She sputtered, shaking her head. “I am not discussing anything further with you, Lord St. Raven. I shall ride with my charge.” She cantered past him. “Where I belong.”
Her back was ramrod-straight as she joined Louise. Dominic sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn’t want to hurt or anger her. His intentions had been to help.
Her reaction was confirmation that he did not need to facilitate any more closeness between them. After this trip, he was done interacting with her in any way other than what was expected of their positions.
Chapter Thirteen
Admitting wrongdoing gnawed at Henrietta’s sense of pride, and yet the next day she found herself paused outside Dominic’s office, her fist poised to knock.
After their trip yesterday, she’d sequestered herself in her room. Though she had been repeatedly invited to dine with Dominic and Louise, such a thing was really not appropriate for a governess and she always declined. Last night no invitation was sent.
She had been relieved, as she had much to think about.
To soothe her mind, she had reorganized her medicine box and relabeled the herb jars.
And now, before going to visit Mrs. Smith to check on her arm, she knew she should speak to Dominic. Thank him for taking her to see Morningside. But oh, how it grated to know he’d been right.
She rapped on the door, the sting of contact smarting her knuckles.
“Come in.” He sounded preoccupied.
Straightening her shoulders, she pushed the door open and walked in. He sat at his desk, bent over papers, his hair a wild mass of blackness that looked more becoming to a pirate than an earl.
Such a fanciful thought for one not inured to fancy. She mentally shook away the image of a pirate, though it remained stubborn, especially when he looked up from his desk. The way his hair hung about his face, framing the sharp cheekbones and focused expression. Nonsensical fancy. That was all.
She strode in. “I’m here to thank you, my lord.”
“You are?” He leaned back in his chair, beckoning her to come closer with a lazy, long-fingered gesture. “By all means, have a seat.”
“It shall not take long.” She drew a long, fortifying breath. The arrogant look upon his face almost changed her mind. “You were right to insist I visit Morningside. I found it most informative.”
“Informative.”
“Helpful,” she hedged. What was he getting at? Staring at her so, as if expecting some other answer.
“Did you feel anything?”
“Of course I felt,” she said quickly, a hot tightness compressing her breastbone. Though he did not sound accusative, the burn of his words seared her. “What are you wanting me to say? I’ve come to thank you.”
He smiled then, a half-hearted thing that did not reach his eyes, which she suddenly saw were fatigued.
“You do not look well,” she said.
He tapped his plume against the desk, then pushed back his chair and stood. “I am tired. It was a long night. Is there anything else?”
“Oh, no. Simply my thanks.” She paused. “Did you have another attack?”
A long silence before he inclined his head. “Last night. They leave me exhausted.”
“Are you still planning to leave for your home in the north?”
“After I sift through these papers. The steward has ideas regarding farming techniques. They have merit, and I suppose I should also thank you, Miss Gordon. If not for your interference, the estate would still be languishing.”
“One must not ignore responsibilities.”
“Indeed.”
“I have a suggestion, my lord.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“I promised to help you, but I believe our best opportunities lay in London.”
He stroked his chin, eyeing her. “What is it about London?”
“There are societies that meet to discuss medical advances. They will have updated knowledge. And there are bookstores where I might acquire modern literature on the subject. The books I have are old. Possibly inaccurate.” She shifted on her feet. She did not want to disclose what they said about epilepsy.
That it was brought about by sin and evil. That those who had it should be locked up in asylums.
“You would help me find a cure?”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure there is a cure, but perhaps there are ways to lessen the frequency of attacks. Epilepsy has been a feared illness, but I do not believe it should impede on your life. With knowledge, you might reestablish your previous lifestyle.”
“No, that was a different life. But I am interested in what you say. It would require some planning.” He grimaced. “There is the possibility of a run-in with my sister.”
“The one who wants Louise to attend school outside of England?”
“She thinks it would be best.” His brow furrowed. “I do not.”
“Louise loves you but she is a twelve-year-old girl in need of a firm hand and guidance. I believe you are capable of meeting her needs, but you will need to believe so, as well. Running off to your northern estate will accomplish nothing.”
“I see,” he said in a crisp tone.
“Louise would also benefit from a trip to London,” she added, hoping to ease the furrow that had wedged itself in his brow. “There is so much to do there, and it will broaden her educational experiences.”
“Point taken. What is in your hands?”
“Oh, this?” She held up the jar of ointment. “It is for Mrs. Smith’s arm. I’m on my way to check her progress. Louise is waiting in the stables for me. You really should speak with the village apothecary. He did a terrible job treating her. It’s quite the travesty.”
His eyebrows lowered, making him look less charming and more like a pirate once again.
She quickly added, “At least supply him with new medical textbooks. In fact, I should like to meet the man.” And give him a piece of her well-trained mind. Dominic had no need to know about that, however.
“He won’t be serving the village much longer.” Dominic came around the desk. “I shall accompany you to Mrs. Smith’s. The fresh air shall do me good, and I believe she was the one with the roof in need of repair.”
“That is correct, my lord.”
He passed her, leaving an aromatic trail of cologne. “Let’s join my niece, shall we?”
“Yes,” she murmured, following him out the door and across the bright lawn. Another sun-swept morning.
“How is it that you learned so much about herbs and remedies?” he asked as they walked.
“A few days ago I would have said I learned it all with Uncle William, but now, I remember my mother cultivated many gardens. She instilled a love for science within me.”
Their footsteps whispered across the grass. She hugged her reticule and ointment jar to herself as the memory of digging in the dirt, planting, lingered in her mind. How very long ago it had been. Another lifetime, a different girl.
“How is Louise doing with her studies?”
“She is curious and bright. Absolutely fine.”
Dominic shook his head, his hands tucked neatly into his pockets. “How is it that she ran off every other governess? She’s almost like a different child.”
“You’re here,” Henrietta pointed out. “As much as I’d like to believe I’ve made a difference, I truly think she needs you, and your presence calms her.”
He seemed uncomfortable with that answer and said little else. They greeted Louise, who was hopping about in a way that alarmed Henrietta more than it did the horses. They watched her, their ears pointed forward, casually shuffling their hooves.
Soon they were off, Louise galloping ahead, laughing. Henrietta couldn’t help smiling. She and Dominic rode in a companionable silence. They arrived at Mrs. Smith’s. To Henrietta’s relief, the
rash was healing nicely, and the roof had been repaired.
As they were preparing to leave, Mrs. Smith cleared her throat. Quite loudly.
She gestured for Henrietta. Dominic was helping Louise adjust her stirrups. Henrietta walked back to the door frame, where the tenant stood, twisting her fingers in her skirts.
“I’m sorry, miss, but I feel I should tell you. Though I know it’s not my place.” Mrs. Smith’s eyes flickered past Henrietta to where Dominic helped Louise mount. “My friend Jane has a terrible cough. I remembered what you said about the apothecary. It’s not going away, and she’s been on his medicines for almost a month. I’m worried.”
“I will pay her a visit. Where does she live?”
Mrs. Smith gave directions. Henrietta hurried outside. “Dominic, I must check another tenant.”
He wheeled his horse around. “Another?”
“Yes, you two may go on without me, if you’d like. That mound of paperwork on your desk requires finishing, I’m sure.”
His face twisted. “It does. Louise?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Then it is settled,” said Henrietta. “I shan’t be long.”
The two rode away. Large and small, swaying with the same agile grace in their saddles. For a second sadness invaded her. She’d grown quite attached. Perhaps too much so.
Steeling her spine against any further melancholy, she steered her horse in the direction of Jane’s house. Coughs could be quite dangerous. At least she had her medical bag, with a few jars and tinctures. Logical thinking had urged her to bring it. When she reached the cottage, a smaller version of Mrs. Smith’s, she tethered her horse and then made her way up the uneven walkway. Spare bits of grass and weeds poked up between the stones. A broken shutter leaned at a crooked angle against the window.
She rapped on the door, but no one answered. “Jane?” No answer. Stepping to the side, she peered through a dirt-stained window. Visibility proved ambiguous.
More knocking on the door. Mrs. Smith had seemed very concerned. Past experience had taught Henrietta to be patient. A sick person often took longer to answer a call. Her reliance on experience proved helpful when at last the door creaked open.
A haggard woman peeked out, her blond hair pulled into a messy bun and her eyes listless with fatigue. Henrietta noted the strain around the woman’s mouth and the sunken skin beneath her eyes.
“Mrs. Smith sent me. I am Miss Gordon, a trained physician’s assistant. I’ve come to check on you.”
Jane opened the door wider but before she could speak, a deep, rattling cough shook her body.
Henrietta had heard that sound before. It came before death.
She pushed the door open. Jane finished coughing and removed the cloth from her lips. Crimson streaks stained the ivory rag. A bad sign.
Henrietta scanned the room. “Are you taking medicine for your cough?”
Jane nodded. “By the stove.”
Finding the glass bottle, Henrietta opened it and smelled it. Laudanum? “This is for your cough?”
“The doctor said it would relax my lungs.”
“And he gave you nothing else to help?”
Jane shook her head.
Sighing, Henrietta walked to a hard chair near a wall. “Please come and sit. I shall listen to your heart and lungs to determine the severity of your case.”
“Will this cost?”
“No, not at all. Ideally, you should be using a compress every day to loosen mucus. There are certain ointments to assist your breathing.” She pulled her chair near Jane. First she rapped on Jane’s chest and listened carefully. She did so several times, noting the changes in sound.
“I need to listen more closely.” She waited while Jane removed her outer garments, down to the chemise. Then she pressed her ear against the woman’s chest, over the right lung. Her skin was hot through the fabric.
Henrietta moved her head to different areas, listening intently, verifying the unfortunate prognosis.
Riles.
The rattling sound of the woman’s lungs was indicative of consumption. Anyone trained in medicine could have made the diagnosis sooner, as the cough sounded advanced. She straightened, trying hard not to show the alarm that raced through her.
Even if the apothecary did not know enough of scientific analysis, surely in his years of practicing he had seen “the white agony.” Another term for consumption. He should have referred Jane to a sanitarium, not given her a bottle of laudanum.
Because of him, Jane not only grew worse, but she had also possibly spread the disease throughout the village. Jaw tight, she helped Jane put her clothes back on. The thin, rough fabric fueled her rage.
She would have to tell Jane the news, recommend that she leave for a sanitarium and then alert the village.
* * *
Dominic studied the most recent reports on an acre of land to the south of his property devoted to corn crops. They did not seem to be faring well. He flopped his head down on the desk, closing his eyes.
The last thing he wanted was to change how his brother had run the estate. But if bad harvests kept affecting farming... He groaned. The desk was cool against his cheek.
“Ah, excuse me, my lord?” It was Jacks.
Wonderful. Time to behave like an earl again. He had no idea how Henrietta suffered through responsibility on a daily basis. He lifted his head, beckoning his valet in.
“My lord, I apologizing for disturbing you, but there seems to be a...situation that perhaps you may need to resolve.” The strain in Jacks’s voice was a bucket of cold water dumped over Dominic’s head.
He assumed a more earl-like position, which included squared shoulders and a concerned expression. Most likely they had run out of flour again. That had been an uncomfortable experience. “What is the problem?”
His valet, though, did not act as he had during that incident. In fact, he looked distinctly pained, even going so far as to pull his collar away from his neck. “In the village, my lord.”
“In the village...”
Jacks visibly swallowed. “It’s the governess. She is infuriated with the apothecary and inspecting his shop.”
Dominic shoved to his feet. “What do you mean, inspecting his shop?”
“It—it was told to me by a servant who has come from town that Miss Gordon is there. She is, well...livid. Not the behavior one expects from a governess.” A bit of starch ironed Jacks’s voice now. Servants did not like uppity servants, and though a governess ranged a bit higher than the working class, she didn’t quite make gentry. Certainly not peerage.
The censure in Jacks’s tone bothered Dominic, though he could not say why.
He rounded the desk. “Get me a horse.”
All the way to the village, he brooded. The closer he got, the more annoyed he grew. Henrietta’s interference with Old John could cause massive problems. The tendons at the back of his neck tightened with every beat of his horse’s hooves.
Inspecting.
Why would she be inspecting Old John’s store? It made no sense.
She had gone to see the other tenant. Obviously something had happened to send her into town. To gather more medicine, he presumed. But from the look on Jacks’s face, there was more to the story. More than he was willing to say in front of his employer.
Dominic dropped his horse at the livery. He stalked to Old John’s store. A crowd had gathered outside. The sun pummeled Dominic, and his stride slackened as he neared. The villagers talked amongst themselves, but when they saw him, their voices dropped to whispers. They parted, creating a path. No one addressed him, but everyone dipped into a bow or curtsy.
He offered a tight nod and moved through the path they made for him, clomped up the wooden stairs and went into the store.
More people were packed inside, though when they noticed his presence t
hey attempted to give him space to enter. Eyes averted, the people in the room fell silent, but for one voice. One loud, distinctly feminine and condemning voice.
“You quack. You have as good as killed that woman and exposed this entire town to infection.”
“Excuse me,” he said to those around him. Unfortunately, the room was so small they could not make any more room for him. He scanned above their heads, his height a blessing.
Henrietta had not noticed him. He thought that might be her gold-streaked mane of hair at the far end of the room. An answering murmur came, perhaps Old John’s rebuttal. Dominic applied a bit more force and gained an inch into the room.
“Ignorance is no excuse, sir.” Henrietta’s indignant words rose above the hushed whispers. The authority that resonated in those words did not surprise Dominic, but he could not have her scaring the villagers. He did not know these people. He had made no effort to learn about them, and he could count on one hand the number of times he had rode through the village.
But he knew Old John.
He could not allow Henrietta to browbeat him or disparage him, as she was so clearly bent on doing. Even if she was right, even if she had seen past the man’s facade when no one else had. He finally squeezed to the counter, where his childhood apothecary hunched against the wall, his white hair framing an alarmed expression.
Henrietta’s back was to him and the closer he drew, the more he noticed the rigid set of her shoulders, the palms on her hips. They faced each other like duelists at dawn.
He finally reached her and, as though sensing him, she spun. The look on her face was fierce, her eyes bright and strong, her ivory skin framed by soft curls that drew attention to the curve of her lips.
“Finally, you are here. This man—” she lifted her finger and pointed at Old John “—should be forced to leave the village at once.”
Dominic, affection fading quickly, tilted his head. “Miss Gordon, I see you have met our apothecary.”
“He does not deserve that title.”
The Unconventional Governess Page 12