by Regina Scott
“Your home is all the lovelier to me now that I know why you designed it this way,” she murmured when the others stopped before a portrait of his father in the long gallery. “You have an eye for beauty, my lord.”
“Yes,” he murmured, gazing down at the red of her curls. “I do.”
A blush stole over her cheeks, but she turned her gaze to his mother.
A good thing, too. Yvette was moving a moment before his mother gasped and clutched her chest.
Julian and Miss Thorn stepped away, looking troubled, as Yvette patted his mother’s back. “Easy. Breathe.”
“Salts,” she rasped out.
Gregory was ready to run for the red case, but Yvette slipped her hand into a pocket and drew out a vinaigrette box. She held the screened brass under his mother’s nose. His mother took a deeper breath and started to slump.
Gregory moved to catch her. “I have you, Mother.” As he had the other night, he lifted her in his arms. He could almost believe her claims about being feeble, for she felt so frail, as if he cradled a bird.
“I’ll have Marbury send for the physician,” Julian offered as Gregory started past.
He nodded his thanks and headed for the stairs.
Yvette trotted beside him.
“It was too much for her,” Gregory felt compelled to explain. “The guests, the excitement.”
“Perhaps,” she said, but she frowned at his mother, whose eyes were tightly closed.
Yvette paced him to the room, skirts snapping as she tried to keep up. He laid his mother on the bed and stepped back. Julian must have alerted Marbury as promised, for the butler and Ada, his mother’s maid, hurried in. The maid went straight to her mistress and smoothed his mother’s skirts, face sad. His mother lay on the bed, face up, eyes closed, so still she might have passed on already. A chill went through him.
Marbury drew Gregory aside. “I’ve sent for Dr. Chase, my lord, and alerted Lady Lilith. Miss Thorn and Mr. Mayes would like to be of assistance.”
“Thank them but assure them there’s nothing to be done at the moment,” Gregory told him.
Just then Lilith appeared in the doorway. She flung herself across the room and went down on her knees beside the bed.
“Mother, dear Mother. Can you hear me?”
Their mother cracked open an eye. “Lilith? Dear girl, how sweet of you to attend me in my hour of need.”
Lilith’s look was indeed sweet, as if she wanted only to see their mother well. Yvette’s look was far less forgiving.
“You are awake,” she said. “Bon. We will try sitting up now.”
His sister rose in all her majesty. Ada cringed away from her.
“Sit up?” Lilith demanded. “Are you mad? She is ill, dying for all you know.”
Yvette cocked her head, sunlight from the window shining on her curls. “Is she?”
His mother’s hand fluttered to her forehead. “Oh, I don’t know.”
Color flamed in his sister’s cheeks, and she pointed an imperious finger at Yvette. “You are what brought her to this pass, insisting that she rise and cavort about the house.” She turned to him. “Gregory! I want this woman gone. Immediately!”
~~~
Lady Carrolton blinked as if surprised by her daughter’s demands. Ada issued a moan. Marbury’s face sagged. Yvette was more interested in what the earl would do. He had been having a private conversation with Marbury before his sister had stormed in. Now he looked to Yvette, anguish written on his readable face. She glanced to his sister, whose eyes gleamed with triumph. Lady Lilith knew he would deny her nothing, even if it inconvenienced him. How dare she put her brother in such a position!
Yvette could flatter and cajole. She had survived ten years among the new ruling class of France that way. But Lady Lilith wasn’t a French aristocrat who could have her beheaded. She had no secrets Yvette could provide to the English to end the war. Neither her mother nor the earl would be served by her behavior.
“Non,” Yvette said, stepping closer to Lady Lilith and looking up to meet her gaze. “It is not for you to say where I go and when. I am your mother’s companion, hired by the earl. They decide my fate.”
Before the spiteful woman could speak, Yvette turned to her mother, who was watching the whole scene avidly. “Chère comtesse, surely you do not wish me gone.”
“Not in the slightest,” the countess said, voice now strong and sure for one who was supposedly at death’s door. “Though I do wish you wouldn’t boss me around so.”
As if anyone could. “I only suggest what is in your best interest,” Yvette assured her.
“Really, Mother,” Lady Lilith started, but Yvette crossed behind her to move up to the earl.
“And you, my lord? Do you wish me gone?”
“Never,” he said, and the look in his eyes threatened to put her to the blush again.
Yvette spread her hands, turning to the countess. “Bon. I shall stay.”
Lady Lilith turned on her heels and left the room. Ada bowed her head, but not before Yvette saw her smile. Marbury excused himself to wait for the doctor, but he nodded to Yvette as if proud of her.
The earl advanced to her side. “Will you be all right?”
“Why is no one asking me that question?” his mother complained.
“Fine,” Yvette assured him. “And merci beaucoups for the encouragement.”
He nodded, then raised his voice. “Mother? Dr. Chase is on his way. What can I do in the meantime?”
His mother patted the covers beside her. “Come. Talk to me. Take my mind off my troubles.”
Though he had guests to entertain, a sister to placate, and doubtless a number of duties incumbent on an earl, he went.
Yvette moved around the room, repositioning the vaulted red case closer to the bed should the physician need it, lighting a lamp, drawing the velvet drapes. Lord Carrolton spoke little, mostly because his mother kept talking. But he listened, nodding and offering comment, gaze on her face.
She had never known a man to be so accommodating. The ladies she had served, all wives or mothers of men Napoleon had promoted to leadership, were used to their own company. Their husbands and sons might offer courtly attention in public, but in private each was consumed with their own interests. Gregory, Earl of Carrolton, gave all his attention to his mother, as if nothing could be more important in this moment.
What would it be like to be so valued? To have someone who put her interests ahead of his own, someone who thought only of what was best for her? To be truly loved?
Her heart rose inside her until she thought it would burst from her chest. Ah, but what a dangerous yearning. Since her family had been killed, she had kept her thoughts, her hopes hidden. If her cousin or men like him knew what mattered to her, they would take it away or use it against her. Until she was free of them, she had dared love no one. Did she dare now?
~~~
At length, the doctor came. The earl promised to wait outside the room for his verdict, offering Yvette a smile as he left. A narrow fellow, with thinning hair and a reedy voice, Dr. Chase bent over the countess and studied her warily as if she were a new species of thorn bush discovered growing in his garden. The countess stared back.
Finally, he straightened and turned to Yvette. “You are the new companion.”
“Oui.”
He made a face. “French. I have no patience with this fad of hiring refugees from a country far inferior to ours.”
Yvette bit the inside of her lip to keep from responding.
“Have you been giving her the pills I prescribed?”
Yvette motioned to the red case, which was placed on the chair. “There are any number of pills, monsieur. Perhaps you would be so good as to tell me which ones.”
With a frown, he opened the case and examined the interior, then drew out an amber-colored bottle. “These,” he said, shaking the bottle at Yvette. “Twice a day, when she wakes and at bed. Should I write that down, or can’t you read?”
“I read quite well,” Yvette informed him. “English, French, and Italian. Why does the countess need such pills?”
“She has a delicate condition and a nervous complaint,” he said with a nod to the lady, who nodded back.
“And with what am I dosing her?” Yvette asked.
He turned away. “A formula of my own devising. Nothing that need concern you.”
Oh, the arrogance! She knew how to deal with such men.
“Aiy!” She dropped the bottle on the counterpane and brought both hands to her cheeks. “Oh, non, non. You must not ask me to do this. I will not poison the countess!” She dropped down beside the bed and clutched Lady Carrolton’s boney fingers.
“Poison?” the countess asked, glancing from her to the doctor with a frown.
“Certainly not,” Dr. Chase said, backing away from the bed. “Who said anything about poison?”
“That,” said the earl from the doorway, “is what I would like to know.”
Yvette peered around the countess’ hand. Oh, but he was magnifique! His dark head was high, his eyes narrowed, shoulders back, and she couldn’t have been surprised to see the host of heaven riding behind him.
The physician took a step away from him. “It’s nothing, my lord. This girl is clearly overwrought. Perhaps I should prescribe something for her.”
The earl stalked into the room, and the doctor scuttled back before him until he bumped against the wall.
“Miss French is in fine health,” Lord Carrolton informed the quivering fellow. “What have you to say about my mother?”
“I have a delicate condition and a nervous complaint,” the countess offered.
Yvette stood. “He wants her to take these pills but refuses to say what is in them.”
“They must be good,” the countess said. “They taste vile.”
The earl raised a dark brow. “So, Chase? What are you giving my mother?”
The physician spread his hands, which were shaking. “Nothing, truly! I have found the complaints of older women rarely have to do with their health. A few sugar pills, coated with crushed bitter almond to discourage overuse, often satisfies.”
The villain! Though Yvette had suspected most of the countess’ maladies stemmed from the need for attention, a physician should have more courage to either treat her or let her know that she was well.
The earl, however, had stilled. “Bitter almond,” he said in a low growl of a voice. “Prunus amygdalus?”
“Exactly. Harmless.”
“How many years did you study to be a physician?” the earl demanded.
He blinked. “Number of years?”
“How many!”
He jumped. “I was tutored by Dr. Finch in London for three years before opening my own practice in Chessington. As you know, I have been attending Lady Carrolton for the last five years.”
The earl’s eyes were slits of fire. “And in all that time, you never encountered prussic acid?”
“I’ve heard the term, certainly,” he sputtered.
“And prescribed it to the women under your care. I should have you up on charges.”
“No, my lord, please!” He held up his hands, eyes goggling. “I beg you.”
The fire in the earl did not die. It blazed from him, so hot she wondered the bed hangings did not ignite. “As magistrate, I hereby relieve you of duty to this parish pending further review of your practices. In the meantime, you will go to every patient to whom you prescribed those pills and confiscate the things. If any of your patients are feeling ill, refer them to another physician, one who actually cares about their wellbeing.”
“Yes, my lord. At once, my lord.” He gathered his things, bowed in the general direction of the bed, and fled.
“Am I going to die?” the countess asked in a shaky voice.
“No, Mother,” the earl promised. “But we will examine every item in that case of yours to make sure nothing can harm you.”
“Very well.”
Yvette didn’t like the docile way she spoke or how her hands plucked at the covers. She climbed to her feet. “I have not given you any of those pills. Did Lilith or Ada? Or did you take them on your own?”
“No.” She transferred her gaze to her son and shrank deeper into the bed. “But I have never heard you talk that way before, Gregory. Perhaps you should compose yourself.”
Yvette expected him to argue. Such fire did not leave a man so soon in her experience. But he paled, turned, and hurried from the room as if his mother had risen to chase him.
Chapter Seven
Gregory strode down the corridor, but it didn’t matter how fast he walked. He couldn’t outrun the fear on his mother’s face, the tremor in her voice when she requested that he compose himself. Ever since he had reached his full height at the tender age of fourteen, people had shied away from him. His father had made a joke of it.
“You have the physical prowess behind the political privilege, my boy. Use it to make them all quiver.”
He didn’t want to make anyone, least of all his mother, quiver. He had strived to be a gentleman—calm, composed, thoughtful. But how was he to remain pleasant and polite when the fellow chosen to care for his mother gave her nothing but sugar pills dipped in poison?
His hands fisted even now. He had a temper, seldom roused, but once heated it was difficult to cool. He wanted to hit something, rip something apart. That wasn’t the gentleman he had tried so hard to be.
“My lord?”
Yvette’s voice pulled him up, and he whirled to face her, dread settling on his shoulders like a cape. “What’s happened? Is she sicker than we feared?”
She had every right to retreat from the demanding tone, but she put out a hand instead, as if trying to quiet an unruly horse. “She is fine. Set your mind at rest.”
If only he could. He snapped a nod. “Then I will leave you to it.”
“Wait.” She darted forward, head tilted to gaze up at him. “You are concerned, and not just about your mother, I think. It is understandable that you would be angry with the physician. He should not have treated her so poorly.”
He nodded, drawing a breath. “But I could have made my point without resorting to ungentlemanly behavior.”
Her smile threatened even as her lashes fluttered. “Ungentlemanly behavior? What is the English code of conduct when a gentleman discovers his mother is being poisoned?”
His smile broke free. “Why, we reach for a cup of tea and discuss the relative merits of syrup of ipecac and bleeding.”
She shuddered theatrically. “Oh, too cold for me. I prefer a fellow who lets his passions out.”
His smile left him with his comfort. “Alas, I haven’t that luxury. Thank you for your concern, Miss de Maupassant, but I will be fine.”
She put her hand on his arm. “Shh! I must be Miss French, particularly now. We do not know who to trust.”
“I would trust my staff with my life,” he assured her.
She pulled back. “I cannot say the same. You do not know my cousin. He worms his way into the lives of his victims, makes himself indispensable to them through flattery and favors, and then slips the blade between their ribs, smiling all the while.”
The image sickened him. “You are safe here. Staff are on duty. No one can join us unnoticed.”
“As you say,” she replied, but her tone held a world of doubt.
“Go back to my mother,” he said. “I’ll return shortly.”
With a nod, she went. And he went to consult Marbury. Perhaps if he made himself useful, he could shake off these feelings of anger and frustration.
Marbury had replaced the elderly man who had served as the butler when Gregory was a boy. Then the head footman, the imposing fellow had seemed the perfect choice for promotion. He was dignified, he was stately, and he was nearly as tall as Gregory. He also took a deliberative approach to running the household, thinking matters through before acting, a trait Gregory admired.
“How is the countess, my
lord?” he asked when Gregory found him in the corridor near the kitchen.
“Well for now,” Gregory said, “but I’d advise soup for dinner, something clear, easy to digest.”
Marbury inclined his head. “I will inform Mrs. Clarke.”
Their cook was generally flexible about such things. “The countess will also require a new physician,” Gregory continued. “But we can determine who to approach another time. For now, you must know that I have been informed there is a criminal in the area.”
Marbury raised his chin as if eager to take on the miscreant himself. “Indeed. Is there reason to believe the house is at risk?”
“He’s not a thief,” Gregory said. “I’m more concerned with the safety of the ladies under my roof. I want the doors locked each night, with a footman patrolling the corridors. Keep up our habit of having each door watched during the day. Hire extra staff if needed, but Miss French and I must meet any man before he starts his duties.”
“Miss French?” Marbury asked with a frown.
“I have found her to be an excellent judge of character,” Gregory temporized, feeling his cheeks growing hot at the half-truth. “Not that you aren’t, Marbury, but two heads are better than one.”
“As you say, my lord.”
Why did he get the impression his butler doubted him as much as Yvette did? At least Gregory had every expectation that Marbury would obey his orders. Having done what he could for the moment, he returned upstairs to check on his mother, and Yvette.
The room seemed quiet as he approached, so he eased open the door without knocking. Yvette was seated in the chair beside the bed, head bowed and lamplight reflecting in her curls. She was continuing to read the book he had found on his mother’s dressing table, Sense and Sensibility by an anonymous lady. His mother lay on the bed, eyes open and smile pleased. Even Ada had paused in her work, standing in the doorway to the dressing room, to listen to Yvette’s soft, lilting voice. It was the very picture of family domesticity. He wanted to join them, but he hated to interrupt. In the end, he closed the door and went to his room to refresh himself before dinner.