Millicent returned Rebecca’s embrace. “I couldn’t risk not seeing you during the short time you were here. I heard you are only staying overnight.”
“We are on our way to visit my mother-in-law in Scotland. Depending on the traveling conditions, we should only be gone for a month, but we had to stop here.” Rebecca stepped back, holding Millicent at arm’s length and studying her friend carefully. “Stanmore and I couldn’t believe your news. You are married again.”
“It is true.”
“To the Earl of Aytoun.”
Millicent nodded.
“But you didn’t know him before, did you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Seeing how puzzled her friend looked, Millicent sat down on the settee with her and told her about the dowager’s letter. Short of getting into the exact details of their financial arrangement, she explained everything else.
Rebecca listened quietly and then chose her words carefully. “Did you know anything about the man? About his reputation?”
“Yes. Sir Oliver forewarned me, and I have heard a great deal since. But I consider much of it simply rumor and gossip.”
“Then you know that some have openly accused him of pushing his wife over the cliffs at Baronsford.”
“I believe she slipped and fell—as he did, trying to go down and help her. She died, but his fate has been almost as bad. He appears to be crippled, most likely for life.” Millicent shook her head. “I spoke to the dowager at length about that accident, and about the other accusations. Lord Aytoun is a much different man now than he may have been a year ago. He is quite subdued in every sense.”
Rebecca’s hands clutched Millicent’s tightly. “You know I am not one to meddle in anyone’s life, but you have been married to him only a week, and already I see the strain in your face. You look tired.”
She tried to smile. “I am the one to blame for that. Not him.”
“And why is that?”
Millicent rose from the settee and walked to the large window overlooking the lake. This was the same question she had been asking of herself. “When I agreed to marry him, I convinced myself that I was simply offering his family a place where Lord Aytoun would be cared for.” She turned to face her friend. “You know me, Rebecca. I have no illusions about love. They were crushed out long ago. But at the same time I know the importance of having a husband. This marriage to the Earl of Aytoun presented me with the most ideal situation I could ever have hoped for. By this union, I would have gained a husband without the fear that comes with having one. I am married without having to be a wife.”
“Things are not going as you planned.”
“No. I…I find that I feel sorry for him. He has no use of his legs, his arm. He spends most of the day in a silent stupor. He is as wretched as any beggar on the side of a London street. Yet I can see the pain in his eyes. He does not want this kind of existence.”
“Is there no way you can help him? Perhaps different doctors. Or by finding ways of challenging his mind, at least. There are many ways you might be able to improve the quality of his life.”
Rebecca would know about this. For ten years, she had lived on her own in the colonies and raised the earl’s son, James. The boy had a misshapen hand and was partly deaf.
“But…but I fear I have married too far above my position,” Millicent blurted out. “I am certain he sees how deficient I am, and what Melbury Hall lacks.”
“Even without knowing him, I doubt that is true. I know you never give yourself the credit that is due.” Rebecca’s voice resonated with the passion of her belief. “You said yourself he spends his days in a stupor. So there is no way for you to know what he thinks or feels. Now, as far as improving on the condition of his life, I think you should be yourself. Do what your heart tells you to do and help him as far as he lets you. And there is no reason to worry about what happens beyond that. The future is as mysterious as the man you have married. But that is true for all of us. None of us can tell what awaits us down the road.”
So true, Millicent admitted. She was worrying about forever, when tomorrow was the challenge that she had to face.
****
Through the mist and the gloom, he could catch only glimpses of Emma. She was holding up her skirts with one hand and running like a doe, weaving in and out between the stunted pines.
The wind-driven rain was on his face, in his eyes. Lyon wiped the wetness away, trying to see her. His legs were heavy, as if he were running in deep sand. The trees and brambles tore at his face and clothes, but he could not let her go. He glanced back at Baronsford, the walls rising gloomily in the gray of the gathering storm.
Turning, Lyon saw her again, her golden hair flying behind her as she disappeared in the mist by the cliffs. The rain was stinging his face, and he slipped and stumbled on the path.
Pierce’s startling revelation was still clouding his mind. The hostile accusations of his brother continued to stab at his sense of honor. But how could he defend himself against something that he was ignorant of? Emma had the answers. She had to make Lyon understand. She had to come back with him and face the truth.
Lyon’s chest was burning as he regained his balance and pushed himself to run harder.
The echo of Emma’s scream filled the hills.
The break in the trees came quickly, and the path was slick where it turned at the cliff. Lyon could not see the far side of the river. All was bleak and gray. The path along the bluff was empty, except for the billowy mists.
And then he saw her--there at the bottom. Her golden hair spread around her on the rocks. Her eyes stared up at him, unseeing.
Lyon awoke with a start and stared at the unfathomable darkness that surrounded him. He was dead. He had slipped and fallen down those same cliffs.
A shadow moved over him. Cold hands pressed against the fevered skin of his face. He stared into the concerned face of his wife. If he was dead, it was clear that he had not won heaven.
At best, this was only purgatory.
****
Millicent stared out the window of the Morning Room at the shining new chaise the physician had driven up from London. A groom and his manservant stood at the head of the handsome pair of geldings, talking and stamping their feet in the cold.
Though they had been out there an hour, when Millicent had sent out hot drinks and asked them to come in for something to eat, they had declined. Dr. Parker had told them to wait with the carriage, as they would be staying for only a few moments before going on to Lord Eglinton’s estate near Chiswell Green today.
She continued to pace the room. Dr. Parker had been abrupt and dismissive when she’d greeted him upon his arrival, and the doctor and his assistant had gone directly upstairs to Lord Aytoun’s chambers. Aside from asking that some food be sent up, the physician had declined with a wave of his hand her offer of spending the night at Melbury Hall. His other patients, who were “too lofty in London’s social circles to name,” needed him. He must return to the city immediately.
The physician’s comment did not sit well with Millicent as she again found herself being reminded of her own social position. She would never have been in Lord Aytoun’s company if it were not for his accident. But despite the slight, Millicent was quite happy that he’d made the trip out, for she had dozens of questions about the earl’s condition, and they were becoming more pressing with each passing day.
Dr. Parker didn’t keep her waiting much longer. While the man’s assistant went directly to the carriage, Gibbs showed the doctor to the Morning Room. Millicent gestured for him to sit down, but the man ignored her invitation and glanced at a watch he kept on a gleaming gold chain in his waistcoat pocket.
“All is well, m’lady,” the physician said in a slightly hurried voice. “There will be no need for any new medicine, but I have directed Lord Aytoun’s manservant to increase the frequency of the dosage that we began in London. So now, if you will forgive me, Lady Aytoun, I shall be on my way.” He turned t
o the door. “I do not know when I shall return to Melbury Hall, but perhaps now that the earl is under such capable care, I could send out my very able assistant every fortnight or so, and I shall keep you advised as to his lordship’s condition.”
“I do have a few questions, Dr. Parker, which I was hoping you might answer for me.” She took a step toward him, her voice shaking slightly with emotion. “They concern the earl’s general health.”
The physician paused and turned back to her. His bushy brows drew into a tight frown.
“I don’t believe you need to be troubling yourself, m’lady. Lord Aytoun is in my care now, and I shall see to it that his lordship gets whatever care he needs.”
“I am not doubting your abilities in the slightest, sir. I am certain that the dowager would have enlisted your services only if she had the greatest confidence in you.”
“As I may have mentioned earlier,” he began, puffing up with a pompous air, “my clients consist only of the most elite members of London’s ton.”
“I am certain that is true, and to have a physician of your stature journey all the way out to Hertfordshire is greatly appreciated.”
Millicent watched as his attitude settled into one of benign condescension.
“Of course,” he said slowly, smiling as if he had just learned something profound about her. “Your concern for your new husband is understandable, if not admirable. And I shall be certain to convey your concern to her ladyship, the dowager countess.”
“That is hardly necessary, I assure you. But with regard to the earl’s treatment—”
He raised a plump hand to stop her. “You do understand, m’lady, that I have never been involved with his lordship’s external injuries.”
“I understand that. But—”
“I have been informed that a Scotch surgeon from Edinburgh, named Wilkins or Wallace or something similar, set the bones after his lordship’s…er, unfortunate fall from the cliff. Now, if that man’s negligence has caused Lord Aytoun to continue having difficulty using his legs and his right arm, I cannot say one way or another. But after such a fall, I would tend to place the blame on the blow he received.”
“My question has to do with my husband’s treatment now.”
The physician looked at her as if she were a child intent on trying his patience.
“As I said, Dr. Parker, I appreciate your coming to Melbury Hall. I simply want to know your view of my husband’s condition and what your plans are for treatment. What, for example, did you do today?”
“Very well, Lady Aytoun,” the doctor said shortly. “If you insist on knowing every detail, I checked his lordship’s pulse and had a sample of urine taken. Lord Aytoun’s condition is unchanged from ten days ago, when I saw him last.”
“Indeed, you’ve hit on it exactly, sir,” she replied. “Since the second night of his stay at Melbury Hall, I have been sitting with him for several hours each night.”
“Have you, m’lady?” he said, his eyebrows going up in surprise.
“I have. And what I found was that at night his lordship is unsettled. He does not sleep soundly, so far as I can tell, and when he is awake he is not completely aware of his surroundings.” Millicent’s fingers twisted together. “Initially, I thought that perhaps my perception was skewed because of the hour of my visit, so I questioned his man, Gibbs, as to the best time to come. But I was told that during the daytime Lord Aytoun is particularly unfit for company.”
“I do not know what you mean by these comments, Lady Aytoun,” Parker said defensively. He looked at his watch again.
“Gibbs has confirmed that his lordship’s sleep is fretful. Moreover, when he is awake, Lord Aytoun is far more agitated than he has been in the past. Added to that, I have been informed that he does not wish to eat. He does not drink. Any nourishment he takes at all is forced upon him. I simply cannot help but think that something serious might be wrong, and that his condition is getting worse.”
Dr. Parker fixed her with a disapproving glare. “Lord Aytoun is being administered some very powerful medicine, m’lady. To be exact, he is presently being given a tincture of opium, the preferred treatment for someone in his condition. That is, the preferred treatment for someone in his mental state and whom the family insists on caring for at home. The opium functions to calm him, to control the melancholia and avoid the need for securing him or locking him away.”
“Why should he be locked away?”
“To keep his lordship from injuring himself during the blackest moments.”
“But he appears to be getting less—”
“Now, with regard to that medicine, I can assure you this has been tried and proven to be highly effective. Before he left London, I increased his dosage several drops per day, and I believe he is responding well to my treatment.”
“With all deference to your knowledge and experience, Dr. Parker, I see no—”
“M’lady,” the physician said, holding his hand up again. “You must trust in that medical knowledge and experience. His lordship’s life is far more pleasant than the lives of many who are similarly afflicted with the same melancholia. And I am ministering to his affliction with the most effective treatment known to medicine.”
“I’m certain you have Lord Aytoun’s best interests at heart, sir, but—”
“Now, you can do your part by concerning yourself with his diet. You must have your people take great care to keep the stomach of the patient settled, furnishing him with light meals, and…well, I have directed his manservant as to the importance of regular digestive function. And in the meantime, I shall continue to advise you as to the state of his mind. Now, I must say good day to you, Lady Aytoun. I have tarried here far too long. Far too long.”
****
Lyon clamped his mouth shut and turned his face away as John, his valet, tried to feed him a spoonful of soup.
“’Od’s truth, m’lord, ye might help me here. Yer losing too much weight, and Dr. Parker says we have to force ye to eat more.”
The man continued to talk, but Lyon ignored him. He was growing so accustomed to the cramping in his stomach that it was becoming almost tolerable. The intense nausea, however, which he’d been feeling since early this morning, before the pompous physician arrived, was something new. Or was it yesterday morning? The days were beginning to blur in his mind. Lyon tried to focus on which day it was but soon gave up. What did it matter?
The bloody doctor. He was just another lily-handed, potbellied charlatan who practically jingled with coin when he walked.
Lyon glared at John and turned his face again at the proffered food.
While Parker examined him, Lyon had said nothing to the man. He had mentioned nothing of the spasms of strength that every now and then ran through the muscles of his right arm, causing his fingers to curl and straighten. He had made no mention of the pain in his joints and had not asked the question of why it was that sometimes he was capable of actually bending his knee and not other times. He’d had no desire to prolong the bugger’s stay. He hated the doctors and their prodding and poking. He abhorred their all-knowing attitude.
More to the point, though, he admitted inwardly, he was tired of wondering which one of them would finally persuade his family to have him sent to Bedlam. Not that very much persuasion would be needed once the dowager passed away. Lyon tasted bile in his throat and felt cold sweat breaking out on his brow.
The spoon touched his lips again. He jerked his head away irritably and tried to focus on the chaise that he could see through the window. As he watched, the fat doctor appeared and stepped into the carriage.
“We’re only asking for a wee bit of help, m’lord.”
Lyon recognized Gibbs's voice. The man was back…finally.
“Bed.” He closed his eyes, wishing for the oblivion that so often surrounded him these days.
“Aye, but not before we’ll be getting some food into ye.”
The spoon was again at his lips, and Lyon slapped the annoyin
g object away with his left hand. “Put me back in bed. Now.”
The room was too hot. He felt his chair being turned around. He tried to focus on the face of John, still shoving a spoon at him. Beyond the valet, Gibbs was approaching with a crystal glass. The medicine. There was someone else behind him. Long Will, no doubt.
“Give him this only after his lordship has some food in him,” Gibbs ordered, placing the cup on a table near him. “I’ll be coming back shortly, now, so ye two mind what I say.”
Lyon watched Gibbs move across the chamber and go out the door. He wanted to scream after the man to take this pair of imbeciles with him. But the bitter taste was still in his mouth, and he could feel himself shaking uncontrollably.
“We’ll make it quick, if ye please, yer lordship. Eat jist a wee bit o’ this, m’lord, an’ we’ll have ye back in yer bed in no time.”
This time Lyon successfully dashed the bowl out of the man’s hand, sending it crashing to the floor.
“Bloody hell,” Will said from behind him, realizing his error as soon as the words had left his mouth. “Beggin’ yer lordship’s pardon, sir.”
“The medicine,” he managed to say. Oblivion. This was the only thing left to him. Opium and brandy. Laudanum. He started pushing himself out of the chair with his one good arm. “The medicine.”
He didn’t know which of the valets brought the glass to his lips, but the taste of it managed to push down the bitter bile. His stomach, though, cramped fiercely as soon as the liquid reached it. Lyon felt himself fighting back the involuntary desire to retch. As he tried to breathe, though, one of the two morons was trying to push bread into his mouth while the other held his shoulders pressed against the back of the chair. He reached out desperately to push the food away.
“Do not force him,” a woman said sharply.
Through a haze of illness and frustration, Lyon watched her cross the chamber from the open doorway.
“’Slordship ain’t eaten not a bite all day, m’lady,” John explained, the bread in his hand.
Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) Page 7