Major Dalton nodded. “Right you are, my lord.”
“It is my understanding that the duke has never before met Napoleon in battle,” Mr. Havers, the first officer, said.
“That may be the case.” The major sipped his wine. “But neither has Boney met the Beau.”
A few moments later, two sailors served a hearty oxtail broth. Elizabeth kept an eye on Geoffrey, Lord John, and the others not used to sailing, looking for signs ofmal de mer. From what she had been told, the earlier one was treated, the better the person would fare.
The soup was removed and a savory fish dish made with a cream sauce had just been served when Major Dalton hastily covered his mouth with his hand. “Forgive me. I must leave.”
Across from her Geoffrey turned an interesting shade of green. “I have some ginger tea and alike. If you will allow me, Captain, I shall take them to your cook.”
“If you wish, my lady. Although, normally, he is prepared and has what’s needed in his stores.” Just then the ship’s quartermaster entered the room and whispered to the captain. “Tell him to use what we have for the soldiers.” He grimaced. “It appears whatever you have on hand will be welcome, my lady. Most of the soldiers have become ill.”
The quartermaster held her chair out. “I’ll be just a moment.” Turning to hurry to the door, she stopped. “Harrington, I believe you should lie down before you become ill.”
“Nonsense. I shall be fine. I am never sick.” The next second he clapped his hand over his mouth, and rushed past her into the passageway.
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “If anyone else is feeling not quite the thing, I beg you will find your bunks. You will feel much better for it. Captain”—Elizabeth inclined her head—“I and any of my household who are able will stand by to assist you.”
For the next several hours, Elizabeth, Vickers, Nettle, Mrs. Robins, and Lord John tended to ones who had fallen, including Lord John’s batman.
While Elizabeth helped in dispensing medicines to the soldiers who had become ill, she’d left Geoffrey with Nettle who vowed he would see his master drink all of the ginger soup she had ordered for Geoffrey.
Despite the valet’s reassurances, she was uneasy that she had not nursed him herself and decided she would see to him as soon as she ate something. Her stomach had been complaining for the past hour, and if she was to keep going, she required nourishment.
Elizabeth had just finished drinking a much-needed cup of tea and eating a slice of beef between two pieces of bread when Nettle rushed into the dining cabin. “My lady. Please come quickly. I’m afraid for his lordship. He can’t keep anything down.”
“I’ll come now.” The thought that he deserved part of his illness for being so smug vanished when she entered their cabin. His face was as white as chalk, and he was retching into a chamber pot, but his stomach was clearly empty. “What have you tried to feed him?”
“Some broth, my lady. He didn’t like the ginger much.”
Wasn’t that just like men, not following a woman’s orders? “Bring me warm ginger soup and some ginger biscuits.”
“But, my lady, he won’t—”
“Do as I say and do not argue with me.” Really, she had had a surfeit of recalcitrant men this evening, and she did not intend to listen to another one.
“Yes, my lady.” Nettle opened the door.
“I also want some warm water and cloths. He doesn’t have a fever, but it might make him feel better.” She searched for the lavender her maid always kept at hand.
Geoffrey groaned, and Elizabeth held his hand while she stroked his forehead and his damp hair back from his face. He was cold and wet to the touch and her fear for him began to rise until she reminded herself that she had never actually heard of anyone dying ofmal de mer. Although she’d met several men tonight who wished they would die while going through it.
She could not stop herself from kissing Geoffrey’s forehead and brushing her lips across his.
“Elizabeth?” His voice was a dry croak. He really was suffering badly.
“I’m here now,” she said softly. “You’ll feel better soon.”
“I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you.” He slipped into unconsciousness, and she could only hope it was a healing sleep.
It seemed like ages before Nettle opened the door carrying two small metal buckets, a cup, and a plate of biscuits.
After setting one bucket on the floor, Nettle said, “The cook said the soup is better given to his lordship in a cup than in a bowl.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Set the food on this chest and you may go.”
He opened his mouth as if to argue, but must have seen the look in her eyes. “Yes, my lady. I’ll be just outside the door.”
