“Ashe! Ring for Godwin.”
Ashe transformed with his mission, a fierce juggernaut who wasted no time in storming down to the kitchens to personally discover the answers and bring Rowan what he’d asked. Godwin and Mrs. Clark trailed after him, each wringing their hands.
“It should have been cleaned and gone by now,” Mrs. Clark offered, “but that new scullery maid is as slow as a turtle, and then when Mrs. Blackwell fell—we all dropped what we were doing, sir!”
“A good thing, Mrs. Clark. A good thing.” Rowan tried to take it from Ashe’s viselike grip. “Ashe, let go.”
Ashe came out of the trance he’d been in—clearly his thoughts were elsewhere with Caroline or in a spiral of rage for whoever had done this thing—and let go of the tray’s handles.
Rowan walked over to the sideboard and set it down, picking up a knife to poke through the food that had been left. Everything looked innocuous enough, but Rowan spotted the small, pretty box under the napkin, and his heart sank. Two of the three confections had been eaten, and he picked up the chocolate-covered square to break it in half and reveal a white creamy center. “Where did the chocolates come from?”
“I don’t know, Dr. West!” Godwin said, then turned to Mrs. Clark. “Did you put them there?”
Mrs. Clark burst into tears. “They c-came this morning without a note. I thought . . . it was a gift . . . from Mr. Blackwell for her! You’re always so kind to l-leave little prizes throughout the h-house for her! I told Cook to put them on her tray!”
Rowan held up a hand, trying to think as quickly as he could. It’s gastric fever. It’s too sudden and the symptoms are unmistakable. It would be easy enough to hide in the filling. But if I’m wrong and it’s something else—and it could be a dozen other things . . . I could waste valuable time or do more harm than good.
“Rowan,” Ashe interrupted, his patience too strained for silence. “Was it the chocolates? Was it poison?”
Gayle looked up at him from across the room as Caroline convulsed on the bed, clutching at Gayle’s hand and biting off a muffled cry. Violet eyes met his and an understanding flowed between them.
This is going very badly—and it might already be too late.
Chapter 21
“I think it’s arsenic, Ashe. By the looks of it, a potentially fatal dose. But I’m here and I’m going to do everything I can.”
Ashe looked like he’d been punched in the midsection, but he held his ground. “You save her, Rowan. You. Save. My. Wife.”
Rowan transformed into a general commanding his troops with the firm resolve of a man who could a sense the sea at his back. “Mrs. Clark, I need milk. Fresh, cold milk for your mistress. Godwin, please ask your cook to boil water and then send it up with some cloths. Also, we’ll need clean bedding and more bowls.
“Ashe, send a runner to Michael and the others. If there have been any other unmarked deliveries of foodstuffs, we’ll need to know. Any sign of the sender will be lost quickly, so the faster we can react, the better our chances of catching them.”
Rowan knelt next to the bed and felt Caroline’s pulse. “I’m willing to hazard that this wasn’t the lovely day you had planned, Mrs. Blackwell.”
Her eyes fluttered open and she tried to smile. “N-not . . . exactly.”
“Ashe said you’d do anything to get out of shopping for new clothes, but this is taking it much too far.” In one smooth motion, he put a damp cloth on her forehead and handed Gayle the bowl that had been used so that she could fetch an empty one. “As your doctor, I’m going to recommend begging off with a headache next time.”
“Easy for you . . . to say,” Caroline said.
Gayle smiled as she brought a clean bowl, and anticipating Rowan’s next request, brought a clean cloth as well. “Especially since I think Dr. West hates shopping as well.”
Caroline doubled over as Ashe returned. It was a few moments before the spell had passed, but Caroline, even in a crisis, was very spirited. “I never . . . thought to have . . . so many people . . . in my bedroom.”
Ashe kissed her on her forehead, unabashedly affectionate. “Nor I. You must get better so that we can banish this crowd, my darling. Then we can bar the door and I shall never require you to shop again.”
“Now . . . I know . . . it’s serious.” Caroline gripped his hands before abandoning her efforts to appear courageous. Her suffering was acute, and Rowan knew he would have to add to her misery if he had any hope of curing her.
“Gayle, hand me the oil. We need her to empty her stomach.”
Ashe lifted his head, instantly wary. “You can’t be serious. She’s just stopped vomiting!”
“Ashe, this is why husbands wait downstairs, pacing in libraries and drinking until they can’t see straight.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then stay out of the way.” He took the bottle from Gayle, unwilling to voice the medical argument that any other doctor would have a tube down her throat to pump her stomach, but with Ashe hovering, Rowan knew better and had opted for the “gentler” treatment of using rancid oil to purge the poison from her stomach.
So long as she’s strong enough to manage on her own, but if I have to use the tubing, I will—and Ashe is going to lose his mind.
“I have to make sure it’s out of her system, as quickly and as extensively as possible.” Rowan took the bottle from Gayle, sparing a few seconds to gauge how his apprentice was faring. She was like the calm in the center of the storm, and he fell in love with her for it all over again.
Then he squared his shoulders and proceeded to administer the oil to Caroline. The effect was immediate and dramatic. It was the launch to a miserable journey. After a while, he had to almost fight off Ashe when the treatment took on a life of its own and she couldn’t seem to stop.
“She’s vomiting up blood, Rowan. You’re killing her!”
“I’m doing my best to save her. Back up, Ashe, and give me some room, damn it! I’ll have you wrestled out of here if I have to! Don’t think Godwin won’t get every footman and stable boy within two blocks of the house to help me if I tell him to! Now, go stand over there!”
“I swear, I could strangle you, Rowan,” Ashe threatened, but took a single step back.
“Later. Kill me, later, Ashe.” When Ashe took two more reluctant steps back, Rowan turned his attention back to the crisis at hand. “Gayle, get the crystallized ginger out of my bag and make an infusion.”
The infusion helped slightly, along with a mint treatment, and Rowan wasted no time. “Where’s the milk?”
Mrs. Clark brought over the tray with a glass of fresh milk. “Here, doctor.”
“Gayle, have her drink all of it. Every last drop, do you understand?”
“Every drop,” she repeated dutifully, and settled in next to the bedside. “Mrs. Blackwell? You must drink this.”
Caroline weakly shook her head, trying to push the glass away. “No.” She spotted her husband and began to cry. “I can’t, Ashe.”
Gayle looked at him, determined to rally his support. “She must, Mr. Blackwell.”
“There you have it, darling. You must.” He returned to take the glass from Gayle’s hand and positioned himself to lift Caroline so that she could drink more comfortably. “Rowan’s new assistant is, as you see, quite the tyrant and destined to be your dearest friend from what the good doctor has said of her. Now, drink this, my contrary little Quaker, or I’ll pinch your nose and force you to do it.”
She dutifully choked it down, and two more glasses afterward, even as she struggled to stay awake. Her skin was cold and clammy, and the pain was so intense that it was all she could do to cling to Ashe and cry.
Long hours passed, with Rowan and Gayle working continuously to try to keep her comfortable and warm, reassuring Ashe as best they could, and anxiously fighting each new symptom as it appeared.
As night fell, Ashe pulled Rowan out into the hallway. “She needs something for the pain.”
&nb
sp; Rowan shook his head. “I’m afraid that would be a mistake. Anything I give her to suppress the pain also slows her heart and breathing and may weaken her ability to fight through this. I don’t want to frighten you, Ashe, but—”
“Are you joking? I’ve never been more terrified in my life, and I’m including the black hell we sat through and that time they took us out one by one and beat us until I was sure it was over. Go ahead, Rowan. Tell me everything.”
“Even if I did give her something for the pain, laudanum or morphine, I’m not sure what her system can absorb. The arsenic attacks the stomach and internal organs. If there’s too much damage, she could go into shock, suffer paralysis, or worse. Damn it, Ashe! I don’t know for certain, but my instincts tell me that the longer she’s alive, the better her chances. If we can make it to morning, I think the worst will be over and then it’s just a matter of rest and healing.”
“Till morning,” Ashe echoed the phrase, seizing on the promise. He returned to his wife’s side and resumed his vigil, assisting in whatever he could and tending to Caroline with a ferocious devotion that defied death.
Even so, by midnight, Caroline had suffered a miscarriage of the baby that they’d not yet had a chance to anticipate—a blow that nearly unmanned Ashe. A quiet decision was made to wait to tell Caroline since she was so weak, and Rowan did his best to control the unspeakable sorrow he felt as he watched Ashe kissing his slumbering wife and whispering endless assurances that she was his life, and that so long as he drew breath, he would love her.
“You must live, darling,” Ashe spoke softly as he caressed her cheeks, “if not for me, then for your college. Grandfather Walker is going to give you Bellewood, dearest, so you can turn that creaking monolith into the school of your dreams. It was going to be a Christmas present. You can’t . . . leave now, Caroline.”
Rowan walked away to give Ashe privacy as he implored his wife to live.
Gayle came up behind him. “Here. Mrs. Clark made some hot coffee for us.”
He turned, a little surprised. He could tell by the color that it was exactly the way he liked it. “Thank you. That’s just what I needed.”
Finally, a few minutes after two in the morning, Caroline’s pulse was stronger and Rowan was able to look his friend squarely in the eyes and tell him that they’d turned the corner.
Caroline would survive.
Rowan stayed at her side while Ashe went to inform Godwin and the others of the good news, and Gayle sat next to him, watching his face. “You don’t look as celebratory as one would expect, Dr. West.” She kept her voice low so as not to wake Caroline, covering one of his hands with hers. “Are you all right?”
“It’s . . . harder when it’s someone you know. And if she’d slipped away, I don’t think he would ever have forgiven me.” He gave her a dry look. “Yet another in that column, I suppose.”
“Is that all that’s bothering you?”
“Not entirely.” He hesitated but then turned to her to whisper his worst fears. “A violent miscarriage with excessive hemorrhage—the real tragedy may be that there may never be another child. Time might prove me wrong, but . . .” Rowan sighed, lifting one of Gayle’s hands to slowly kiss her palm. It was an unguarded gesture. He wanted nothing more than to feel the comfort of her touch. He freed her hand reluctantly but didn’t want to embarrass her if Ashe returned suddenly. “I’ll say nothing of it, Gayle. They have enough to grieve and recover from for now.”
He knew Caroline was as independent and strong a woman as any, but this would be a difficult blow for her. She and Ashe were just beginning their lives together, and he didn’t want to be the one to deliver the cruel news that not all their dreams were possible.
The loss of the baby had an even more immediate effect that he didn’t discuss with Gayle. Whatever enemy the Jaded had at their heels, the time for defensively waiting for the next attack was over.
The danger would be keeping Ashe from going after them single-handedly once the dust had settled. He knew Blackwell too well—and the others.
Our strategy of quiet evasion and discreet escape just ended.
One way or another, the Jaded will never be the same.
It was almost four in the morning, and a quiet calm had overtaken the room. Ashe was asleep in the chair by the fire, having given in to exhaustion at last. Gayle surveyed the scene and sighed. It had been a long, horrible day, but a life had been saved and she was still in awe of Rowan’s command of the drama that had unfolded.
He was so strong to stand up to Ashe like that, and knew just what to do even when everyone around him was shouting suggestions or reacting in horror. Perhaps that’s why men have had the run of medicine. You have to be a bit of a bully sometimes—or not worry how you’re perceived.
Rowan was working at the writing desk against the wall, going over a medical text on gastric conditions, and making notes. He’d yet to rest, but Gayle knew better than to ask him to stop.
She turned her attention back to Mrs. Blackwell to change the cool cloth on her forehead, only to realize that Caroline was wide awake and making a similar survey of the room and its occupants.
“You should rest,” Gayle whispered.
“I’m too tired to rest,” Caroline whispered back with a weak smile. “Would you keep me company and distract me for a time?”
“Of course.” Gayle lay the cloth aside, clandestinely checking her patient’s temperature with the brush of her hand. “I only hope I’m good company. I can’t remember the last time I had the leisure of just visiting with another woman so I may have forgotten how. Here, let me warm your hands.”
“You are . . . just as Ashe described you.”
“Am I? Oh, dear!”
“Is it true you wish to become a physician?”
Gayle nodded. “Even more now than when I first started, I’m afraid. I never realized it would all be so . . . challenging. I am determined to hold my own. Dr. West has been a very good mentor.”
“You care for Rowan, don’t you?”
“No!” The protest came too quickly, and she knew it. “I mean it isn’t possible to care for him. I am his assistant and nothing more.”
“I see. It’s a bit of an ethical dilemma, then.” She put a hand over her eyes. “Not that the heart ever listens to lectures about the rules.”
“Rowan is . . .” Gayle took a deep breath before she could continue in a whisper that wouldn’t carry beyond her patient’s hearing. “I don’t know why I keep expecting him to disappoint me or hurt me, but I don’t think he ever would. If it were possible to love, it would be him.”
“I’m not sure I believe that love is ever impossible. Dreams, even ones of independence, have a way of including our passions.” She looked over at her husband, her large brown eyes glowing with affection at the sight of him. “You don’t lose your dreams. They just expand to include so much more.”
“You are a romantic, Mrs. Blackwell.” Gayle smiled.
Caroline shook her head. “I am extremely practical and cannot understand why my husband thinks I need so many bonnets.”
Gayle laughed softly. “I’m even more practical and cannot understand why anyone thinks I need a husband at all. Bonnets are far more manageable and less trouble.”
“You are not a romantic, Miss Renshaw.”
“And never will be! I will never marry.”
Gayle stole a glance at Rowan, who looked a bit uncomfortable with his long legs bent with his knees against the bottom of Caroline’s ladies’ writing desk. His hand cradled his head as he worked, and his hair was mussed. She realized that his dark physician’s coat was missing a button from the cuff and it saddened her. She’d always assumed that Mrs. Evans and the others took care of him, and perhaps they did. But there was so much more that he deserved.
It was hard not to imagine how sweet it would be to have his keeping and permission to fuss as his wife over his buttons and coats. A wife could push the hair from his eyes or see to his headaches and sooth
e the worries of the day from his brow—and never feel guilty about wanting to be ordinary for doing so.
She’d been sincere talking to Caroline, but not as candid as she could have been. Love wasn’t some impossible thing to be kept at bay. She was already in the throes of it and struggling not to lose too much of herself. Because one day, she would complete her education and the choice would come. He would have to let her go.
He’d started to offer her marriage, but she’d stopped him. Even then, with her knees still trembling and the glorious wet between her thighs from their passion, she’d feared the compromises that would come with marriage and the loss of her freedom.
What if I don’t have the strength to go?
What if he won’t let me go?
She stared down at her hands covering Caroline’s pale fingers and knew the answer. If I keep my feelings to myself, he’ll have no choice. He must never know that I love him.
“It isn’t possible to care for him. I am his assistant.” Rowan allowed the words to echo in his head, as he pretended to be engrossed in the pages of his textbook. And then the worst of the conversation. “I will never marry.”
I’m an idiot. I’m on fire for this woman.
And I’m going to end up alone.
Chapter 22
It was early Monday morning before Rowan indicated that he felt completely confident to leave. Mrs. Clark had brought in enough fresh milk to supply an orphanage so that her mistress could follow her doctor’s strict instructions. Godwin had done everything in his power to demonstrate his gratitude for their services, and every member of Ashe’s household had made an effort to seek them out to say as much. Like Rowan, Ashe treated his staff like family, and their love of the new Mrs. Blackwell was evident.
Gayle finished buttoning her coat and waited while the men spoke privately on the stairs above, out of her hearing. They were so different, she noted. Ashe was like a gilt lion, all polish and power, but Rowan was the one she couldn’t stop staring at. There was something humble but princely about him. He was elegant, without posing, and she loved the way he was so very still whenever others were speaking.
Ecstasy Wears Emeralds Page 19
