Secrets of an Accidental Duchess

by Jennifer Haymore

  Hell, Max knew nothing about doctoring. Besides a few mild colds, he’d never been sick in his life. But if he were Olivia, he imagined that it would be comforting to feel warm. “See if you can find a brick to heat downstairs. And assess what food is in the house. If there’s any broth, or anything you might be able to heat to give her, do that. Otherwise, send up some wine or brandy.” He realized he’d probably have to send for food from the inn and cursed himself for not having thought of that when he’d been in town. They didn’t have a cook here, and Olivia’s maid couldn’t be expected to do everything.

  “Yes, sir.” Taking one of the candles she’d lit, the maid turned to exit the room.

  “Thank you,” he said after her. She closed the door, and Max turned back to Olivia to finding her shaking visibly now.

  Max pulled off his boots, his coat, and his shirt. Clad only in his trousers, he climbed in beside Olivia and drew her close. “Here, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling her back against his chest. “Let me warm you.”

  She seemed to sink into him, relaxing a little in her sleep, murmuring something unintelligible. He stroked her coppery hair back from her face, feeling the hot, dry burn of her skin under his fingertips.

  Don’t die, Olivia. Please don’t die. He nuzzled his lips into her hair and closed his eyes.

  He hated this—this feeling of helplessness, of terror. Would she ever wake up?

  Where was the damned doctor?

  It would be a few hours yet, certainly. There was nothing to do but wait… and hope she didn’t get any worse.

  Olivia shifted. She hurt all over. And she couldn’t determine whether she was hot or cold.

  Hot, she decided. She began to kick off the heavy blankets covering her and the solid lump—a brick?—burning at her feet.

  “Olivia?” The voice at her ear was warm, reassuring… and masculine.

  Still half asleep, she tried to smile. “Max,” she murmured. Just the thought of him made her smile. If he was nearby, he’d take care of her.

  She blinked, opening her eyes, remembering. She wasn’t anywhere near Max. She was in Prescot with her maid, on the walk leading to the house where her sister and Lady Fenwicke were staying. And the last thing she remembered was her vision blurring as she’d realized no one was coming to help.

  Yet here she was, in a comfortable bed, in a warm room. She struggled to turn over.

  “Careful, now.”

  It was Max’s voice. She was certain of it. Moving her head felt like she was moving a lump of painful, solid granite, but she turned anyhow.

  Max lay beside her, gazing at her with concern etched in deep lines across his forehead. She reached her heavy arm and touched his skin to smooth out the lines.

  “Max?” she whispered, her voice emerging sounding grating and strange. “Is it really you? Are you really here?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “How… How did you… Did you follow me?” She winced and swallowed. Her throat hurt. She hurt.

  “I heard you left London.” He brushed a knuckle over her cheek. How was it that his touch felt so good when the rest of her felt so terrible? “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “I’m glad you came,” she said. Then she remembered where she was. “Where are Jessica and Lady Fenwicke?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. There was no one here but you and your maid when I arrived.”

  “That’s odd.”

  “Perhaps they returned to Sussex?”

  “Perhaps,” she said, but something niggled inside her, something she couldn’t bring into clear focus.

  “We’ll find out where they’ve gone,” Max said. “As soon as you’re better.”

  “I’m having a fever from the malaria.”

  “I know, sweetheart.”

  Panic rushed over her all of a sudden, and she grabbed his arm. “I don’t have any quinine. I gave all that I had to Lord Fenwicke.”

  “It’s all right,” he said soothingly. “The doctor should be here soon. I told him to bring some medicine for you.”

  She relaxed, smiling at him. Even the small motion of holding his arm had left her breathless. “Thank you.”

  She heard the click of an opening door, and Max turned. It was Cora.

  “I found some eggs, so I made an egg soup,” the maid said. “And some wine.”

  Max looked back at Olivia. “Will you have a little soup?”

  The mere thought of eating anything, as always when she was suffering from one of the fevers, made her nauseous, but she nodded gamely.

  He smiled at her. “Good.”

  He helped her up until she was sitting against the wood slats of the headboard, and Cora brought her a tray. She looked down at the frothy, steaming yellow concoction and tried to steel her stomach against revolting.

  “My mum used to make it for me whenever I had a bit of fever.”

  “Thank you, Cora.” She picked up the spoon, but her hand was shaking, and she spilled the soup out of it before she was able to get it into her mouth.

  Max took the spoon from her. He scooped out a bit, blew on it, then held it to her lips. He continued to feed her at a slow pace until she’d finished about a third of the bowl.

  The next spoonful Max offered her, she shook her head. “Enough?” he asked.

  “Yes. Can I lie down?”

  He whisked the tray away, gave it to Cora, then helped Olivia to lie back down. Keeping her eyes open was beginning to be a struggle, and the blackness was once again taking over.

  He smoothed his hand over her forehead. “The doctor will be here soon, Olivia. Rest.”

  Comforted by his touch, she let oblivion take her.

  Peebles arrived with the doctor from Liverpool just before midnight. After questioning the doctor, a Mr. Grubb, on his credentials, Max paid Peebles and sent him on his way while Grubb examined Olivia.

  As soon as Peebles left, Max hurried back inside, meaning to talk to the doctor. As he walked in, though, he found Cora coming from the kitchen. “Sir?”

  “What is it, Cora?”

  “Well, I didn’t want to say so in front of Miss Donovan, but I found something a mite odd while I was making up the egg soup.”

  “What was that?”

  “Well, you know how the house was closed up, all nice and tight? How the beds were made, there was no clutter, and the doors were locked, just as though Lady Fenwicke and Miss Jessica and their servants had deliberately and carefully left?”

  “Yes?” He tried not to sound impatient, but his toes itched with the need to get back to Olivia.

  “Well, there was a pitcher of curdled milk on the kitchen table.” She frowned, then looked up at him and shrugged. “It just struck me as odd is all, sir. If they planned to leave, why would they leave a pitcher of milk out? Why would they have it in the kitchen at all? There are no cows here, so why would they have gone through the trouble of purchasing the milk if they were intending to leave?”

  “They could simply have forgotten it,” Max said.

  “I suppose so.” She gave him a shy smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Your Grace. Please forgive me for mentioning it.”

  “No, I’m glad you did. And please be sure to tell me if you find anything else that strikes you as odd.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cora walked away, and he stared after her a moment. God, he didn’t want to think what it could mean…. He didn’t want to consider the idea that the young ladies might have been taken from the house against their will, that the person who’d taken them had made it look like they’d left deliberately, but in the rush had forgotten the milk on the table.

  No. He couldn’t let his thoughts turn in that direction. Not now. He needed to think of Olivia. He hurried upstairs, opening the door to the bedchamber to hear Olivia murmuring in her scratchy fever-affected voice. She sounded agitated.

  “What’s wrong?” Max asked.

  She turned toward him. She was completely white except for the two sp
lashes of scarlet on her cheeks and the bright blue of her eyes. She looked terrified.

  “He hasn’t any quinine.”

  “What?” Max turned to the doctor for clarification. “I instructed you to bring quinine in my letter.”

  “Forgive me, Your Grace, but quinine is a rare and expensive medicine. Furthermore, malaria is not a common ailment in Liverpool. I’m afraid you’ll have to send for some from London.”

  “I see,” Max said through gritted teeth. “Miss Donovan, will you excuse us for a moment?”

  “Yes,” she said, closing her eyes. It looked like it hurt her to keep them open. Max was going to go mad if he couldn’t provide her some relief soon.

  He gestured to the door, and the doctor followed him outside.

  “All right,” Max said, “what other ways are there to relieve the symptoms of an attack of malaria?”

  “Nothing is known to be as effective as quinine, sir.”

  Max ground his teeth. He took a deep, steadying breath. “Surely there must be something.”

  “Well, I could treat her as I would anyone with a high fever. Or”—the doctor’s bushy brows drew together—“there is one other option—said to be somewhat efficacious for malarial fevers.”

  “What is it?”

  “Arsenic.”

  Max raised his brows. “Arsenic? Isn’t that poisonous?”

  “It can be, but not usually in medicinal dosing.”

  Max gazed at the doctor skeptically, not liking the use of the word “usually.”

  “I would suggest that we try the usual treatment for a high fever. I’ve bled her and doused her, and I’ll continue to use all the proven methods to reduce the fever. If that doesn’t work within the space of a day, we should try the arsenic.”

  “I’d rather send for the quinine from London.”

  The doctor’s brows rose. “Well, yes, you could try doing that. However, from here to London and back—that’s four days at the least. Her fever is quite high, and I’m very uncertain we can keep her stable for that long.” Seeing Max’s face transform, he quickly added, “But it is certainly worth a try.”

  Max grabbed the man by the shoulders and tried not to shake the wits out of him—he needed those wits if he were to have any hope of helping Olivia. So instead of shaking him, he just gripped him tightly. “Go in there,” he said, “and do whatever you can to help her. I’m sending to London for quinine. You’ll either cure her entirely or keep her stable until it arrives.”

  The man’s pale blue eyes stared up at him, wide and fearful. “Yes, Your Grace, I’ll do my best. I promise you.”

  Max released him. “Good.” It was all he could ask for.

  Why, then, did he feel like it wasn’t enough?

  Chapter Twenty-two

  By dawn, Max had managed to rehire Peebles, this time for the much longer and potentially more profitable trip to London for quinine. Peebles would be on the mail coach heading for London later this morning. That was all that mattered.

  Max returned to the house, stripped off his clothes, and tucked himself beside Olivia. It was cold outside—below freezing, and the coldness of his skin made her shift and then awaken with a sigh.

  “Max?”

  “I’m sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

  “It’s getting worse. It hurts. It’s difficult to think.”

  He tried not to let the jerk of his reaction register through his body. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured. “What can I do to help?”

  “Hold me,” she murmured. “You feel good. So cool. I’m so hot…”

  “I’ll hold you,” he whispered. “For as long as you need me here.”

  “And don’t let that doctor come back, Max.”

  His eyes popped open. “What?”

  “He’s…” Her voice drifted off.

  He lifted himself up on one elbow and shook her gently. “Olivia, wake up. I need to know why you don’t like Dr. Grubb.”

  “Hm?” Her eyelids fluttered. She didn’t move though. He’d noticed she moved less as time went on. The fever was sapping her strength.

  “What’s wrong with the doctor, Olivia?” he said firmly. He needed to know. “Why don’t you want him to help you?”

  “I do,” she murmured.

  “But?”

  “He doesn’t have my medicine.”

  “I know that. We’re going to get some to you soon.”

  “Only quinine helps.”

  Max blew out a breath. He hated this feeling of total helplessness like he’d never hated anything in his life.

  “I don’t like leeches. Don’t like being bled. Don’t like being cold.”

  “But he says all that will help reduce your fever.”

  “Only… quinine…”

  “He’ll give you arsenic if the bleeding doesn’t work. That’s supposed to help cure malaria.”

  Her eyelids fluttered again, but she didn’t respond.

  Max looked down at her, taking deep breaths to calm himself. She was so lovely lying there, like a porcelain doll, so beautiful and perfect.

  But when he closed his eyes, he remembered her laughing up at him as she did so often when they’d walked together, her blue eyes sparkling, the lightest rose blush coloring her cheeks. He wanted that again.

  “Olivia,” he murmured. “You need to get better. Please.”

  She didn’t move. He pulled her closer, feeling the burn of her skin against the cool of his body. Finally, he fell into a fretful sleep.

  It was late in the afternoon when a knock on the door woke Max. He turned to check on Olivia, finding that her breathing had gotten shaky and there was a bluish tint to her skin that hadn’t been there yesterday. Gently, he touched her cheek. It was burning.

  Hell.

  “Your Grace?” It was the maid outside the door. “The doctor has come.”

  “Yes, yes,” Max said crossly. “Show him up.”

  He’d spoken loudly, but Olivia didn’t budge.

  Dr. Grubb entered a few moments later, just as Max was buttoning his coat.

  “Good morning, Your Grace.” The doctor seemed to deliberately ignore the fact that it was obvious Max had spent the night in Olivia’s bed. Even though he probably knew that Max wouldn’t be destroying her innocence in her state, sleeping with a lady like Olivia in any circumstance was not only fodder for gossip, it could ruin her reputation.

  Max would count on the man’s discretion. He could do no more. He looked from the doctor to Olivia, remembering what she’d told him before he’d fallen asleep this morning. He sighed. “There is to be no more bleeding. And no cold baths. They won’t help her. She’s getting worse. She feels hotter this morning.”

  The doctor raised his brows but nodded. “Very well. I’ve thought on the arsenic. Since she’s so slight, I’ll prescribe a sixth of a grain in sugar water, three times daily. If she manages that well, we’ll increase the dose.” Grubb gave him a reassuring smile. “Have faith, Your Grace. I have confidence the arsenic will work wonders.”

  But it didn’t work wonders. Late the next night, after two full days on the arsenic, Olivia grew delirious. She couldn’t keep anything down, her fever was as high as ever, and the area beneath her eyes had turned a ghastly blue.

  The doctor finally admitted she wasn’t responding well to the arsenic and he wasn’t inclined to give her any more. He said that all that was left to do was pray that the quinine arrived in time, but he doubted it would.

  Max wanted to put his fist through the wall.

  He wanted to wrap his hands around the useless doctor’s neck.

  He was pacing the room like a caged tiger when the maid came in, carrying a basin.

  Max frowned at it. “What’s that for?”

  “I thought I’d give my mistress a bit of a bath.”

  Max stopped walking. “I’ll do it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The girl set the basin on the table beside the bed. “I added some lavender and calendula to the water to
soften her skin.”

  She left with a curtsy. Max went to the bedside and dipped the towel into the lukewarm water.

  “I hope this feels good,” he murmured, remembering how sensitive his skin had felt once when he’d had a mild fever as a boy. He was very gentle as he stroked the damp cloth over her.

  At first she lay utterly still, limp as a rag doll. But then her eyelids began to flutter, and she awoke.

  “What… what are you doing, Max?”

  He closed his eyes for a second, just happy to hear her lucid after so many hours.

  “I’m giving you a bath… of sorts.”

  “Like at Stratford House.”

  He smiled, remembering. It seemed so long ago that he’d bathed her in her room at Stratford House. “Yes.”

  “It feels… nice.”

  “Good. I want you to feel good.”

  She looked up at him with shining, clear eyes. “Max, why haven’t we heard from my sisters? I’m worried about them.”

  He was, too. He’d written to Stratford House but hadn’t received a response yet. Had the young women gone back to Sussex, or had they gone somewhere else? Or, God forbid, had Fenwicke learned about their location and sent his minions after them?

  “I’m sure they’re all right,” Max murmured. He didn’t want to make things worse for Olivia’s recovery by causing her undue anxiety. “I’ve sent out some letters. I’m sure we’ll find out where they are in the next few days.”

  “I hope so.”

  She was quiet for a second as he continued washing down the length of her pale leg.

  “Max?”

  “Hm?”

  “It’s not working. The medicine he’s giving me. I’m getting sicker.”

  He dropped his hand and looked at her face. She was watching him with a fearful—but perfectly lucid—gaze.

  He shook his head, blinking hard. “No, Olivia. I’m not going to let this happen. The quinine is coming. In just a few days.”

  “I can’t, Max. I can feel it sucking me under. A great weight. I’m struggling to stay above it, but it would be so easy, so comforting to sink.”

  “No!”

  “I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered.