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“I’ll take it back to the dining room. They’ll think I’m the dutiful wife tending to my husband.”
“That would give a good appearance,” he agreed.
“While I’m here, I need to ascertain if there is a way that, ahh, that the Baron might be partake in a Brandy with Lord Jardine?”
“I would not advise it,” Mister Foote said. “It’s one thing to use bellows to make him appear to breathe whilst in the bed, but this would be another matter entirely. We got away with it in the garden as he was facing the other way, but having a brandy by the fire would be nigh impossible without discovery.”
“Oh,” Jane nibbled at her top lip. “Is there anyone in the estate who bears a resemblance? Who might, in perhaps poor lighting, appear to have a likeness?”
It was clutching at the flimsiest of straws, she knew.
“Has Lord Jardine requested an audience?”
“Indeed, he has. He appears bored and restless. No doubt being surrounded by women is trying his nerves, poor chap. Mama has attempted to strike up diverting conversations, but to no avail.”
“He misses his own set, no doubt,” Mister Foote said. “Perhaps this is for the best. His boredom could hasten the Jardines’ departure?”
Jane moved to the fireplace, which was sputtering its last. Possibly for the best, as the chilled room kept the aromas from growing too redolent.
Grabbing the poker, she gave her frustrations free rein.
“Stupid interfering Jardines. Why couldn’t they simply leave us alone? I wouldn’t have known anything was wrong, wouldn’t have dragged you into this and they would have inherited it all anyway.”
“Do not blame yourself,” Mister Foote reached for Jane’s hand to ease her attack on the remaining fuel, “I was a most willing participant.”
“This is all their fault,” she pulled the poker back. At the same time, Mister Foote reached for her hand and the edge of the poker caught on his sleeve buttons.
She pushed the poker free, but it did not let go. His arm moved with the poker, closer to the coals, as if he were a marionette and she a puppet master.
“Wait!” Mister Foote called out, as he pulled his arm away from the modest heat. The poker came with him. “It appears wedged in the button hole.”
Perhaps it was the frustration of their predicament, but Jane could not stop jabbing the poker up and down controlling his arm. “The intensity of our situation is indeed becoming too much,” she added with a giggle. “Wait a moment! This has given me an excellent idea. I do believe the Baron will drink Brandy with Viscount Jardine, right here in this very room!”
******
Trembling, Jane crouched in the shadows beside the Baron’s wheeled chair, a thin dark blanket covering her entire body. Should she send up a prayer that this farce would work? No, best they not trouble fate with drawing any further attention to this scheme. The banked coals in the fireplace gave little light, and even less direct heat, although that didn’t stop her perspiring profusely from a serious case of nerves.
“Welcome, My Lord, the Baron is glad to see you,” Mister Foote said as the Viscount entered the Baron’s rooms.
Jane could not sit up or twist her neck to see, so she listed to the sound of approaching footsteps. Somebody sat in the chair on the other side of the fireplace. It would be Jardine.
Liquid lolloped from a bottle into a glass, which would be Mister Foote pouring their drinks. A moment later, she felt the fire poker in her hand shift slightly. Peering through the weave of the blanket, Mister Foot secured the drink in the Baron’s hand, then looked to where he imagined Jane’s eyes must be. “All good, Sir?”
Jane made a deep sounding ‘harrumph’ and hoped it sounded manly enough. It hurt her throat and she began to cough.
She’d give it all away before they even started.
“I shall move your chair further away, Lord Jardine,” Mister Foote offered, “I’ve had this chin cough before, and it stays for nearly one hundred days. You’d do well to keep your distance.”
“Chin cough?” Jardine moved his own chair away, rather than wait for the footman to do it. “Nasty stuff. Best keep it away from my son.”
“Definitely,” Mister Foote said. “It’s why we’ve been keeping his Lordship isolated. Your daughters are hale enough to fight this off, but not an infant.”
Jane stopped coughing enough herself to inwardly gasp at the brilliance of Foote’s suggestion. What a clever man. Keeping her voice low and deep to sound like her husband, she said, “Don’t want this, ‘specially a babe.”
“To your continuing good health,” Lord Jardine suggested.
Now it really was time to put their plan into action. Raising the fire poker that was jammed into the Baron’s buttonhole at his wrist, Jane lifted the Baron’s hand in a salute. It was working! They were truly going to get away with this!
