  Tomas grinned. “So he finally showed you his tattoo? The rogue, he tried to convince me you weren’t aware of it after your wedding night.”

  “Did he now?” Her smile held their secret truth that she did not see Gordon’s tattoo until much later in just as intimate a moment.

  ****

  Chester saw to their needs in the room next to the sick patient. The duke’s sponge baths continued as needed, but it was clear the quinine had conquered the malarial symptoms.

  Cassandra had a juice while Tomas opted for dark rum with a splash of water.

  “Are you uncomfortable, my lady? You may ask anything you wish, and I will consider an answer.” His finger rubbed the top rim of the crystal glass while his dark eyes held hers.

  She related to him the subjects she heard from Gordon, Chester, the physician, and saved for last the excited words about the tattoo, the needle, and saved for last the question about Tatenda.

  Tomas arose, his tall stature filled the room, and his dark skin glowed in mystery. Hands behind his back, he paced. “I will preface this to mention we were wild and convinced we were invincible as foolish youths do to satisfy their egos. We resided in the plantation main house with a native staff and attended many forbidden activities. Some of these involved the native culture of the Arawak Indian tribes. Tatenda was the housekeeper for the plantation and by any standard, a singular beauty.”

  He sucked at his lips and went to the decanter that held the rum, poured three fingers, and said, “I cannot and will not speak of their relationship. My amigo, Gordon, will be the person to answer any further questions. We were at a bordello one dusky evening when we received word the rebellion was squashed. One of the leaders read English printed newspapers that spread the rumor of the success of the uprising, but of course, this was not entirely true, but it fueled their desire for freedom.”

  She watched him cross the room.

  “Gordon wasn’t well, and we thought perhaps it was some spice he’d eaten. Later, the full force of the island disease came upon him. There was little quinine available by English doctors there, but the missionaries managed to provide a supply for a significant amount of coins.” He held the glass tightly, stared at the contents. “I thought I’d lose him, and when Tatenda interpreted the old man’s diagnosis, I agreed. That’s when he was inked and the protection of his ancestors invoked. All I knew was I had to get him away from that island and all its superstitions. The captain of the schooner arranged our transportation, and while the ocean trip was a long one, at the end of the trip, Gordon came out of his stupor. He wanted to return and I wouldn’t allow it, and used any form of persuasion available.”