Once a Scoundrel

by Anna Harrington

  “Good to know,” Mama muttered as she placed her hand on Mary’s forehead to gauge her temperature. “Because Dr. Howston most likely nearly ended it.”

  The maid’s eyes grew round. “Ma’am?”

  “Where’s the child?” Faith interjected, before Mama could say anything to make the poor girl feel worse. “The marquess said she has a son.”

  “In the nursery upstairs, ma’am. Mrs. Bailey’s watchin’ over him.”

  Mama solemnly met Faith’s gaze. “Go fetch him and Mrs. Bailey, but keep both of them out in the hallway, all right?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Faith snatched up Polly’s candle stub and hurried up to the nursery on the second floor. The child, who was no more than a year old, lay sleeping in his crib, while Mrs. Bailey snored from the chair beside him. Faith roused her, then took the sleeping toddler into her arms and carried him downstairs.

  By the time she returned to the room, with the still-sleepy cook at her heels, her mother had already set the tiger off to fetch a bucket of water, stripped the covers from Mary’s body and was working on removing the night rail. But she’d also gotten caught up in an argument with Polly, who kept pulling the gown back into place.

  “Ventilation is key,” her mother lectured, giving up on the night rail—for now—and moving to throw open the window to let out the stench of sickness and let in the cool evening air.

  “Oh no, ma’am, you mustn’t!” Polly shrieked and rushed to the window to try to yank it closed.

  Mama pushed the second window open, and Faith thought Polly might have apoplexy right there on the sash. “Don’t you ever open your windows?”

  “Not at night, ma’am. Night air kills! Ever’one knows ‘tis true.”

  “Not everyone.” While Polly was still fretting over the windows, her mother returned to stripping off the night rail until Mary lay naked on the bed, giving Polly a whole new set of worries. “But you open your windows during the day?”

  “Of course.” Polly pulled the top sheet over Mary’s body to cover her, and thankfully for the young maid’s state of mind, Mama let it stay.

  “And when the sun goes behind a cloud, do you rush to close all the windows?”

  “No,” Polly answered uncertainly, wary about where the duchess was leading her.

  “Why not, if the sun’s not shining then? So logically a lack of sunshine has nothing to do with the quality of the air. Now, fetch a stack of sheets from the linen.”

  “Ma’am?” Polly was still reeling under the theory of night air being no worse than day air.

  “We’re going to soak the sheets in water and cover her with them. We’ve got to bring down the fever or she’ll burn to death.” Just then the tiger carried the bucket of water past Faith and into the room. “Marcus, have John drive you back to the manor house and tell Mrs. Olsen that I need several buckets of ice. I’m certain the estate has an ice house.”

  So was Faith, knowing the wealth of Elmhurst Park. Although this late in the year, she wasn’t certain there would be any ice left, no matter how well Stephen had repaired the estate.

  When the tiger hurried out, Mama turned on Polly. “Sheets, girl—go!”

  Polly jumped and ran from the room. Then Mama came out to the hall to check the boy, still safely held in Faith’s arms. He had woken up amid all the activity and was now wailing at the top of his lungs.

  “Go ahead and scream all you want, little one,” Mama cooed as she took him from Faith. “That means you’re strong and healthy, with no sign of fever. And I mean to keep you that way.” She glanced at the older woman. “You’re Mrs. Bailey, I gather?”

  She nodded with bewilderment. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Have you been in this room since Mrs. Halstead came down with the fever?”

  “No, ma’am.” She glanced into the room, at the woman lying so fitfully on the bed. “I’ve been keeping the boy clear o’ the fever.”

  “Good. Then go downstairs to the kitchen and make up a clear broth.” She handed the toddler to the cook. “When the coach returns, ask Marcus to bring up the broth and John to drive you to the manor house. I want you and the boy to stay there.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The woman hurried away toward the back stairs, murmuring softly to the toddler to try to stop his tears, but his cries continued all the way down the stairs and into the basement.

  Then Mama pulled Faith into her arms and hugged her tightly for several long moments, whispering her thanks to God and fate that her own family was healthy, before releasing her and returning to the bedside.

  She snatched up the vial of calomel and threw it out the window.

  “No more purging,” she announced as she wiped her hands. “And no more leeches.”

  “And no more Dr. Howston,” Faith mumbled, arching a brow.

  “As I said, no more leeches,” her mother repeated as she reached into the little bag she’d carried with her all the way from Hartsfield, where she kept her medicines and bandages. The same bag that Papa had tried unsuccessfully for years to convince her to abandon, only to finally give in five years ago and buy her a new leather case to replace the old one she’d had since before they’d married. Faith never knew her mother to travel without it, and it was always kept in a special place in the front hall of both Hartsfield Park and Brambly House, ready to be snatched up at a moment’s notice.

  Mama withdrew a small jar and a tiny earthenware mug. “Nitrous acid vapor,” she explained as she made up the mixture, still clinging to the hope that Faith would turn away from caring for animals and take up her work with people. “Half an ounce of vitriolic acid, heated.” She held the mug over the lamp on the bedside table. “Add one ounce of powdered niter, a little at a time to the warm acid.”

  As she added the second ingredient, red fumes rose from the mug. Then she walked around the room, waving the mug to fill the air with its pungent odor.

  Faith coughed and covered her nose.

  Mama scrunched up her own nose and held the cup away from her. “It stinks like the dickens, but it will help her breathe more easily.”

  Polly scurried into the room with her arms filled with what looked like every sheet from the house’s linen supply, along with a few stolen from the guestrooms for good measure. With Faith and Polly helping, her mother dunked the sheets into the bucket, soaking them with cool water, then spread the wet sheets across Mary’s feverish body.

  Mama handed the empty bucket to Polly. “Go fetch more water.”

  Polly left to do as ordered, and Faith wondered if the little maid now reconsidered her gratitude at their arrival.

  But her mother’s attentions seemed to be helping. Beneath the layer of wet sheets, Mary ceased her tossing and lay still. Her lips stopped moving, and a long sigh poured from her.

  “Will she be all right?” Faith whispered.

  “We’ll know in the morning. We’ll keep her cool tonight and try to break the fever,” Mama said quietly as she sat on the chair beside the bed and placed a wet cloth over Mary’s forehead. “Wet sheets first, then ice if we must. We’ll also try to get her to drink some broth to keep her strength up if she becomes lucid.”

  “And...?” Faith asked, afraid to put voice to her deepest fears. And if she doesn’t become lucid? If the fever doesn’t break?

  “And we pray.”

  Chapter Nine

  Faith heard the long case clock in the entryway strike the hour, its dull chimes echoing through the silent house. Midnight. The second one she’d spent here. Fighting back an exhausted yawn, she rose from the chair and stretched out her cramped legs and stiff back.

  She looked down at the woman in the bed. Mary was better than when they’d arrived last night, but she was still in the throes of illness. After continually covering her in wet sheets, and once going so far as to cover her in a thin layer of ice when Mama feared the worst just before dawn, her temperature had finally eased.

  By sunset, her condition had improved enough that Faith insisted Mama g
o the manor house so that she could have a good night’s rest in comfort and send Papa a message that they were going to be away longer than expected. Even in her fatigue, though, Mama had initially refused. It was only when Faith insisted that she check on Jeremy and the others at the house that Mama finally relented, promising to return first thing in the morning. Then Faith sent Polly to bed in the room across the hall to catch her own much-needed sleep and sat down for a long night’s vigil.

  Yet Mary was still insensible, never becoming completely lucid, and in her feverish confusion, she’d mumbled Stephen’s name and asked for her son. Whenever she did, Faith held her hand and spoke to her softly, reassuring her that Jeremy was safe and that Stephen was on his way.

  “Daniel...” Mary murmured across parched lips. “Daniel...”

  Not knowing what to say to bring her comfort, Faith silently squeezed her hand, holding it until Mary fell back to sleep.

  That name, spoken with so much grief and utter desolation even in her delirium, sent an icy chill spiraling down Faith’s spine. To have so desperately loved him, yet every day seeing his son and being reminded of the love she’d lost...Faith didn’t think she could have borne it.

  But wasn’t that exactly what was happening with her and Stephen, losing the love and future she could have had with him? Except that Stephen hadn’t been ripped away from her; she’d pushed him away herself. And for what—to save her heart from being broken again? Yet every hour that ticked past brought with it an ache of loss so intense that she was certain her heart had once more shattered, this time at her own cowardly hands.

  Oh, she was a fool! One who was desperately trying to convince herself that she’d made the right decision in rejecting his proposal. Except that she wasn’t certain at all anymore. Being here at Elmhurst Park, seeing with her own eyes the changes he’d made in his life, and hearing from Polly story after story about the good man he’d become, it all made her doubt her conviction that he was still the same scoundrel he’d always been.

  Men could change, couldn’t they? Papa said they did, and that war changed them most of all. Could Stephen have changed enough to no longer be the man who had so deeply wounded her before? No longer a heartless rake who bedded every willing woman he came across but now a man who would give his heart and body only to her?

  Unable to sit still another moment, she rose to her feet and paced the room. She was exhausted— No, she was past exhaustion, unable to rest even while Mary slept. Doing her best to fight down both the physical fatigue and the emotions clawing at her insides, she decided to keep herself busy by making up another mug of red vapor, carefully measuring the ingredients as Mama had shown her—

  The clamor of heavy footsteps broke the silence.

  “Mary!” Stephen’s voice boomed through the house as he raced up the stairs and down the hall.

  The cup fell from her hand and spilled onto the floor as Faith’s heart leapt into her throat.

  He stopped in the doorway, and his eyes landed on the woman’s limp figure in the bed for only a moment before darting to Faith. Bewilderment clouded his face to find her there, then vanished beneath an expression of deep worry as he slowly entered the room. Crossing stiffly to the bed, he sat on the wooden chair and reached for Mary’s hand. With a frown, he touched her cheek, and Faith was certain he could feel the fever that still gripped her.

  “Mary...Mary, it’s Stephen,” he said gently. He moved his hand to her forehead and frowned with deep concern. “I’m here. Can you hear me? I’m going to take care of you, I promise. Mary?”

  There was no response from her. He blew out a deep breath and released her hand to sit back in the chair.

  Then he turned in the chair, lifting his exhausted gaze to Faith. “How is she?” His eyes were grim. “The truth.”

  “Better,” Faith answered, remaining on the far side of the room when what she wanted to do was rush into his arms and beg his forgiveness. “She’s resting more quietly now, but the fever hasn’t yet broken.”

  He nodded with bleak understanding. “Is the physician here?”

  “No.” She picked up the mug, then set it aside and nervously wiped her hands on a towel. “But Mama’s been attending her since last night.”

  “Where’s Jeremy?” Dread laced his voice. “Is he ill, too?”

  Her chest tightened at his concern for the boy. If he could care this much about a child who wasn’t even his...“He’s well.” She twisted her hands in the towel to keep from reaching for him. “He’s at the manor house with Mama.”

  His shoulders drooped with relief, and he rubbed at his forehead. “I came straight here as soon as I received the message. I didn’t stop at the house.” Fatigue showed in every inch of him as he heaved out a tired breath. “I was afraid that I might have already been too late.”

  “I know,” she said softly, hot tears blurring her eyes at his compassion. How could she have ever doubted him? “But you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

  She looked away so he couldn’t see the guilty self-recrimination playing across her face. She’d been such a goose! She knew now how much he’d changed, had seen it with her own eyes in what he’d done with the estate...in the weariness and worry she saw in him now for Mary and her son. He wasn’t that same boy who had once shattered her heart.

  He was now the man she loved and always would.

  And she’d ruined it all by refusing him. She wouldn’t blame him if he hated her for it.

  “But that’s not all.” he said quietly. He stood and walked slowly toward her, then rested his palm against her cheek and lifted her face until she looked at him. “Why are you here?”

  She swallowed hard and admitted in a whisper, “Because I know how important she is to you.”

  He murmured, “So are you.”

  Beneath the exhaustion of the past two days and her own foolishness of the past four years, she was unable to stop a tear from falling down her cheek.

  “I care about you, Faith. I would never do anything to hurt you.” His face filled with concern for her, and he gently wiped away the tear with his thumb. “Please believe that.”

  She couldn’t hold back the flood of tears at his tender words. “I’m so sorry, Stephen,” she choked out between sobs, unable to keep down the swelling emotions inside her chest a moment longer. “I’m so sorry for not believing you...for doubting you...”

  He stared at her, saying nothing. The unbearable silence was broken only by the merciless pounding of her heart, each beat a pained pang of dread and loss.

  “If you can find it in your heart, please forgive me.” She pressed her hand against her chest, as if she could physically tamp down the rising fear that she’d lost him before he was ever truly hers. She whispered so softly that the words were barely more than a breath, “If you care about me at all...”

  “I do, more than you know.” He cupped her face in his hands and lowered his head to touch his lips tenderly to hers. “But I can’t forgive you when—”

  “Miss! I heard a noise!” Polly ran into the room, and Stephen straightened immediately.

  The young maid stopped short and stared at him. Her face blossomed into a bright smile of relief as she lowered into an awkward curtsy.

  “Your lordship!” Then she saw Faith and frowned at her tears. “Miss?”

  Faith pulled back from him. As she turned away, she swiped at her tears and saw Stephen’s concern for her darken his face. But he hadn’t forgiven her, and once more her heart was breaking.

  “Polly,” Stephen acknowledged with a nod at the young maid. “Thank you for being here.”

  “Good to have yer lordship returned, sir.” Polly hurried forward to the bedside to check on Mary. “We’ve been our wits’ ends. Dr. Howston tended to her yesterday morning. I was watchin’ her an’ Mrs. Bailey was keepin’ Jeremy, when Lady Faith an’ Her Grace arrived. Saved her life, they did.”

  At the compliment, Faith reached within herself to somehow keep her dignity when what
she wanted to do was tuck herself into a little ball until the pain faded. Until she could sort through all the emotions churning inside her and somehow salvage the pieces of her heart.

  “What do we do next, miss?” Polly looked at her expectantly, as if she held all of life’s answers in the palm of her hand. Oh, the furthest thing from the truth!

  She shook her head, her vision blurring with hot tears. “I can’t...I just can’t...” She swallowed hard, choking back the roiling knot of emotions rising to the surface and the sheer exhaustion sweeping over her. “Please tend to Mrs. Halstead,” she forced out the pleading order around the suffocating knot in her throat. “I need air. I need to breathe and—”

  She fled from the room, plunging herself into the dark hall and hurrying through the silent shadows. Her breath came hard and fast and shallow, her heart beating frantically. She had no idea where she was going, only that she needed to flee and put as much distance between herself and Stephen as possible.

  Reaching the end of the hall, she flung open the door of a guestroom and ran inside. Her hands grabbed for the back of a chair, and she clung to it, as if it were the only thing in the world keeping her from falling away. She’d been such a fool! And now everything between them was irreparably destroyed.

  “Faith?” he whispered, his deep voice raspy with concern.

  She tensed as Stephen stepped into the room with her, then shut the door behind him, locking them together in the shadows.

  Oh, why wouldn’t he simply leave her be? Didn’t he realize how torturous it was for her to be in the same room with him, knowing that she’d ruined everything between them? She hadn’t trusted him, had been unwilling to believe that he’d changed—

  Now that she knew the truth, it was too late.

  “Please leave,” she whispered, unable to find her voice beneath the pain pulsing inside her and the realization of all she’d lost.

  “I won’t do that,” he assured her as he forward. “You’re upset, and I care too much about you to let you cry alone.”