by Cheryl Bolen
She continued to watch her guardian eat as she sipped the warm tea.
"Do you play cribbage, Miss Lambeth?" he asked between bites of pickled beets.
She nodded. Now she felt chilled again. She pulled the soft shawl around her, imagining how lovely it must have looked with Lady Stack's blond hair. Freddie wrapped her hands around the porcelain teacup for warmth.
He instructed a footman to set up a game table in front of the fire in the library. "You'll be warm there, Miss Lambeth," Lord Stacks said.
She was warm there. Hot actually. Terribly hot. Sweat began to run from her forehead as she peered at the hazy cards in her hand.
Lord Stacks watched her with concern. "Are you feeling well, Miss Lambeth?"
She gazed at him with sad eyes. "Not altogether. I do not understand it at all. I am never sick."
He sprang to his feet, moved to her side, and stroked her forehead. "You're burning with fever!"
She suddenly went limp.
He scooped her into his arms and strode with her across the broad room, calling for a servant to open the door. The footman just outside the door complied, and a bevy of servants followed in his wake as he carried his ward to her room where Maggie awaited her mistress.
Worry flashed across Maggie's face when she saw Freddie limp in Lord Stacks' arms. "Oh, my dear, whatever is the matter?"
"I fear Miss Lambeth has taken a fever."
Scurrying to the bed and pulling back the heavy counterpane, Maggie said, "I daresay it's them wet clothes she was a wearin' today."
Stacks folded his lips into a grim line. "I daresay you're correct."
"She'll be better in the morn," Maggie said reassuringly.
"You will stay beside her tonight?"
Maggie nodded. "Oh, yes, milord." She moved to the clothes press to fetch Freddie's night lawn.
A forlorn feeling washed over Stacks as he closed Freddie's door behind him, leaving her to Maggie's care. The girl was very sick. And it was all his fault. Allowing her to go galloping across the countryside in that flimsy, threadbare garb, knowing the clouds were blackening.
Surely Maggie was right. The girl would be good as new in the morning.
But when morning came, she was no better. Her fever still raged, and Maggie imparted tales of Freddie's delirious, uncomfortable night.
He walked to Freddie's bedside. She looked so very pale and wan lying there, her nettled tresses fanned out on the rumpled pillow. She reminded him of a helpless child. "Good morning, Miss Lambeth."
She mumbled something incoherent.
He turned frightened eyes on Maggie. "I'll send for Dr. Edgekirth."
"But I thought---"
"Never mind that!" He turned on his heel and hurried from the oppressive room.
Never mind that he had vowed never to have Edgekirth set foot inside Marshbanks Abbey again. Would Edgekirth even come?
There was nothing to do but go to Edgekirth himself. Forget his own pride.
For the girl. She was very sick, and it was terribly important to him that she get well.
Chapter 5
Dr. Edgekirth, stirring up a cloud of dust from the other direction, was approaching his stone cottage at the same time as Stacks. He eyed the baron suspiciously. "Good day, Stacks," the physician said curtly, dismounting.
Blast the man's infernal insolence, Stacks thought. Edgekirth was the only man in these parts who refused to address him as my lord. Of course, there had been a time when Edgekirth had spoken to him with more courtesy.
Before Elizabeth's death.
Edgekirth refused to meet Stacks' eyes. "What brings you here?"
The man did get right to the point, Stacks thought. "I--that is, my ward--has urgent need of your services." Stacks paused, his brow furrowed. "Your professional ethics will no doubt force you to deliver aid, even though it be at Marshbanks Abbey."
Edgekirth eyed Stacks warily. He was a few years younger than Stacks, with a muscular frame and healthy, blond good looks. Too proud and too frank, of course.
The young doctor untied the roan gelding he had just tethered. "What is the lad's ailment?"
Stacks coughed. "My ward is a girl. She runs a dangerously high fever."
The physician, his eyes flashing with anger, muttered an oath under his breath, then asked, "Had your ward any complaints before?"
Stacks thought for a moment, remembering Freddie lapping up last night's soup. "Her throat."
Edgekirth nodded, throwing a leg over his horse.
***
Impervious to the chilling winds, Stacks paced the cloister outside Freddie's chamber as Edgekirth examined her. Stacks had wanted to be present during the examination, but then remembering that Freddie was a young lady, knew his presence would be totally improper.
Why was the blasted man taking such a wretchedly long time, Stack wondered, thrusting his frigid hands into his coat's pockets. The longer the physician was with her, Stacks feared, the more grave her prognosis.
His sickening worry chiseled into a rockbed of painful emotions buried deep and undisturbed since Elizabeth’s death ten years earlier. Undisturbed until the previous night. As soon as he’d realized fever ravaged poor Freddie, a scorching fear gripped him. He would lose her, too, just as he’d lost Elizabeth.
He remembered how she had looked as she seemed to float into the dining room the night before, her posture regal, her light brown hair curled, gleaming golden highlights. She looked very fine indeed in that rust colored dress they had selected in York. Mrs. Baron had been quite correct. The girl did wear clothes well. Very well indeed.
And now she lay lifeless, a raging fever sapping the life from her.
After what seemed to Stacks to be an interminable length of time, Edgekirth emerged from the room, a grim expression on his golden face. He met Stacks' anxious gaze icily. "Why did you not tell me the patient is a young woman, not a girl?"
"She is merely a child."
"I think not," Edgekirth said, his voice harsh. "What I want to know is how can a man such as you be allowed to have a young maiden under his roof?"
"That is no concern of yours," Stacks snapped. "What is your concern is the girl's prospects of recovery." Stacks' eyes softened. "How serious is it, Edgekirth?"
The doctor shrugged. "It could go either way. I've bled her. What do you know of her constitution?"
"She has always enjoyed good health. In fact, she was used to being around sick people as she assisted her father with his surgery since she was nine years old. Even the fever that took his life spared her."
Edgekirth nodded and spoke more to himself than to the man he abhorred. "That is in her favor." He moved away. "Have someone with her at all times. Try to keep her hydrated." He handed a Stacks a bottle of elixir. "See that she takes this twice a day. I fear her lungs may be inflamed. Expect me again in the morning."
Freddie's delirium and fever raged all through the day. Her fine dresses and bonnets arrived from York. This was the day he had planned to tell her she was going back down south, he thought morosely. Stacks' eyes moistened when he remembered of how sweet she would have looked in the fine dresses. Swallowing hard, he hoped she would recover to wear them.
Having sat all night with her mistress, Maggie's step was weary, her voice haggard. When evening came, Stacks told the young servant he would stay the night with Freddie.
He pulled up a chair beside her bed and watched her sleep fitfully. How very thin she looked now. He longed to see the green flash in her eyes, not the dark, sunken circles beneath her pallid lids. At times she lay as still as the dead, her labored breathing the only sign of life. After a few hours of troubled sleep, she began to flail about violently, her hair and bedclothes damp and hot, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. She rambled incoherently, her eyes not seeing, her words unintelligible.
Remembering Edgekirth's orders about keeping her hydrated, Stacks would place a gentle arm around her to lift her as he forced cool water through her parched lips. Several t
imes during the night, he thought of calling for Edgekirth, her condition seemed so dangerous. But he knew there was nothing more Edgekirth could do. He would wait until morning. Throughout the long night, Stacks found himself saying a silent prayer for Freddie's recovery.
Not long past dawn, Edgekirth arrived to check on his patient. Casting an angry glance at Stacks, the doctor ordered the baron out of the room while he performed an examination. When he was finished, he met the worried Stacks in the windy corridor outside her room and reported no change. "I will return late in the afternoon. Let us hope the girl shows improvement by then."
But there was no improvement.
Days passed, and her fever persisted. In his heart, Stacks feared Freddie was going to die. But he fought it. He doggedly went about his affairs as if Freddie were going to get well. Since the poor girl would not be able to travel, he had determined to keep her at Marshbanks Abbey. Therefore, he would have to hire a companion for the maiden. He wrote to his solicitor in London and asked him to procure the services of a woman of good birth.
A heavy lump in his throat, Stacks sealed the letter. He desperately hoped the woman's presence would be needed.
By day, he found himself furiously tending his garden, by night he sat at Freddie's bedside, a single taper allowing him to watch her now-peaceful face. How young and utterly helpless she looked. So very childlike. Then in a fit of labored breathing, she would throw off the covers to reveal her drenched shift, and he could see her nipples clinging to the wet linen. Then he would jarringly be reminded Freddie was not a girl but a young woman.
If only she would recognize him. He craved any semblance of her former self.
Stacks had to admire Edgekirth's professionalism. He came every morning and evening to check on Freddie. Even if it was at Marshbanks Abbey. Though the two men were bitter enemies, they forged a bond over the helpless orphan girl.
One afternoon as Stacks was cross pollinating two flowers, he heard a squeaky meow and turned to see a thin orange kitten with white markings. He called to the cat in a softened voice, but it shied away. Immediately, he thought how alike the kitten and Freddie were. Too proud to be pitied, to proud to accept favors.
The next day, the kitten returned. Stacks spoke softly to it, and it came closer, then skittered away.
On the following day, the kitten came close enough for Stacks to grab it and hold the little fur ball in his big hands. He remembered Freddie telling him about her dog, Champs. She had even called out the dog's name during one of her delirious nights.
If only this little kitten could replace her long-revered dog.
That evening when he entered Freddie's chamber, Stacks took the kitten with him. His voice soft, he approached her bed and said, "I've brought you a present."
Her lids slowly lifted.
He placed the fluffy kitten on her pillow and watched as a smile came to Freddie's pale, dry lips. To his surprise, the cat did not run away.
Freddie's thin hand came up to stroke the kitten's white neck. She looked up and met Stack's beaming gaze. "For my very own?"
He nodded, moisture coming to his eyes.
"I shall call him Marmalade," she said in a hoarse whisper, petting the kitten's soft coat.
"Your clothes have arrived," Stacks informed her, trying to sound cheerful.
She began to cough. When the coughing subsided, she sighed. "I fear I have no strength to put them on."
"You will get stronger," he said convincingly. And he believed it.
***
The following morning Freddie was strong enough to sit up in bed and drink broth Maggie offered. Marmalade lay beside her, curled up in a snug ball, purring softly. The sun shone through the room's gothic windows, and a fire blazed at her hearth. No longer suffocating with fever, she felt a comforting warmth, especially over the revelation that her guardian himself had tended her during her illness.
Bent on conversation, Maggie prattled on incessantly. "Whoever would have thought--what with the abbey full of servants--his lordship himself would see fit to sit by your bedside all them nights. I don't believe for a minute those wicked things they say about him."
Freddie stroked her kitten, her brows lowering, worry pounding in her breast. "What wicked things?"
"I ---uh, I really couldn't say, miss."
Just then the door swung open, and a strange man entered her bedchamber.
"How very good it is to see you up, Miss Lambeth," he proclaimed, crossing paths with Maggie, who left the room.
She shot a quizzing glance at him, bringing her blanket up to cover her breasts which showed under the thin linen of her shift. "And you are?" A deep, wracking cough sapped her strength.
"Dr. Edgekirth," he said, strolling confidently to her bedside.
"You have been very sick," he told Freddie.
"For how long?" She watched as his hand came to rest on her forehead. It felt strong, yet gentle. Like she sensed he was.
"Nearly two weeks."
"You bled me?"
"I did."
She nodded. "And you came every day?"
"Twice each day."
"You gave me lungwort?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
"I did."
"And aqua cordials?"
He nodded.
"Then you must be a good doctor."
"And on what do you base that determination?"
"On the fact that I've spent my entire life administering to the infirm. My father was a surgeon."
"Where?"
"In Sussex. A village known as Chelseymeade."
"He attended Oxford?"
She nodded. "Until he fell in love with my mother and cut short his studies. He had hoped to be a physician."
"When did he attend Oxford?"
"At the same time as Lord Stacks. They were the greatest of friends."
He nodded firmly and moved to lift her cover.
She pulled it tightly over her chest. "As you can see, Dr. Edgemont, that is totally unnecessary. I am quite on the road to recovery."
"Edgekirth," he said with a grin. "Tell me, how would your father have acted had a female patient treated him as you are treating me?"
She thought for a moment. "He would have lectured her sternly until the poor woman felt like an utter baboon."
"Lecturing is not my method."
She met his mischievous gaze. "You charm your patients into compliance."
"I see you are quite perceptive, Miss Lambeth," he said, smiling.
"And I see you know what you are doing," Freddie countered, still clutching the blanket to her bosom.
He grinned and turned toward the door. "I'll report to your guardian now." He turned back and met her eyes. "I'll look in on you again in the morning."
***
Stacks no longer anxiously paced the cloister like he had done for nearly two weeks. Now he stood watering a clump of herbs growing in the quadrangle, coatless on this sunny morning. He needed to be with the sprouting, blooming, glorious evidence of life. To celebrate life. For now he knew Freddie would live.
He looked up as Edgekirth moved toward him. "My ward grows stronger," he said flatly. "It seems I am greatly indebted to you, Edgekirth. How can I ever repay you?"
"By sending her back," Edgekirth said through compressed lips.
Stacks threw down his pail. "But you and I both know she's far too weak to travel."
"She will regain her strength," the doctor said. "Even robust strength, I fear, would be no defense against your cruelty. Let her go before you destroy her, too."
"You have once again overstepped your bounds," Stacks said, dismissal in his voice as he turned back to his herbs.
Edgekirth stalked up to the baron. "I will not allow you to kill her as you killed Elizabeth!"
Stacks spun around. "You dare to call Lady Stacks Elizabeth!"
Edgekirth's posture slackened. "Never to her face."
"But you thought of her as Elizabeth. You coveted her, did you not?" His flashing black eyes h
eld Edgekirth's.
The physician swallowed. "She was the most beautiful, vibrant woman I have ever seen. And you destroyed her, damn you, Stacks."
Stacks turned back to his herbs, fighting the overwhelming urge to run his fist through the insolent doctor's face. "My man has been instructed to present you with a bag of coins for your excellent services." Edgekirth had been diligent and competent.
"Take your damned money and go to hell!"
Chapter 6
Stacks closed the library door and settled back in his red leather chair, opening the thick packet newly arrived from his solicitor. He thumbed through the letters of application for the position of companion to his ward and counted fourteen. The first, from an orphaned girl fresh from the schoolroom, he dismissed. Freddie would need someone with town bronze to groom her, an older lady who had been through a few seasons. Another was from a matron near Bath. She would not do at all. He sought a woman who knew London ways. Tossing aside undesirable applicants, his attention was drawn to a letter from a Marie Dewhurst. He read on. The woman was the daughter of Sir Manley Moreland and the recent widow of Captain Michael Dewhurst, who had distinguished himself in the Peninsula. She had been presented the year after Elizabeth. Stacks' attention perked. Though her letter seemed more concerned with titled persons of whom she was acquainted than of herself, Stacks thought the widow would serve his purposes well.
He began to see that a widow would be an excellent choice. Just as he was about to dash off a letter to his solicitor to instruct him to hire Mrs. Dewhurst, he came to a sudden stop, the tip of his pen poised over his paper.
Though a widow would suit his needs, something told him that Mrs. Dewhurst was not the right widow. Why have a woman who had been on the fringe of the ton when he might have one who had been at its very core? His thoughts flitted to that long ago Season when he had found a bride, despite his reluctance to do so. The fair and lovely Elizabeth Binghampton had burst on the scene with her beauty and flirtatious ways, leaving an army of admirers in her wake.
And everywhere Elizabeth went, her mousy companion, Julia Smith, had followed. Even after Elizabeth became Lady Stacks, Julia continued to accompany her, making her home at Marshbanks Abbey.
