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She angled the drink closer and closer to the man’s mouth, her hand shaking all the way. The drink splashed out of his glass on the way to his mouth, but if Jardine noticed, he said nothing.
Mister Foote attended his master, dabbing at the droplets and blotting up the spills. “May I refill your glass, My Lord?”
Jane made the deepest ‘Harrumph’ she could manage, and Foote interpreted it as a yes.
Jardine, meanwhile, began talking of his favourite things. Despite the weather, the cattle were doing well, although feed prices were draining their treasury. He was looking forward to the next sitting of parliament, where he would join the Tories.
Ah yes, she knew it wasn’t ‘Ponies!’. Jane made mutters that could be a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ depending on the answer she thought Jardine would want. All the while, her perspiring hands were losing their grip on the poker handle.
If she could get the glass to the Baron’s lips again in a convincing display it would - damn! The poker slipped from her fingers and the glass crashed into the Baron’s nose. Jane coughed and coughed and coughed.
Mister Foote scurried over and tidied his master up as best he could.
Lord Jardine said, “I do appreciate your time, Ealing, but I’d best leave you to it.”
He clearly didn’t want to pick up whatever Baron Ealing was sharing around. Good!
Mister Foote stepped ahead to get the door for him, but Jardine said, “No bother, I’ll see myself out.”
Jane kept coughing for good measure as both sets of doors closed with a firm click. She stayed huddled under the blanket until Foote lifted it up and smiled down on her.
“Did he believe it?”
“I’d say so,” Mister Foote said, extending a hand to help her up.”
Cramps and pins beset Jane as she extended her limbs. She sat down in Jardine’s chair and Mister Foote rubbed the circulation back into her legs.
Warmth and a very different kind of heat spread through Jane. “I guess we’d best move Ealing back into bed?”
Mister Foote looked back to his master. In this low light, with the fading embers, he was the epitome of an old man sitting by the fire. He truly looked like he was merely resting.
“Or we could leave him where he is and…”
Mister Foote looked to Jane, a hint of mischief on his face. “And? My Lady?”
Jane found herself wanting to clear her throat or cough or something.
“I would never presume but, perhaps…”
Did she have to spell it out?
“My Lady, do you… require my services?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter Six
The next morning, Jane’s guests would assume she had spent the night with her husband. Nobody else need know she had slept in the dressing room, nor whom she had slept with in there.
Mama brought more poultices and concoctions de Bath and applied them liberally over her husband’s neck and chest. The smell made Jane’s eyes water, but it covered the other strong aromas building in the Baron’s rooms. Smelling salts did most of the heavy lifting, but goodness, it was a close-run thing of which scent was worse. If Lady Jardine came to visit, she would definitely know something was wrong. Hideously, horrendously wrong.
“Mister Foote, might you take the Baron for a perambulation in his wheeled chair this morning.” Jane asked.
Rain pelted against the windows.
“In this weather, My Lady?”
“Is he likely to dissolve in it?”
