“I must go to her,” she replied, her heart in her throat.
Rutley shook his head. “She asked me not to worry you. Nearly pleaded with me not to tell you she felt unwell. I’m sure it is nothing, Camellia. I merely want to be sure.”
When Rutley left her in the drawing room she released a long breath. Helena must be all right. Her sister was never ill. Camellia would fetch her book before returning to the drawing room. She would then be ideally situated to see her uncle go up or down the main staircase. She wanted to know the state of her sister’s health as soon as she could.
* * * * *
The next morning, Ambrose received an invitation to call at Rutley House. Lord Rutley wrote he was aware Ambrose would be in the village quite soon. He would be pleased if the marquess would join his family for supper when he’d finished his consultation with Mr. Simpson and perhaps stay on a few days if he were so inclined.
He penned a reply and assured the earl he would be happy to visit the household.
Later that day a coach arrived with clothing from London. Along with coats, waistcoats and trousers, there was a note from his sister Iris.
I took the liberty of ordering you a new wardrobe. Your tailor had your measurements from the coat and trousers you had made for my wedding. Chastain helped select the materials and cut of the clothing.
His valet was happy to see the new clothes. Livingston had tentatively broached the subject of a new wardrobe once before and Ambrose had replied, “I don’t have time to sit for a tailor.”
He couldn’t be too annoyed with Iris’s meddling. Every item she’d commissioned looked of the best quality. It would after all be a boon to visit Rutley House in clothing that fit.
Doctor Gaines joined him for dinner that evening. They discussed Ambrose’s seizure and the apothecary’s diet over brandy after their meal. Ambrose did not partake of the alcohol.
“You are far too young to have diabetes mellitus,” the doctor said when Ambrose finished telling the man about the diet the apothecary prescribed. “It is true that an excess of rich food and alcohol isn’t good for you. I would suggest you feel better as you did once before due to nothing but the additional rest you’ve had and the whims of the human body.”
When he heard the physician disagree with the apothecary’s diagnosis, he wasn’t surprised. “Diabetes doesn’t explain my migraines.”
“Exactly!” The doctor shook his head. “Your migraines are a result of a brain tumor. Mark my word, the headaches will return. When next you speak with the apothecary ask him why he didn’t prescribe horseback riding to begin with. It is common knowledge riding is helpful for diabetes mellitus.”
He agreed with Doctor Gaines’ assessment of his health. Thank goodness he hadn’t let himself believe the apothecary only to be devastated when his migraines eventually returned.
“Your affairs are in order?” the doctor asked.
He nodded. “To the letter. You can’t give me an idea of when…?”
The man shook his head, a grave expression on his face. “Tumors are dashed tricky. Could be a month, could be six months.”
When Doctor Gaines took his leave that evening, he said to Ambrose, “The apothecary is not a doctor or surgeon. He merely mixes and dispenses medicines. You have a tumor, my lord. Make the most of what time you have left.”
The next day Ambrose told Mrs. Jennings of his plan to journey to Downham Market. She looked disapproving but said nothing. Although she’d known him since birth that did not give her license to caution him in the matter. He was determined to visit Rutley House and discover what he’d done to offend Lady Camellia.
A letter was included on his luncheon tray. He was seated in the small dining room simply to have a change of scenery from his study.
Lottie wrote to update him on the progress of Iris’s move to a large house she and Chastain were having decorated. They currently resided in Ambrose’s townhouse with Lottie, Rose and Aunt Abigail. Lottie informed him his sisters and their aunt were well. She also mentioned the need to discuss Aunt Abigail’s future at Marcourt Hall.
In his reply to Lottie he agreed they should talk about their aunt. He would think on the matter and let her know his opinion on their aunt’s future.
The cold chicken with herbs and spices was delicious. He was delighted to see a crusty roll beside his usual serving of fruit. He drank tea, having little liking for the lemonade that was available.
The next day his valet packed his master’s required items for a brief stay at Rutley House. Ambrose met briefly with his land steward and took his leave of Marcourt.
He would have preferred to ride but the journey would take nearly three hours, a longer trip on horseback than the apothecary would approve of. He would visit Mr. Simpson in the village and then make his way to Rutley House.
Ever since the death of his parents his travelling had been confined to trips to London.
Now that some time had passed, he could almost be thankful his parents had perished at the same time. From a young age he could remember them always together, always in love. Not to say they didn’t have disagreements… He knew they belonged together just as he’d recognized Iris and Chastain were fated to fall in love.
He’d been infatuated once. Thank goodness the woman had chosen someone else. Her brightness had blinded him to the fact he didn’t want a shooting star in his life. A soft, vibrant star would do well enough.
His thoughts again turned to Lady Camellia. He would find out what her difficulty with him was and then perhaps she wouldn’t invade his mind so often. She was lovely and vibrant. It would do no harm to spend some time with her before he left this earth.
* * * * *
“We will have a guest tomorrow,” Helena said as she sat with her sister in the parlor.
Camellia chose not to ask. Yesterday she hadn’t minded a few hours of archery but today she had been lured into needlework and wasn’t enjoying it. The whitework embroidery she stitched was on a muslin baby dress. There had been a light rain all morning, so she had been inside with no possibility of a ride or a walk in the gardens to save her from needlework.
The weather had been quite mild for April. A window was open near where Helena sat on a chair with her feet on a plush footrest as she complained that she was often too warm since she’d become pregnant. Even though Camellia was stuck inside the house, the sound of the rain outside and the smell of wet earth helped her feel connected to the outdoors she loved.
She had been relieved last evening when her uncle assured her Helena was quite all right. Her sister had merely eaten too much of the gooseberry jelly she’d been craving during her pregnancy.
Helena said in an arch voice, “Rutley asked Lord Norfolk to join us for a few days as the marquess will be in the village tomorrow to see uncle.”
She looked up briefly from her needlework to see Helena watching her. “That was very kind of him.”
“Our neighbor Lady Bowles and her niece Miss Eliza will join us for supper tomorrow.”
“Very good,” she replied, biting her tongue. She was not particularly happy about seeing Miss Eliza again.
Despite her irritation with the marquess, she was happy at the thought of seeing him again. Although Lord Norfolk was stubborn, he was an intriguing gentleman.
“You are content here?” Helena asked hesitantly.
She remembered the miserable look on her sister’s face two days ago. Perhaps Helena was concerned she hadn’t planned enough for Camellia to do. It was petty of Camellia to mind a bit of needlework. Anything Helena wanted to occupy their time with would be better than being home in Cambridgeshire. And the dress she currently decorated was for her future niece or nephew.
“You need not worry about me.” She smiled brightly to reassure her sister. “I could not be more content anywhere else in the world.”
Chapter Eight
Although Ambrose had only been to the village of Downham Market once before, it was easy enough to find the apoth
ecary shop. The village was smaller than Braxton, and Braxton was positively tiny.
The peal of the bell over the door announced his arrival. He nodded to Mr. Simpson who was speaking with an elderly matron.
“I don’t hold with trying new remedies,” the woman said loudly. “The old ways are the best.”
Mr. Simpson nodded. “Your concerns are valid, madam. Let me point out that Mrs. Small also refused to try it for her arthritis. You may be on to something.”
“Refused to use it, did she?” The woman sniffed. “I don’t mind saying Mrs. Small is as backward as they come. I will be happy to try the ointment, Mr. Simpson.”
The apothecary put a small jar in a sack. The woman gave him a coin and left the shop, muttering about how some people didn’t have the sense the lord gave them.
“You should be a politician, Mr. Simpson. You could convince a man neck deep in snow he needed more of it.”
The apothecary chuckled. “I’m too honest for politics, Lord Norfolk. Let me turn the sign around so we can repair to the back room and I may examine you.”
After Mr. Simpson locked the door to the shop, he led Ambrose behind a curtain and through a door to a makeshift parlor/kitchen.
“My apprentice is making deliveries. We should be undisturbed for several minutes.”
Ambrose looked about him. The room was snug but clean. There was no fire in the hearth as this second week of April had been unseasonably warm.
“I have a small cottage at the other end of the village. I spend so much time here that I have added a few necessities. Will you be comfortable in this room? There is a bedchamber upstairs so you will have privacy to provide a urine sample.”
He grimaced, took the vial the apothecary held out to him and made his way upstairs to the room above. A few minutes later he returned with a full container.
“Your sugar level is still high,” Mr. Simpson said after he’d tested the sample.
The apothecary took a seat at the table next to Ambrose.
The man took his pulse, checked the color of his tongue, the color beneath his nails. “Your circulation is good. I heard your carriage arrive. I’m glad you’re following my instructions. It is unusual for a member of the peerage to be so willing to allow me to treat them.”
“That is something we must speak about.” He paused. “I have consulted with Doctor Gaines and he will see to my future medical care.”
Mr. Simpson asked, “Did the doctor agree with my diagnosis?”
“He did not although he sees no harm in my adhering to your prescribed diet.”
The apothecary compressed his lips. After a moment he said, “If you have another seizure, I cannot guarantee you would recover as quickly or recover at all.”
“I must try my best to prevent having another one,” he replied briskly.
“Just remember that to control your symptoms you will have to adhere to dietary restrictions the rest of your life.”
“Mr. Simpson, a restrictive diet is a small price to pay to live without migraines.” If the new way of eating kept the headaches at bay until he died than all the better. “Doctor Gaines did wonder at your telling me not to ride as it is well known to help with Diabetes Mellitus.”
Mr. Simpson compressed his lips again, a movement Ambrose had begun to recognize as a sign of irritation. “You mentioned experiencing dizziness in the past. I merely wanted to make sure that malady was gone before you sat on the back of a horse several feet above the ground.”
“That makes sense,” he replied. And it did.
“I am finished with my examination,” the apothecary said, his expression not as open as Ambrose had observed in the past.
Ambrose got to his feet.
“Will you be returning to Marcourt this afternoon?” Mr. Simpson led the way back to the front of the shop.
“Lord Rutley has invited me to spend some time at Rutley House,” he replied.
“I was invited to supper so it seems we will meet again.” Mr. Simpson unlocked the door to the shop.
“If there is nothing else, I will be on my way.”
The apothecary replied briefly, “Good afternoon, Lord Norfolk.”
The chilliness between himself and the apothecary didn’t follow him from the shop. The rain of yesterday was gone to be replaced with a sunny day.
Ambrose had never been to Lord Rutley’s home. Situated only a mile from Downham Market, his carriage pulled into a long drive bordered by large oak trees.
The house was an old manor house of the Elizabethan style. Quite impressive although too fussy for his tastes. A footman was dispatched to see Livingston upstairs with Ambrose’s valise. After another footman took his coat and hat, the servant led him to Rutley’s study.
The earl stood to greet him. “A pleasure to see you, Ambrose!”
“I appreciate the invitation,” he replied. “It has been some time since last we last met.”
The other man waved his hand. “Life intrudes. Do sit down. How are your lovely sisters? How do you occupy your time at Marcourt?”
Seated across from his host in a stuffed armchair, Ambrose briefly told the man about Iris’s wedding.
“I would love to hear about the new stables you’re building,” Rutley replied when Ambrose mentioned the subject. “Let us have some port and you can tell me all about it. Perhaps you would like a meal?”
He politely declined food. As for the port he said, “My doctor has advised against it after my recent illness.”
Ambrose described the plans for the new building. They wandered out to Rutley’s stable block to discuss some improvements the earl would like to undertake. When they were finished, Ambrose was famished. He would have a tray in his room as there were still a few hours before it was time to dress for supper.
A footman escorted him upstairs and to his bedchamber. He requested dry toast, fruit and a pot of tea from the departing servant. He suddenly felt drained, possibly due to not eating for an extended period.
Livingston helped him remove his jacket, waistcoat and shoes. A knock at the door revealed a footman carrying a tray with his small meal. Ambrose ate while his valet put away his clothes.
When he was finished eating, he addressed Livingston.
“You may get settled below stairs. I will rest for an hour. There is plenty of time for me to dress for dinner.”
After Livingston left the room Ambrose settled on the cover pane and closed his eyes. No headache, thank goodness, but he felt unsteady. A moment later he fell asleep.
* * * * *
“You look beautiful, my lady,” her maid said when she’d finished Camellia’s hair.
Camellia studied her reflection in the dressing table mirror. The light color of her dress was a very pale lilac. She had never worn that shade before. “Do you think the cream voile would be better? I’m not sure about this color.”
“Lilac is very flattering on you, my lady. It is quite lovely with your dark hair.”
“Thank you, Anna. I think you may be biased.”
“That could be true, mistress,” the girl replied and winked at Camellia’s reflection in the mirror.
“It is too late for me to change now.”
She encountered Helena on the landing before going downstairs. Her sister was stunning in a dark green gown.
“Let us hurry downstairs as my husband is alone with our female guests.” Helena continued in a softer voice, “He is not exactly fond of Miss Eliza.”
Camellia had no time to respond as they were entering the drawing room. She scanned the room quickly. No sign of Lord Norfolk.
Lady Bowles stepped forward to greet her. “What a lovely dress. You are a pearl, my dear.”
“I could never match your elegance, Lady Bowles. If I am a pearl, you are surely a diamond.”
The woman’s smile was a trifle sad. “I have the hard brilliance of a diamond. Your youth and sweetness are far more attractive than my jaded elegance.”
She was saved again from replying b
y the appearance of Lord Norfolk.
Lady Bowles pushed forward to greet the marquess. “Ambrose! How wonderful to see you again!”
Lady Eliza followed her aunt to the marquess’s side. Lord Norfolk spoke politely to both women before turning his gaze to her.
“Lady Camellia.” He bowed slightly.
She inclined her head. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Lord Norfolk.”
Lady Bowles placed her hand on the man’s arm. “Do come join our host and hostess. Helena is anxious to finally meet you.”
Camellia caught sight of her uncle at the far end of the room and walked to stand beside him. “And how are you, uncle?”
“Looking forward to a lovely meal with my two favorite nieces. It should be a splendid evening.”
She overheard Lady Bowles ask about Lord Norfolk’s sisters.
“They are well,” he replied briefly.
Despite several more probing questions from Lady Bowles, he would not elaborate. She supposed the woman wanted to renew their connection. Lord Ambrose treated her no differently than the rest of the women in the room.
The butler announced dinner. Her uncle extended his arm. She took it, aware that Lady Bowles had skillfully orchestrated Ambrose leading her into dinner.
* * * * *
The last person he expected to encounter at Rutley House was Isabel. He had rarely crossed her path after she turned down his proposal her first season. They had both been very young. Seeing the cunning female next to the freshness of Camellia made him thankful not for the first time the woman that was now Lady Bowles had refused his offer.
She was beautiful in a hard-edged way. Too coiffed, too perfumed, too everything. In contrast, Camellia was a breath of spring. A lovely wildflower next to a hothouse flower. He shook himself. Why on earth was he comparing the two women?
His place at table was next to Lady Rutley with Isabel on his other side. Camellia was seated across from him.
“I am so pleased you could join us, Lord Norfolk,” his hostess said with a smile. “My husband speaks very highly of you.”
The Wish (The Blooms of Norfolk Book 3) Page 5