The Smithfield Market Romances: A Sweet Regency Romance Boxset

by Rose Pearson

  Miss Peters eyes filled with tears. “So you are not a doctor.” She turned accusing eyes onto her brother, who reached for her hand. “Whatever are we to do, Dunstable?”

  Josephine began to move past Miss Peters, having very little time to hear the lady complain and cry over the fact that Josephine was not, in fact, a doctor. The butler, who did not seem to have any concerns in the slightest, hurried her along the corridor.

  “We must trust her, Francine,” Josephine heard Lord Dunstable say, as she walked away. “I trust her. She knows what to do. I heard it from Doctor Thomas himself. Can you not be glad that we have someone here to help us? Or would you prefer I get the old village doctor and allow him to bleed our mother until she faints?”

  A little relieved that at least Lord Dunstable was glad of her presence here, although it had taken him some time to trust she could do as good a job as Doctor Thomas, Josephine walked into a gloomy bedchamber where Lady Dunstable lay.

  “There are staff ill also, you say?” she asked, looking up at the butler.

  “Jones,” he said, introducing himself. “Yes, there are. We have – I mean, we had – three footmen desperately ill. One, I’m afraid, has been lost to the illness.”

  Josephine’s gut twisted.

  “The other two are much the same,” the butler continued with a heavy sigh. “There is a maid also and between the two of us, we have continued to keep the household running as best we can.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “And neither of you are suffering?”

  Jones shook his head. “No, miss. Not as yet. I had the fever before, you see, and it doesn’t seem to want to return to me.”

  A small smile tugged at Josephine’s lips. “Nor me,” she replied soberly, thinking of how lucky she was to have lived through the fever. “Then let me see to Lady Dunstable and then I will come below stairs.”

  The butler nodded, one hand reaching for her shoulder. “I am very glad you have come, Miss Josephine,” he said, wretchedness in his voice. “I have been quite lost these last few days.”

  She smiled at him gently, seeing the worry in his eyes and knowing just how troubled he was. “Of course. I quite understand. You need not worry any longer. Please, a bowl, fresh cloths, and some water. As cold as you can get it.”

  He nodded, shot a glance to the prone form of Lady Dunstable and exited the room, leaving Josephine alone for a minute or two. She did not want to move forward to examine the lady until Lord Dunstable and his sister arrived but was already concerned by the musty air that sank into her lungs every time she took a breath.

  “Miss Josephine.”

  Turning, Josephine saw Miss Peters come into the room to join her, a somewhat guilty expression on her face.

  “I do apologize,” she said, quietly, as Josephine listened in surprise. “I should have trusted that my brother did not bring someone back with him who would not know what to do.” Miss Peters clasped her hands in front of her and bit her lip, her eyes still glassy. “I have been ever so worried.”

  Josephine nodded. “You have been alone with your mother some days, I understand,” she said, gently. “I am here to help you as best I can. I have seen much sickness recently; Miss Peters and I know what to do to try and help.”

  Miss Peters shot her a sharp look. “Try?”

  A sad smile crossed Josephine’s face. She could not give Miss Peters false hope, not when she knew that the fever could be stronger than anything she could put against it. “I will be honest with you, Miss Peters. Scarlet fever is strong. It has taken many lives. I will do all I can for your mother, just as Doctor Thomas showed me. She is strong, your brother tells me, and that is in her favor.” Reaching for Miss Peters hand, Josephine saw tears begin to run down Miss Peters face. “You are tired also, I think. You will need to rest.”

  “I will rest when my mother is better,” Miss Peters replied, fiercely. “I cannot let her die. I – I love her.”

  Josephine felt a stab of pain, recalling just how much she had loved her own parents and how that love had not prevented them from being taken from her. “Of course,” she managed to say, dropping Miss Peters hand. “Then, with your permission, I will examine her.”

  Miss Peters nodded. “Of course.”

  Josephine, however, did not first go to the lady in the bed but rather went to the window and drew back the drapes. The bright light made Miss Peters exclaim aloud but that did not stop Josephine. She pulled open the window, drawing in a full breath of fresh, clean air, so different to the London smog.

  “But – is that not dangerous?” Miss Peters exclaimed, hurrying towards Josephine as though to shut the window again. “Surely my mother required darkness in order to rest.”

  Josephine stood directly in front of the window, putting her hands on her hips and looking at Miss Peters firmly in the eye. “No, my lady. Your mother requires fresh air and light.” She recalled the gloominess of the Devil’s basement and a shudder ran all through her. “I have seen the stench of death, Miss Peters, and I will not allow it to pervade here. Trust me, my lady. I know what your mother requires.”

  “Francine.”

  Miss Peters turned her head just as Lord Dunstable walked into the room, a tray in his hand.

  “Francine, allow Miss Josephine to do what she thinks is best,” Lord Dunstable said quietly, but in a voice that rang with firmness. “Come now, sit down by the fire. I have brought us all some tea.”

  Josephine’s stomach rang hollowly at the sight of the biscuits and other small delicacies that lay on the tray in front of her, remembering how the butler had told her of the one kitchen maid that was left to run the house and finding herself incredibly grateful for the woman. “I must see to your mother first,” she said, softly. “The butler is returning with what I require.” A sudden thought hit her and she frowned. “Oh, but I have left my bag of supplies in the carriage.”

  Lord Dunstable set down the tray and nodded. “I will get it for you, Miss Josephine. Do excuse me. Francine, pour the tea and do take a drink. You look quite done in.”

  Miss Peters gave her brother a wan smile and set about doing what she had been asked, all the while casting suspicious glances towards Josephine. Josephine ignored this and pressed her hand against Lady Dunstable’s forehead, feeling the heat that practically emanated from her. Her face was flushed with a paleness about the lady’s lips and her skin appeared red and blotchy. Tossing from side to side, her fingers fluttered towards her throat, clearly in agitation. She was in a nightgown which allowed Josephine to examine her thoroughly, although there was very little need to do so given that it was more than apparent she had the very same fever that Josephine had been treating back in London.

  “She has scarlet fever, Miss Peters,” Josephine murmured, not turning her head. “I will use a mixture of vinegar and feverfew to bring down her temperature and she will have Doctor Thomas’ medicine given to her regularly. In addition, I will make her broth and give it to her often in order to keep up her strength.” A slight frown caught her brow. “How long has she been unwell, Miss Peters?” Doctor Thomas had stated that after the ninth day, patients had a much greater chance of improving and it was this that caught at Josephine’s mind.

  “Miss Peters?”

  There came no response from the lady and, turning her head, Josephine saw with alarm that Miss Peters was now sitting in her chair with her head lolling back behind her.

  “Miss Peters!”

  Immediately, Josephine was by Miss Peters’ side, her concern growing with every moment. The young lady had done a remarkable job to care for her mother alone but now it was obvious just how much of a toll it had taken on her. Pressing one hand gently to Miss Peters forehead, Josephine felt her heart plummet. Miss Peters was burning up.

  “Miss Josephine, here are the things you require – oh!” Jones set down the tray by Lady Dunstable’s bed before hurrying over to where Josephine stood by Miss Peters, his expression anxious.

  “Is she unwell?”

&
nbsp; “I think so,” Josephine replied, grimly. “Jones, she will need to be taken to her bedchamber. And I will require another tray of precisely the same thing.”

  Jones nodded, looking a little concerned. “Of course, it is just that I do not think I can carry her alone.”

  Josephine moved towards Lady Dunstable, feeling a little overwhelmed. She now had not one noble lady under her care, but two. “I am sure Lord Dunstable will be able to help you, Jones. I must see to Lady Dunstable for the moment.”

  Jones muttered something under his breath and looked at Miss Peters helplessly. Unable to do anything else, Josephine dabbed the cloth in water and ran it lightly over Lady Dunstable’s forehead, waiting for Lord Dunstable to reappear with her belongings.

  “Here you are, Miss Josephine.”

  She glanced up to see Lord Dunstable stop dead as he walked into the room, her cotton bag in his hand.

  “Miss Peters is unwell,” Jones murmured, as Lord Dunstable’s face drained of color. “We are to take her to her bedchamber.”

  Lord Dunstable’s gaze slowly traveled towards Josephine, who saw a slow-growing terror grow in his eyes. His mother was ill, and now so was his sister. The fear of losing them both was growing with every moment.

  “The bag, my lord,” she murmured, seeing him jump slightly before tentatively handing her the bag.

  “What can I do?” he asked, hoarsely.

  Josephine’s heart clenched with sympathy. “Take your sister to her bedchamber,” she replied, kindly. “I will come along to see her in a moment. Jones, might you ask the kitchen maid to make up some broth?”

  The butler nodded. “Of course. Shall we, my lord?”

  Under Josephine’s watchful eye, Lord Dunstable and the butler took the limp form of Miss Peters out of the room, leaving her alone with Lady Dunstable.

  Josephine quickly made up a mixture of water, vinegar and feverfew and placed a cloth within the bowl, letting it soak for a moment before wringing it out. Proceeding to gently dab at Lady Dunstable’s face and neck, she saw the lady draw in a long breath, her eyelids fluttering for a moment.

  Lady Dunstable was terribly unwell.

  The medicine Doctor Thomas had given her was quickly administered to the lady, with Josephine noting what time it had been given so that she could give the next dose in due course.

  “Miss Josephine.”

  Lord Dunstable had returned, his face now a rather worrying shade of grey.

  “What can I do now?”

  “Sit.”

  Josephine indicated the tray by the fire, the tea cooling in the china cups.

  “What do you mean?” Lord Dunstable asked, moving towards his mother. “There must be something more I can do.”

  Wringing out the cloth, Josephine set it gently on Lady Dunstable’s forehead, pulling the bedcovers a little further down.

  “She is a little more settled,” Josephine murmured, looking up at Lord Dunstable. “Until the broth is made, there is little more I can do.”

  Lord Dunstable’s eyes were fixed on his mother’s flushed face.

  “I have given her medicine and she is a little more at ease now, my lord,” Josephine continued, trying to reassure him. “I will go and see to your sister now but you must sit and rest. Drink your tea and eat. Do send for me if there is any change.”

  She made to move to the door, only for Lord Dunstable to catch her arm.

  “Sit for a moment, Miss Josephine,” he murmured. “You are pale and exhausted. The butler and the maid are still ensuring my sister is settled so you have a few minutes.”

  Josephine was about to refuse, only for her stomach to growl horribly. Doctor Thomas’ words came back to her with force – ‘you must not neglect yourself in order to tend to others’. At the time, she had not understood it, only for Sam to explain to her that the doctor needed her to rest and to eat, simply to ensure that she did not fall into an exhaustion that would make her useless to everyone.

  “For a few minutes,” she said reluctantly, as Lord Dunstable still held her hand. “But then I must go to Miss Peters.”

  Lord Dunstable nodded and let her sit down before seating himself. Letting out a long breath, he ran one hand over his forehead, his gaze drifting back towards his mother before he remembered what he was meant to be doing. Pouring the tea for them both, he gestured to Josephine to help herself to the biscuits on the tray, which she did at once. She was hungry, she realized, eating it quickly and then reaching for another, and there would not be a lot of time to eat.

  “There is nothing I can do?” Lord Dunstable asked, his eyes filled with worry. “I feel so useless here, sitting alone and watching over my mother.”

  Josephine reached across the table and took his hand. There was a solidarity growing between them already, even though they were only briefly acquainted. She knew precisely what he was feeling, having endured it already herself. Unfortunately, her hopes and her prayers had never come to anything, for both her parents had succumbed to the fever. She could not let him give up hope, she realized, seeing him look at her with desperation. Hope was the only thing he had at the moment.

  “You must pray, my lord,” she replied, in a compassionate voice. “Watch over your mother, watch over your sister and send your prayers to heaven that they might be spared.”

  Lord Dunstable shook his head. “I have never been much of a praying man.”

  “Then you must become one now,” she replied, firmly, knowing that it would give him a purpose whilst she continued to treat Lady Dunstable and Miss Peters. “I know that you have a good deal to do in the estate at the moment and that in itself will be beneficial to us all.” She smiled at him, her fingers tightening on his for a moment. “You are doing more than enough already, Lord Dunstable.”

  Slowly, his fingers twined with hers, his eyes glinting as a sense of purpose began to rest on his shoulders. “I understand, Miss Josephine. Of course, I will make sure to watch over my mother and my sister whenever I can. You must rest also, of course.”

  “We will support one another,” she replied, aware of the warmth shooting up her arm from where their fingers touched. “Jones, the kitchen maid, and I are all here to help the Dunstable estate in whatever way we can.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, his lips pulled tight as he drew in a steadying breath. “Thank you, Miss Josephine,” he replied, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “You have given me a little hope and for that, I cannot thank you enough.”

  Her smile remained steady although her thoughts about what would happen with Lady Dunstable and Miss Peters were far from certain. “Thank you for trusting me, Lord Dunstable,” she replied, gently. “I will not leave your side until this dark time is over.”

  8

  Gideon felt sweat trickle down his back. The day had been long and he was tired. The horses were, at least, taken care of and were now all fed and watered, ready to rest and sleep.

  His whole body was trembling slightly as he made his way towards the hen coop. He had not even realized they kept chickens, and Josephine had laughed as she’d pointed it out to him. To collect the eggs each day was not something he was used to but he did it regardless, even though he had no idea what to do with them after that.

  Chucking out a handful of seeds to the hens – who all appeared to be delighted to see him – he quickly gathered the eggs and set them all down in the basket. The hens would put themselves into the coop and he’d have to go out later to shut it all up. The last thing they needed was a fox coming to take the chickens for themselves!

  The old tree stump beside the coop called to him and, giving into his weakness, he sat down heavily. The hens ignored him, too busy looking for any stray bits of corn to come anywhere near him and Gideon felt himself glad for the few minutes of solitude.

  His life had taken a very different turn this last week. He had done more than he’d ever done in his life before, waking up before dawn to go out to see the animals and bring in the milk that one of the ki
nd village folk left for them just outside the servant’s door. Thankfully, he didn’t have to make breakfast since the kitchen maid, Gillian, managed to make enough for all of them. He and Miss Josephine usually ate together, with Josephine able to tell him how his mother, his sister, and the footmen had fared overnight.

  She was exhausted, he could see that by the shadows under her eyes, the lines on her face, and yet she always had a smile for him, a quick flash of hope that kept him going.

  After breakfast, they all worked together – himself, Miss Josephine and Jones – to clean and clear his mother’s room and then his sister’s. Miss Josephine and the kitchen maid would change the bedsheets and later, he’d find them both washing the old ones. He’d hated to see his mother and sister casting up their accounts but had stood by their side and held them up as they’d done so, the sight and smell turning his stomach. They’d all had to pull together as one. There was no job too beneath him, not even the emptying of the chamber pots.

  Tiredness ran though him but he forced himself to stand. How Miss Josephine continued on and on, hour after hour, day after day, he did not know. She seemed so resilient, so determined, and thanks to her care, his mother and sister were not getting any worse. They both were given medicine every day, carefully bathed with vinegar and feverfew and had broth carefully spooned into their mouths. Their fevers, at least, had seemed to lessen and that was, no doubt, thanks to Miss Josephine’s careful and steady attentions.

  Running one hand through his hair, Gideon suddenly realized just how little he had thought of Georgina of late. He had written her a short note stating that his mother had become ill but, since then, he had not heard from her and nor had he written to her again. That in itself came as no surprise, since he had been so caught up with all that was going on, but to not think of her for a single moment? That took him a little by surprise. He had not been concerned for her welfare, had not wondered where she was at the present moment, had not so much as thought of whether she was still in London or now had returned to her father’s home as she had planned. Georgina, for her part, had not written to him either, which suggested that she did not particularly care either. That brought no stab of pain to Gideon’s heart. In fact, it did not give him more than a moment’s pause, even though this was to be the woman he was to spend the rest of his days with. The woman who would bear his children, who would grow old with him.