The Marchioness’ Buried Secret (Historical Regency Romance)

by Ella Edon

  * * *

  Not long after Lady Allen left, the physician arrived. He was brought to the bedchamber andHenry stood beside Emma, as the physician examined her. Emma was lain on the bed, and the duvet covered her from her chest down to her feet. She felt a constant chill and had insisted on being covered up. The physician touched her head, checked her eyes and gums and then, began to query her.

  "Do you feel cold?"

  "Yes," came Emma's response.

  "You still feel faint?"

  "Only a little." Emma stirred, her eyes caught his and he offered her a smile.

  After a series of questions, the physician took out two bottles of draught from his bag and placed them on the table. He looked up at Henry and said to him. "My Lord, the Lady is down with the flu. She would be down for a few days but soon enough, she should be back on her feet. It is nothing to be worried about."

  "The draught?"

  “Should be given to her twice a day. After breakfast and after dinner. I strongly advise that she be on bed rest."

  Henry frowned. Perhaps her illness was caused by stress in the first place. He touched his forehead and sighed. Emma looked up at him.

  "Henry? What is it?"

  The physician chuckled. "His lordship is worried I think, but you will get better. There's no need to worry. I should be on my way."

  Henry disagreed. There was everything to be worried about. His Emma was ill, partially because of him, for if he had intervened in his father's unending demands, then she would not be so stressed and would not have taken ill.

  Henry walked the physical out, before going back to be with Emma. When he returned, she was fast asleep, and curled her body to one side. He watched her and worried that he would not be able to protect her. He didn't like seeing her so vulnerable and weak and feeble. He stayed beside her and took her hand in his. He hoped that she would get better, and very quickly.

  When night came, he asked that their meals be brought up for her room, and that they be left alone. He wanted to be the one to care for her, He didn't want it to be any other person. He sat by her bedside. As she awoke her eyes seemed drowsy, her face was reddened and pale.

  "Henry..."

  He raised his finger to his mouth and said. "Shh. Do not speak. There's soup here for you."

  Emma shook her head. "I am...not hungry."

  "I insist, Emma. You should take some soup, in order to gather your strength. The physician has strictly advised that you be fed well."

  Emma sighed.

  Henry rose, so that he was standing beside her. "Please, sit up, so that you may eat."

  Emma sighed. Henry raised his head towards the door. "Sally?"

  The door opened immediately. He had known, from Sally's look, when she had dropped the meal, that she had been worried too. He knew that would wait by the door in case they needed anything more. Sally came in, tensely gripping at the sides of her dress. She curtsied. "Your lordship."

  "Help me, so that she may sit up to take her tea.”

  Sally was by his side immediately. As he lifted Emma's body with great care, she stuffed pillows beneath her, so that Emma could rest her back on them.

  "Thank you, Sally, you may go."

  Sally was reluctant. She looked from Emma to him and from Emma to him, again. "Are you certain, my Lord, that there'd be no need for me?"

  Henry knew that he didn't want her there. He just wanted to be alone with Emma. He shook his head. "No, Sally. Thank you."

  Sally, as though still uncertain, waited a bit, before she curtsied and walked out quietly.

  Henry placed the soup and tea before Emma. She looked at the soup and frowned. "I do not think that I can take this."

  "We will have to try, Emma." He was by her side again, adjusting the pillows, before finally taking a seat beside her.

  Emma smiled. "It seems as though you have done this before. You seem so worried, so concerned. I will get better, there is no need for this."

  His throat clogged. He remembered that he had indeed worried like this before, for his mother. She had come down with an unknown ailment, also after one of her assignments for his Father. She had never recovered. She became so lean, coughing and struggling to breath. He had been by her bedside throughout, assuring her, just as she assured him, that she would be fine. But she was never fine again.

  "Henry?"

  He snapped out of his thoughts and saw that she was eating. She wiped the sides of her lips very gently, while gazing at him. "You seem far away, Henry."

  He nodded. "I was. I am here now. "

  She frowned. She gestured to her plate. The soup was not finished, but a good part was gone.

  "I have eaten as much as was requested, may I have my draught now? So I may rest?"

  He nodded. He took the tray from her and placed it on the table close by. Then, he took the draught from the table and gave it to her, just as the physician had advised. He removed the pillows from behind her and let her rest properly.

  When she was comfortable, she looked up at him. "What bothers you?"

  He shook his head. "Nothing of importance —"

  "Tell me... “ she paused, as though in pain, before speaking again "tell me what worries you."

  Henry sighed. "My mother died of an illness such as this- "

  Emma nodded wordlessly encouraging him to continue.

  "And I watched her, everyday. I watched, tried to care for her, and I watched her get worse, I watched her go."

  "Henry..."

  "I just want you to be alright."

  Emma smiled. "I will be fine. Do you want to talk about her?"

  "No." Though he wasn't sure. He had not spoken about her in years.

  Emma smiled. "Perhaps it would help if you spoke about her. Keep the memory of her alive. It may not hurt so much when you do."

  Henry looked at her. "Are you certain?"

  Emma giggled. "I am not certain it will help, but maybe we should try."

  He wondered if perhaps she was right, he had bottled his pain for years, it was too much. Perhaps he should try to speak of her.

  "She used to play the piano." He did remember, because she has taught him. "She would sit in the music room, and her long fingers would grace the piano boards. I would sit before her, watching as she played. It was extraordinary. Because I watched her, I also wanted to be able to play. So, I asked her to teach me. And she did."

  Emma smiled. "I still haven't seen you play." Her eyes looked at his fingers, where they rested on his thighs. He smiled.

  "You will, soon."

  "What other musical instruments do you play?"

  "The violin, but not too well."

  "I see."

  "Do you wish to learn?"

  "If you would be willing to teach me, then of course.”

  He saw her eyes closing and struggling to stay open, but he was still grinning. He regretted that sleep had called her in. He liked that they were talking, that they were reliving memories together, that she had made him laugh, and he had made her smile. He liked that she had discovered a remedy for something that had ached his heart for years. She had been right. Talking about his mother made it less painful for him. But nothing would be more painful than recalling that his father had a hand in his mother's untimely death.

  He kissed the top of Emma's head and covered her properly with the duvet. She was fast asleep already, her soft snores lingering in the air as he hovered close to her. He watched her lashes flutter, and her slightly parted lips.

  Chapter Eighteen

  For the few days that Emma was ill she received much attention from everyone, and with the Earl gone on a business trip to Scotland, she was free of his demands for the time being. Most of the attention came from Henry, who only reluctantly left her bed side when necessary. Sally lingered too, even when Emma asked to be alone. Mr. Anders stood watch by the door, should she call out. Cecil tried to read her his gothic novels from the door, though Henry often goodhumoredly chased him away. Even Lady Allen visite
d with a bouquet of lilies, which of course Emma was allergic to.

  It had been Henry who had stopped her and informed her of her error.

  "They will have to be kept in the hallway, your Grace. Emma is allergic to lilies. I fear that it may worsen her illness."

  Lady Allen's apology was profuse. "Oh dear, my apologies. I had no idea."

  "Certainly, your Grace."

  As Lady Allen made her way to Emma’s room, she paused in the doorway. "Your Lordship, do you think I need to wash my hands? I did touch the lilies."

  Sally was the one who responded. "Certainly, your Grace. Your hands should be washed."

  Emma laughed at it all, because not only did she feel loved, she also felt that they feared, as though she were so fragile, like glass.

  Lady Allen came in, after she had properly washed her hands.

  "Lady Blackmoor."

  "Your Grace." Emma said.

  "Oh no, call me Rachael."

  Emma smiled. "Rachael."

  The visit had been the beginning of their friendship blossoming. The second time Lady Allen came, she arrived with a rose, instead if lilies, and made sure to was place it by her bed side. Emma was getting better then. Her face was no longer as pale as before.

  "Would you permit me to read you one of my favorite stories?" Lady Allen said. Only then did Emma notice the book she had in hand.

  Emma smiled. "Of course, you may."

  "Or do you like poetry?"

  "Which ever pleases you."

  Lady Allen began to read to her a story of a lady who was to be wed but had a lover — a boy from the stables. Emma could not help but think about the Earl’s claims over her late mother. But Lady Allen’s voice was soothing, gentle, Emma felt her body calming to it.

  "...and then, the Lady fled her husband's home..."

  Emma shook her head. "That was a wrong choice. Why would she run all her life?"

  Lady Allen closed the book. "It was her choice nonetheless and whether she ran all her life or not, she was sure that she would be happy with Wilson by her side."

  Emma smiled. "Do you, like Rose, think that love would conquer all?”

  Lady Allen grinned. "I do not know if love truly conquers all, but I do know that when you find love, you find happiness. Even in the worst moments, when you look upon the face of your lover, one becomes happy again."

  Emma was tempted to ask of the duchess if her husband made her feel like that, but she didn't. She wasn't quite sure if their friendship allow it yet, or if it would sound silly or intrusive. She liked Lady Allen and she wanted their friendship to be genuine but then recalling the circumstances of their meeting led to her falling back in shame. She was supposed to simply get information for the Earl, and nothing more.

  "I was hoping, that when you get better, you would come out with me for carriage ride."

  Emma smiled.

  " You have been ill for days, and all you've seen are the four walls of your room. I was thinking that riding in a carriage around the park would cheer you up. The sunlight and the day will definitely brighten you up."

  Lady Allen was so kind. So considerate. She would make a good mother, Emma thought. And a good friend.

  She liked to bring up ideas. She liked to speak, Emma noted. She didn't like silence. For some reason, silence seem to bother Lady Allen. Emma could tell, because each time they ran out of conversation, Lady Allen often said something at random.

  "You do not like silence,” she said out loud, "you like for something always to be said, to avoid it."

  Lady Allen smiled, but she said nothing. Her smile did not reach her eyes. She spoke again, changing the subject abruptly. "We should go to the theatre as well, when you are up for it."

  Emma sat up, so that she was leaning away from the pillow. She took Lady Allen's hands in hers. "Thank you, Rachael, for coming to visit me like this. It truly means a lot to me. I would like to see the park with you. Iwould also like to see a play with you , but all, in due time."

  There was relief in Lady Allen's face as though she was happy. "Since I married - I haven't been out – as much as you might think. I like to sit in the salon and read books - the Duke is always traveling for business. He's always busy."

  Emma frowned.

  "It would be a pleasure to have you visit with me again. I anticipate your full recovery, dear." Lady Allen said, grinning.

  Emma nodded. She anticipated her recovery too. Lady Allen rose then, but she seemed reluctant. "The Duke is away on a trip -it will be quite lonely to return home now and it's barely past noon."

  Emma sat up, she looked towards the window. Lady Allen was right, it was barely past noon. She looked back at Lady Allen and grinned."I was wondering, if you might want to tell of where you grew up? Where you lived before you married?"

  Lady Allen smiled. "Perhaps." she took a seat before Emma, and once again, she began to talk. And in this way, extended her visit until early in the evening.

  * * *

  At night, when Henry returned to Emma, she smiled when she saw him. She had missed him.

  Although Lady Allen had kept her company, she also missed his company above all others.

  "Welcome, my Lord."

  Henry sat beside her and took her hands in his. He kissed both her knuckles and held them close. "You seem brighter today. Tomorrow will be better I think."

  His presence made her feel stronger.

  "How was your day?" she asked.

  Henry sighed. "Well, I must say. The harvests have been fruitful."

  "Great news, Henry!" she laughed. Her hands jerked in his as she did, from her glee.

  Henry smiled instantly. His eyes found hers, and they both stilled. Emma could see his eyes clearly, and she loved them. So blue, searching hers frantically, as though needing something. Emma would have leaned up to press her lips against his, but she didn’t want him ill as well. His hands around her slackened and he frowned.

  "I am glad for your recuperation. I intend to take a walk with you at the courtyard when you feel better, to stretch your legs. Tomorrow, perhaps? "

  Emma smirked. "Are you certain that I'll feel that better tomorrow, my Lord?"

  Henry raised both brows. "Do you not hope to feel better? You seem much improved.”

  Emma chuckled. "I could play for you tomorrow, as I have long promised, it is overdue."

  "Perhaps I will be able to dance to your music. That would be soothing to my health."

  Henry's eyes searched hers. "Perhaps, then, we should dance together."

  Emma shook her head, giggling. "Dance together without music?"

  "The music would be in our hearts."

  She felt giddy, happy, as though she was eighteen again and ready for her debut. But this was no debut, it was a moment with her husband, and it mattered to her. She began to imagine herself, dancing to what he played. She imagined his fingers on the instrument, , she decided that not only did she want to dance with him but also watch him play. She wanted to be serenaded by him and watch his fingers move across the keys.

  She took up his hands once again, and looked at them, as though she were studying them like a book. They were slender and long. She began to move them in the air, grinning, imagining that it was the instrument.

  * * *

  The next day, Henry left early to attend to his business, Emma was left to anticipate what they had planned. As expected, and predicted by Henry, Emma felt stronger. She went out of her bedchamber, with Sally following behind her to monitor her. Sally was as pleased as Henry that her mistress was better.

  "You look very fine, my Lady. I am so happy for your recovery. All of the days you've been unwell, I've stood outside the door, hoping for your quick recovery," Sally said.

  And it didn't end there. She went about chattering and talking. Emma simply nodded at intervals but said nothing. Her smile was enough. She feared that conversation would tire out and she'd rather save her strength for something else.

  "The entire house has been gloomy
with your ill health. We've prayed for your quick recovery. And it did work, my Lady! You weren't ill for too long. I made sure the cook made only the best soup. And the rice puddings, did you like those?"

  Emma decided then, that she had had enough. She halted as she was about to go down the stairs. "Sally, I am truly grateful for your care and attention, but I am not quite well enough to withstand your interrogations I’m afraid."