AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Afraid not, Your Grace.”
“Then let us hope lung fever doesn’t become an issue.” Except that it all too easily could. A long seizure usually left Robbie exhausted and disoriented, in this case apparently so exhausted he’d succumbed to sleep immediately thereafter, right on the cold, damp earthand half in the river.
Or perhaps he’d lost consciousness during the seizure itself and never awakened. Nathaniel had no way to tell, and Robbie refused to see physicians competent to treat his ailment—if any there were.
Nathaniel took the basket and a basin of ice water up the steps, pausing on the landing to let old Thatcher shuffle past.
“Morning, Master Nathaniel.”
“Good morning, Thatcher.”
“Shall I bring up a rack of toast, sir?”
“No thank you. I haven’t much appetite this morning.”
“Very good sir.” He tottered off down the steps, in charity with whatever world he inhabited.
“I see the boot was salvageable,” Nathaniel said, setting the basket down beside the estate office’s sofa.
“Oh, quite,” Lady Althea replied, rummaging in the basket. “I’ll take that basin of ice water, and I daresay Robbie could use a cup of hot tea and perhaps some victuals.”
Robbie never ate or drank after a seizure until his mind was clear. He reclined on the chaise, both boots off, feet bare.
“Robbie?”
“A spot of tea wouldn’t go amiss, neither would a blanket.”
“Take my shawl.” Lady Althea passed a wad of blue merino wool to Nathaniel. “It’s warmer than it looks.”
Nathaniel draped the soft wool about his brother’s shoulders, catching a whiff of roses as he did. “Do you need anything else?”
“A pillow and some blankets,” Lady Althea said, dragging a hassock closer to the sofa. “Somebody ought to have a go at those boots too, once they’ve dried.”
Robbie was enjoying himself thoroughly, doubtless delighted to see Nathaniel scurrying about like a new under-footman.
Nathaniel was not enjoying himselfat all. He took up Robbie’s damp boots. “You find this amusing,” he said, aiming a scowl at his brother. “If you’d fallen another three feet closer to the river, we could be laying out your corpse.”
The humor in Robbie’s gaze faded. “I knew enough not to get that close to the water.”
Lady Althea unrolled a length of white linen and dipped it into the ice water. “Gentlemen, you have both had a fright, but the situation is resolving itself well enough. Anybody can turn an ankle. Rothhaven, the tea if you please, and I wouldn’t mind a cup myself.”
“Yes, Rothhaven, please do bring a cup for the lady.”
Robbie wastwitting him, as any sibling might poke fun at another. Not five minutes past, Rothhaven had heard Robbie laugh—out loud—for the first time in years. In any other circumstances, this display of humor would have been cause for rejoicing.
But there was Lady Althea Wentworth, giving orders and making herself quite at home in Nathaniel’s estate office, while a half-daft footman tottered about with imaginary racks of toast.
“Shall I bring some sustenance with the tea?” Nathaniel asked.
“I could use a bite to eat,” Lady Althea said. “And please have the housekeeper brew up a full pot of willow bark tisane too.”
“We haven’t enough for a full pot,” Nathaniel said. “We’re out of feverfew as well.”
Lady Althea scooted closer to the sofa and took Robbie’s foot in her lap. His ankle was properly swollen and already turning various painful colors.
“Then make a tisane of basil, boil a good fistful of the dried leaves in a quart of water for at least five minutes. Then simmer until you’ve reduced the water by half. Toss in some ginger and a dash of honey, plus a squeeze of lemon juice if you have it. Prepare enough for a serving every few hours. I’ll send to Lynley Vale for the willow bark, but the basil will do to ward off fever for now.”
She opened a tin and the scent of scythed meadows and blooming mint wafted across the office. Nathaniel stood in the doorway, trying to put a name on the emotions rioting through him.
