The Regency Season_Convenient Marriages

by Sophia James

  ‘Get...out...now.’ Amethyst did not even try to moderate her anger. ‘And send John the old stablemaster in to me immediately.’

  The woman looked as though she might argue, her face crimson with anger, but thinking better of it she turned on her heels and left. Daniel simply allowed his head to fall back against the pillows, all energy spent.

  Her palms touched his thigh and he let out a cry. ‘It serves you right that this hurts so much.’ She pressed harder, determining the flesh was swollen but not putrid. ‘You spent all of one night and the next day tending to your horse and yet you did not think to help yourself. The village doctor will be sent for immediately.’

  His right hand snaked out and caught her arm. ‘No...not...doctor.’ His voice was rough and his lips were dry. A small smear of honey would fix that, but it was the entreaty in his eyes that made her hesitate.

  ‘Why would you not call a doctor?’

  ‘My...physician...wants...it off.’

  Then she remembered. He had told her of this fear once before and it explained everything. The strange and quackish medicine of Mrs Orchard, the hidden annexe and the secrecy. My God, he truly believed he would lose his leg and this was his method to try to save it?

  She removed the blanket and looked down. Mrs Orchard had cut the trousers away almost to the groin and the flesh pushed hard against fabric.

  A series of bottles next to his bed also caught her notice. Emetic. Purgative. Clyster. The labels were carefully drawn in a hand that was precise and bold. Gathering all three together, she walked to the window and calmly hurled them after the strange woollen hat. There was a smashing of glass and then silence.

  His pale eyes contained just a hint of humour as she rejoined him. ‘Now that we have got rid of those we can start to get you better. Certainly you will never recover if this quackery is all you receive.’

  His lips turned up slightly, heartening her. Surely there could be no humour left in someone who was dying?

  ‘And while we are at it I’d like to say that being married means just that. Someone by your side. Someone who will fight for you. Someone that cannot be pushed away when things get difficult. I should expect that from you if I were sick and so whether you like it or not you are going to get just the same from me.’

  A slight cough behind her made her turn.

  ‘Ahhh, John. I am glad that you are here because I wish for you to fetch chamomile and thyme, honey, bran, linseed, hot water and bandages. And beeswax, wasn’t it? All the things we used on Deimos’s fetlock. And a good wad of linen.’

  His smile told her that he would comply. ‘Oh, and tell Mrs Orchard to leave the pails of boiling water at the door when she brings them, for I do not wish to see her.’

  * * *

  Through the haze of pain Daniel realised Amethyst was ordering everyone around and that the fit of temper made her eyes more golden and her cheeks a flushed pink.

  Damn it, why did she not leave him to his fever and his suffering? He did not want to be poked and probed and made ready to have his leg severed. He just wanted to die here, whole and complete, the life in him flowing out by degrees.

  He didn’t want her to see his leg either, the ugly hugeness of it or the scars. He wanted to turn away on the bed and have her gone, disappeared, only the purgatives left, and the medicines that made him so sick he forgot everything else.

  His brother had cheated this sort of death with a quick bullet to his temple, but he had not been brave enough to do the same. If his leg went, Amethyst would be saddled with a cripple for the rest of her days and the things they had planned to do together like riding would be lost. He didn’t even want to contemplate what an amputation might do to any prowess in the matrimonial bed. He would be bloody useless and because she was kind she would pretend he wasn’t. God, help me he thought, as his wife’s small hand came into his own and his fingers closed about them.

  Holding on.

  The tears on his cheeks surprised him, but he could not even turn his head away.

  * * *

  She felt his plea and knew his pain, but she made herself staunch. A wife who went to pieces was not what he needed now at all and she was damn well going to chase him to the afterlife and back to make certain that he did not die.

  ‘I love you.’

  There, she had said it out loud into the room, with all its clutter and its debris and the tears on her husband’s face. ‘I have loved you since the first moment I saw you on the steps of Tattersall’s because you are strong and beautiful and good. If you die, I will too, I swear it, from a broken heart and a broken life. So if you have any decency at all you will fight to survive this and you will fight hard.’ His glassy eyes watched her, the fever marking spots of red into the white, and barely blinking. ‘I will love you for ever, damn you, Daniel Wylde. Do you hear that? It’s for ever with me.’

  She could not make it plainer, but already he looked to be slipping into sleep. If she shook him awake again, would it be better or worse for him? With no other experience in healing save that with the stallion she simply stood and watched, making certain his chest rose and fell, and was pleased when the old stablemaster came back with the supplies they needed.

  ‘The village doctor has been sent for, ma’am, but Mrs Orchard asked me to tell you that Dr Phillips is at least two hours away at a difficult birthing for the maid in the parlour has a sister who works for him.’

  ‘Then we will start without him. The fever needs to be brought down and the wound to his leg has to be dressed. I had thought to treat it in the same way the Earl treated Deimos.’

  Unexpectedly the older man smiled. ‘’Tis not much difference between the wounds of a man or a horse, to my way of thinking, ma’am, and if Mrs Orchard’s home remedies have brought the master to this bad pass then I’d say it’s time to try something else.’

  ‘You think it will work?’

  ‘It did a treat with the stallion, though it took a few days. The wound has the same sort of look to it and there is no worse damage to the flesh that I can see.’

  ‘You’ll help me then?’

  In reply he rolled up his shirtsleeves and set to stripping the leaves of chamomile and thyme into the warm water before adding a lump of salt to the brew.

  Amethyst cut away the last of the breeches with her knife, pleased for the long shirt the Earl wore to cover his modesty. Still, her cheeks flared with the endeavour and she hoped when a nightgown had been sent down from the house and they dressed him later, he would not ask who had cut away the last of his trousers.

  The chamomile-and-salt paste obviously stung him even in his unconscious state, for he rolled from side to side trying to get away from their ministrations. It took her a long time to brush the wound out with the linen until it looked a healthier pink.

  As John readied the poultice she saw he had added his own mix of ingredients, which differed a little from those Daniel had applied to Deimos. Comfrey, angelica and feverfew were just a few of the herbs she recognised, but he had also peeled many cloves of garlic and crushed them into the paste. When he applied it to the wound the balm seemed to hold its shape with ease and she asked him about it.

  ‘It’s the stickiness of comfrey that does it, my lady. My mam used it all her life on us and I never forgot. Once Da lost three toes in an accident with an axel and she had him walking in weeks. Didn’t turn bad, neither.’

  The linen wadding and hot bandages came next and when the last of it was applied John positioned the Earl’s wounded leg on a high stack of cushions.

  ‘Can’t do this with the horses, ma’am, but I would if I could. It does wonders for the drainage.’ He stood back. ‘Now with a good amount of thin chicken broth in him and the windows open he has the chance to get well.’

  Amethyst reached for his hand, both their palms reddened from the heat and d
ried with white lines from the salt. ‘I will never forget this, John.’

  He smiled. ‘You’ve the way with his lordship that he needs, I think, ma’am. It’s been a rough few years with the army and his brother so a bit of peaceful rest will do him good. I will tell Mrs Orchard to send one of the maids over with that broth. Make sure you have some, too.’

  When he left Amethyst used the time to clean up all the basins and pails and twigs that were left around the floor. The village doctor had finally arrived, but on seeing what she had done had informed her that he could not have managed better and then left. The birthing he had been attending was a difficult one and he needed to get back, though he promised to return to Montcliffe in the morning.

  Drawing out a thin clean sheet from a large linen cupboard Amethyst arranged it across her husband, tucking in the top around his chin. Later she would find lavender for the room and perhaps a scented candle, but for now a tiredness descended upon her. Pulling a chair up to the bed, she dropped into it, glad to be off her feet.

  * * *

  It was dark and late and the pain that bloomed at the edges of his mind pulled him awake so quickly he felt the thumping of his heart in his chest.

  Daniel’s glance fell downwards and he saw his leg propped up with pillows and bandaged from groin to knee. As he wriggled his toes the relief that swamped him was enormous. It hadn’t gone, then, and he still retained the feeling.

  The days of being sick ran into each other, though he remembered Amethyst shouting something at him, anger in her eyes. He remembered John here, shadowed through the heat of a steamy room. He thought Dr MacKenzie from London had been by the bed at some point too, prodding at him and opening his eyes. But now there was only a dark silence.

  He was alive and the breath he took no longer hurt in each and every part of his body. The room was clean, with cool, fresh linen arranged across him and the awful smell of sulphur gone.

  He tried to lift his arm to wipe his dry lips, but the energy needed defeated him. Instead he turned his head and saw his wife on the leather chair and fast asleep. In stillness he watched, her small breaths rhythmic and deep, and the silky lashes on her cheeks long in repose.

  Parts of the past days came back through the ether. The heat of the bandages, the smell of garlic, a cold flannel gently wiped across his forehead, water dribbled between dry lips.

  I love you.

  He stiffened, trying to catch the cadence of the words.

  Had she said it or had he?

  Tiredness swamped him and even the light of a candle burning on the mantel seemed too bright. He groaned.

  ‘You are awake?’ Her voice was soft as she came from slumber, but he could only watch her, the wheat-and-gold curls held back with a band of dark blue cloth.

  ‘You have been ill. John and I have been tending to you and the fever broke this afternoon.’

  Leaning over, she applied honey to his lips. He could not even lick away the sweetness. ‘I will find you a drink for I am sure you must be thirsty.’

  Standing, she went from his sight, but her footsteps were close. Then she was back, one hand cradling his head and bringing him up. The fresh water was sweet and cold, though she allowed him only little sips.

  ‘Too much will make you vomit again.’

  Again.

  ‘Your physician was called from London and he said to give you only tiny amounts until your stomach can manage it. He says it will be a few days until the sickness subsides.’

  ‘MacKenzie was here, then?’ Nausea rolled through his body in slow and undulating waves.

  ‘Is here. Mrs Orchard has put him up in the house. He is pleased with your progress, too, because the swelling on your leg has gone down and the colour is better. There was a blockage and he removed it.’

  A blockage? The bullet?

  Daniel tried to ask her about it, but he could not. The skin beneath his wife’s eyes was bruised purple and the scratch from the ring on her cheek had scabbed. Exhausted. Because of him. Where was Mrs Orchard? Why were the servants not here helping her?

  Swallowing, he spoke, though the words came out as a whisper.

  ‘Thank...you.’

  Tears welled in her eyes before she wiped them away with a quick and embarrassed dash. He saw that her hands were blistered and with a huge effort reached out for the one that was nearest.

  ‘Sorry.’

  * * *

  He was asleep again before she could even answer, his fingers limp and warm. Sorry I have been sick? Sorry I cannot love you?

  Had he heard? Would he guess? Did he remember what she had told him in the quiet watches of his illness? And now that he was getting better, how did she hide what she truly felt?

  She couldn’t and the danger of it all spiralled.

  Bringing his fingers to her lips, she kissed each one, strong fingers with war imbued within them, no pampered and indolent lord, but a man who had lived through battle as well as peace and who had defended himself and his country.

  A knock on the door took her attention and, laying his hand down on the counterpane of the bed, she crossed to see who was there.

  Her father stood on the top step, question on his face. ‘I wondered if you were coming back up to the house this evening. It is late?’

  She shook her head. ‘I think I will remain here tonight, Papa. Lord Montcliffe is restless and may need me.’

  ‘Every man needs his wife, my jewel, especially one who has been so sick.’

  ‘I love him, Papa.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I am not certain if he loves me back.’

  A small frown crossed his face and then a smile. ‘Your mother would have said listen for things other than the words, Amy, and she would have told you to be patient. Love comes in many forms,’ he added and reached forward to lift up the gold cross at her neck. ‘It is here in your mother’s gift and there in your blistered hands. Look for it in Daniel Wylde, Amethyst, but do not be greedy. Men can sometimes be afraid of love.’

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘When I first met your mother I was. And now...’ He stopped himself before saying more, but she saw secrets in his eyes.

  ‘It is Julia?’ Her question held no regrets.

  Without hesitation he nodded.

  ‘I have seen a house not far from here for sale. It has a garden that runs from the steps at the front to a lake beyond it.’

  As he spoke he beamed in a way she had not seen him do for so very long.

  ‘If you are to live at Montcliffe Manor I would like to be close. Julia has expressed an interest in living around Barnet as well for she has no fixed abode to call her own. I know my heart is weak and there may not be many months left for me, but still...?’

  And then Amethyst knew. The truth as it must have been for all the days of their visit. Her father was enamoured with Julia McBeth, with her light brown and curling hair and her gentle pale blue eyes. A kind woman, a good woman. A woman who might see him comfortable and looked after for these last months or hopefully even years of his life.

  ‘Susannah said to make you flourish, Amethyst, and I think you will here, but I also need a life. Do you approve?’

  She flung herself into her father’s arms and showed him with every ounce of love just how delighted she was with his choice of both companion and of abode.

  ‘You know that I do. Anything to make you happy and relaxed were what the doctor ordered and this seems exactly that.’

  When he had gone Amethyst sat again at Daniel’s side. She felt safe finally. Indeed, if she had her way she would stay well out of the way of society and cocooned in the green heart of the countryside for ever.

  Chapter Twelve

  She was there watching him when he awoke again.

  ‘I cannot be...good company.
’ The words were easier to say now. ‘If you wish to go...’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘It is late?’

  She nodded and he looked across at the window. The curtains were not drawn and the light of a full moon fell into the room. After one o’clock, at least, and more like nearly two from the slant of shadow.

  ‘Dr MacKenzie has had to go back to London, but he insists that you are being left in able hands.’

  ‘Yours?’ He smiled and moved his foot, bending his knee so that he could see the bandage and reassure himself that his leg was still there. Pain shot into his thigh, but it was bearable now, a lesser hurt. ‘It looks a lot like Deimos’s fetlock.’

  ‘John helped me.’

  The lines from his eyes crinkled with humour. ‘What did MacKenzie say?’

  ‘He said he thought he should be using the poultice in his own practice and he left something for you. He was certain you would be pleased.’

  Leaning over to the small cupboard beside the bed, she took out a dish and picked up a bud of hard metal.

  ‘This bullet came from your thigh.’

  Relief rushed through him, making the blood beat in his ears. ‘He got it out, then?’

  ‘Dr MacKenzie said that the swelling dislodged it from the bone. He has never seen that happen before. He also said that I was to get you up walking as soon as I could.’

  Daniel couldn’t believe the elation of knowing he hadn’t died or been left badly crippled by an amputation. He wanted suddenly to go outside into the light of the moon and feel the cold air upon his face, to put weight upon the bone and feel it strong and usable and real.

  Shimmying up on the pillows, he moved his legs around to the side of the bed. His thigh throbbed, but he made himself wait until his body became accustomed again to the new position.

  ‘I hope it was not you who had to dress me?’ His nightshirt was long and bulky. There was nothing underneath it save his skin.

  When she coloured he muttered something softly under his breath.

  ‘John fashioned this for you.’ Amethyst handed him a stick carved from hard wood. Its handle had been made into the head of a stallion, the rippled seams of dark knots giving the illusion of a mane. The cane felt good in his hand and sturdy as he stood, imbalance keeping him still until the world righted again.