Page 34 of The Earl and His Lady

Virginia applied the poultice to Edward’s chest, listening to him cough painfully, the sound almost like a bark. His throat already ached and his chest jerked painfully with each wave of coughs. When he’d calmed, tears in his eyes, she held a cup of willow-bark tea and honey for him to sip.

Nurse Smythe sat near the door, her eyes tired and her shoulders drooping. Virginia had tried to send the woman to bed. They had already moved Phillip to a guest chamber downstairs, the new nursery maid with him, so he wouldn’t be disturbed by his brother’s coughing. The coughing was enough to keep Phillip awake, but it also distressed the older boy. Virginia could well imagine why. His father’s consumption had first manifested itself in excessive coughing. But Nurse Smythe stayed, a look of guilt in her eyes.

“If I’d not nodded off, I could’ve told his lordship how Master Edward is,” she had said plaintively. “Or they’d never’ve gone outside to begin with.”

“It is not your fault,” Virginia had soothed. “It isn’t anyone’s fault.”

But if she had the earl before her, she might very well say something she would have to apologize for later. Edward’s body was not very strong. He was only four years old. Croup shook him to his very core and the lack of sleep made him miserable for days. In the past, once they calmed the cough enough for him to sleep, he could be restful for hours only to start up again, just before the dawn.

Edward put his hand against the cup and pushed it away. “I don’t like it. It tastes like mud—” He started coughing again.

“You didn’t mind the taste of mud earlier today,” Virginia reminded him, forcing a smile. “You had it all over your face and I’m quite certain you swallowed at least a teacupful.”

His little face scowled up at her, his brown eyes flashing. Her heart gave a little jerk when she realized how much he resembled his father. Of course, Edward’s stubbornness came entirely from her.

“It tastes like grass mixed with mud,” he said firmly. Then he was coughing again, his shoulders shaking. His throat sounded ragged already.

“Sounds like a truly miserable concoction.”

Virginia’s body stiffened and she closed her eyes. What was he doing up in the nursery? She looked over her shoulder to see Lucas standing in the doorway, his clothing in some disarray as though it had been donned hastily. No self-respecting valet would’ve allowed his lord to look like that.

Edward shifted and when Virginia turned to admonish him to sit still, she saw that his whole face had brightened. Even his sleepy eyes suddenly appeared more awake.

“It is miserable. And I shan’t drink it.” Then he turned and coughed into his shoulder.

Sighing, Virginia lowed the cup in her hands.

Lucas approached the bed and knelt beside it, at her knee, his eyes only on Edward. “That’s a shame. I imagine it’s supposed to be good for you.”

Edward’s bottom lip went out. “I don’t like it.”

“That’s usually how we feel about things that are good for us. I myself have a very difficult time with mustard plasters.”

What was this line of conversation supposed to achieve? Virginia very nearly opened her mouth to ask, but Edward began to lift up his shirt. “I have a poultice. It smells good, though.” Virginia had added just a few drops of rose oil to the herbal treatment, thinking she rather detested its scents herself.

“I see. And what is the poultice supposed to do for you?” The earl’s tired eyes shot very briefly to Virginia’s before going back to Edward.

Edward began to explain. “Doctor Hastings, he’s Cousin Nathaniel now, but he said it would help if my chest was warm. It’s warm, it keeps the cough from wanting to come out so much. But what really hurts is my—” A cough interrupted him, escaping in another raspy bark.

“Your what?” the earl asked when Edward finished, as though not at all disgusted by the horrible sound.

“My throat. It hurts. And I’m tired.” Edward’s shoulders slumped and he leaned back against his pillows again.

“I see. What is the tea supposed to do?”

Edward dropped his eyes and looked down at his hands, grasping at the wrinkles in his blanket. Then he looked from Lucas to Virginia.

“It’s s’posed to help my throat.”

“Ah.” Lucas began to nod and reached out to give Edward’s legs beneath the blanket a pat. “Then hadn’t you better drink it? It seems your mother is trying to help, not poison you with mud-water.”

“Mud and grass,” Edward muttered, his eyebrows furrowing. But he held his hands out to his mother, reaching for the teacup.

Virginia held the cup with him, helping him to steady it, and did her very best not to look at the earl. Would he appear triumphant? Smug? How did he know just what to say to make her sons cooperate and why was she lacking the intuition to do the same? Although relieved that Edward drank the tea, with no more protest than a wrinkled nose, she felt defeated.

“Thank you, Mama,” her son whispered, handing her back the cup. He curled up on his pillow and coughed into his fist one more time. But he closed his eyes. “Can I have the sachet?”

Nurse Smythe bustled forward and Virginia moved out of the way so she could tuck a little pouch of dried lavender beneath the boy’s pillow. “I can watch him now, my lady,” Nurse Smythe said, her eyes softer. “I can come and get you if he worsens.”