Chapter Nineteen

Trust. James winced as that word echoed in his thoughts. He’d returned again and again to their conversation of that morning. How very telling that Daphne should mention that particular requirement. He too had always considered honesty a vital character trait, and yet he seemed to have lost his grasp on his own integrity of late. Desperate circumstances had driven him to take desperate measures. When Father had first backed James into this, Daphne had been little more than a name. She had in the last few weeks become much more than that. The faceless symbol of his father’s tyranny had transformed into a feeling, caring human being. She had gone from the lifeless “Miss Lancaster” to the intelligent yet timid and softhearted Daphne. And when precisely had he begun thinking of her by her given name?

He pushed out a tense breath. Too many burdens were piling up, and he’d begun to sag under the weight.

James stepped inside his mother’s bedchamber. She’d not come down for dinner. She sat in her four-poster bed, propped up by pillows. Her coloring was not good. Her eyes were closed.

“How is she?” he asked the abigail hovering nearby.

“She’s in a bad way, my lord. Her throat has been ailing her, and His Lordship came in and upset her more.”

Father very seldom acknowledged Mother, something which ought to have raised James’s suspicions when Father had insisted his scheme was meant to benefit her. If he’d sought her out, there had to be a reason, and likely not a kindhearted one.

“May I ask what my father said to her?”

Mother’s feeble voice answered. “He will not send for a physician, James.”

He took hold of her hand. Her coloring had worsened just since he’d come inside.

“She is a touch feverish,” the abigail said. “I’m worried for her.”

“I truly do not feel well at all,” Mother’s throat sounded raw. “But your father said no one from the staff can be spared. He said not to even try, that he’d given strict instructions.”

Father would deny her a physician’s care because of the inconvenience? He had to know James would not allow such a thing. Was this meant to be a battle of wills, a chance to show James that he, Father, was the one with the power? Had James not already bowed to enough dictates for the family hierarchy to be painfully clear?

The abigail dabbed at Mother’s flushed cheeks with a damp cloth. She needed a doctor’s care. But the staff would never defy Lord Techney, even for James.

Daphne. Her name entered his thoughts like a bolt of lightning. She could help. Better still, he felt certain she would help.

“I know someone who is expert enough in the apothecary arts to help you feel better and rest until I can talk some sense into Father.” He yet held her hand. “Only, please, Mother, be kind to her.”

“You mean that Miss Lancaster?” Her pale features clearly registered her disapproval. “How can I when she has ruined—”

“No, Mother. You must not blame her for what you see as my loss of freedom. That is truly not the way of it. If I can convince her to offer her assistance, will you please show her the gratitude she deserves? Her tisane did make a difference for you.”

All the fight drained from her in a moment. Her coloring disappeared but for the heat-induced flush in her cheeks. She nodded, though reluctantly.

James gently slipped her hand under her blanket. “I will be back as soon as I can,” he quietly promised.

He moved quickly, arriving on horseback at Falstone House at an hour generally considered far too late for social calls. He could only hope Daphne and the duchess had not chosen to attend any functions that night.

Considering the vast disservice he was doing her in continuing his charade, his conscience could not be eased knowing he was about to ask more of her. But what else could be done? Mother was truly ill.

The door opened. “Are the ladies of the house in?” The request emerged rushed and, even to his own ears, a touch desperate. “I have an urgent matter I need to discuss with Miss Lancaster.”

No show of surprise touched the butler’s expression. He led James quite properly up the stairs to the small, informal sitting room. Daphne and her sister were both seated within.

Daphne looked surprised to see him there. And well she might be. Though she’d not changed into her night clothes, her hair had been let down, pulled back by a single ribbon.

“Forgive me,” he said before he could second-guess his own audacity. “I would not under less urgent circumstances presume to be here at this hour.”

Her shock changed immediately to concern. “What’s happened? You look nearly done in.”

“My mother is unwell and, for reasons that do not reflect well on my family, is not able to seek the help of our physician. I hoped you would be willing to see if there is anything you might do to ease her suffering.”

“Of course.” She spoke as though there were no question of her assisting. She turned to her sister.

“Take Fanny with you,” Her Grace instructed. “And Willie, so he can bring back word if you need to remain longer than expected.”

Daphne stood, turning to the butler still standing in the sitting room doorway. “Please have Eliza retrieve my trunk of herbs and give it to Fanny.”

“Yes, Miss Lancaster.”

Daphne stepped out of the sitting room and walked alongside him toward the front of the house. “What are her symptoms?”

“She seems to have developed an infection of the throat.”

“Has her voice been affected?” The timidity that usually hovered over Daphne’s was not at all evident. She spoke with authority and decisiveness.

“It has,” James answered. “And she is feverish as well.”

They reached the front entryway. Word had apparently already spread amongst the staff. A footman stood at the front door with his outercoat already on. Willie, no doubt.

“Is she sweating at all?” Daphne asked.

“Not that I noticed.” His confidence in Daphne only grew as they climbed into the Kielder carriage, Fanny along for propriety. Daphne knew just what to ask and did so with an undeniable expertise. His worries eased simply having her there.

She did not hover at Mother’s door when they reached it but walked inside and spoke to the abigail directly. “I understand your mistress is ill.”

The abigail’s chin quivered a bit. She needed to keep herself in one piece, but James feared she wouldn’t manage it.

Daphne crossed to the distraught woman and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If you will tell me all you have seen and observed of this sickness, I promise to do all I can to help her. I give you my solemn word.”

The abigail rallied a bit. “She has lost most of her voice and finds even drinking water nearly too painful to endure.”

Daphne nodded as she listened. She drew the abigail to Mother’s bedside once more. “How long has she had this fever?”

“She was a touch warm when she woke this morning.”

James didn’t like how that admission drew Daphne’s mouth into a solemn line. He stood but a few paces away, watching anxiously.

“The fever has not broken at all the entire day?” Daphne asked.

The abigail shook her head.

“Has she slept?”

“Only fitfully.”

Daphne turned her full attention to Mother. “I wish to help if I can,” she said, “but first I must know as much as possible about your illness. May I have permission to very gently feel your neck? I promise to be as light in my touch as I can be.”

Mother opened her mouth to say something, but no sound emerged. Had she lost her voice entirely? James stepped closer, wishing he knew how to ease her pain.

Daphne waited patiently for an answer to her question.

“She can help, Mother,” he said.

Mother at last nodded.

Daphne sat on the side of the bed and pressed her fingertips with utmost care along Mother’s neck. James knew not what she hoped to feel or find but prayed she could do something. For a long moment, she moved her fingers about, feeling and watching Mother. She pressed the back of one hand to Mother’s forehead, then her cheek.

“I am certain you find swallowing very painful.” Daphne’s voice alone was soothing, calming. “I do know of a very useful tonic for a painful throat, but you will have to swallow it. Can you do that?”

Mother nodded.

“Then I will see to it immediately.” Daphne rose and nearly bumped into him, so close had he come to stand by her.

He might have apologized for getting in her way, but the concern he saw in her face silenced him.

“Will you walk with me a moment?” she whispered urgently.

He followed her to the far side of the room where Mother’s writing desk sat.

“I will write out the recipe,” Daphne said, keeping her voice low. “But, James, she needs a physician. Her throat is terribly swollen. Fever has clouded her eyes. She ought to be seen by a professional.”

He paced away, then back again. “Father will not allow one to be sent for. He’s given instructions to the staff not to, and I know they will not defy him on my account.”

“Might your brother be sent?”

“Ben could go, but Father would likely refuse to pay the physician for his services.”

Daphne’s brow knit in thought. She’d wasted not a single breath, not a single moment in outrage at Father’s edict nor expressing horror at the coldness of which his sire was capable. James was inexplicably grateful. Any other lady of his acquaintance would have washed her hands of his problems.

“If we both put our minds to it,” she said, “I am certain we can think of something. We cannot simply allow her to be neglected when she is so ill.”

She wrote in clear, concise lettering a recipe for her healing tisane. James checked on his mother once more. Her eyes were heavy with illness. Something had to be done. Father had to be dealt with.

A moment later, Daphne handed the recipe to Mother’s abigail with strict instructions that were any of the herbs in the recipe not on hand, she was to be told at once so a suitable substitute could be found. The lady’s maid rushed off, obviously anxious to help her mistress.

“Try not to worry, James.” Daphne laid a hand on his arm. “I do not believe your mother is in imminent danger. We have time to think of a means of getting a physician here.”

“I can only imagine what you must think of my family.” He’d seldom felt more ashamed.

“Every family has its difficulties.”

He pressed his hand to hers where it yet lay on his arm. “Thank you for all you’ve done.”

That dimple of hers reappeared. “I am happy to be of help.”

“Might I ask another favor of you, then? Will you stay here with my mother until her abigail returns?”

“I mean to stay until she is well again.”

James took her hand in his and pressed a grateful kiss to her fingers. He’d come to her with a crisis, and she’d responded with a cool head and a giving heart.

“I will go see if I can talk some sense into my father. Wish me luck.” He released her fingers and moved to the door.

James glanced back once only to find Daphne already engaged in cooling Mother’s forehead. His heart tugged at the sight even as guilt twisted more painfully inside. She was so willing to give with no idea of how selfishly she was being used by them all.