Chapter 22
Grateful to remove herself from the room where Lord Stratford lay groaning in pain, Anne tore through the house toward the kitchen as if the hounds of hell gave chase.
In truth, she wished she were far, far away.
Witnessing her new father-in-law in such agony was too much to bear.
And she didn’t even really like the man!
She prayed the concoction of bicarbonate of soda would help as it did when Andrew had eaten too much.
Her hand shook as she handed the note to the cook and instructed her to prepare the drink per Harry’s instructions. When the woman pulled out a much larger spoon to measure the soda, unease propelled Anne to speak up.
“Stop. That’s too big. Here, allow me.”
The cook raised an eyebrow but stepped out of the way. “Do you even know your way around a kitchen, miss?”
“It’s Lady Manning.” Anne pushed aside the large soup spoon and rummaged through the drawer for a smaller spoon. Where are the teaspoons?
“Right in front of you, my lady.” The cook pointed to the side of the drawer.
Anne didn’t care that she’d said that aloud; she grabbed a spoon, then gave the cook a glare that Colin would be proud of. “The water! Warm, not hot. Hurry.”
The cook scurried to the stove where a kettle sat on a burner.
“Half a glass,” Anne said. “Then bring the bicarbonate of soda. It’s the white powdery stuff.”
“I know what it is,” the cook grumbled as she poured the water into a glass.
While the cook retrieved the soda, Anne tested the temperature of the water with the tip of her finger. A little too warm, but it would cool as she took it upstairs to Lord Stratford. She stirred in the soda and, without a word of thanks to the cook, raced back upstairs.
At first she had been too frozen with fear at the sight of Lord Stratford to dwell on the cause of his discomfort, but as she hurried back upstairs, an uncomfortable thought flashed into her mind.
What if in her eagerness to win over her father-in-law, she’d inadvertently caused his illness?
Would Colin blame her? Would her blunder doom their marriage before it had barely begun?
Too painful to ponder, she pushed it from her mind, vowing to make it right.
Hushed voices greeted her when she reentered the room. Lord Stratford looked as bad as when she’d left minutes before, but at least he was alive. She handed him the glass.
“Did the cook follow instructions, Anne?” Ashton asked.
“She tried to use a soup spoon, and would have used too much, so I made it myself. I had to guess using a teaspoon, but I believe I got it right.”
Stratford raised a wiry gray eyebrow. “Trying to poison me, girl? Are you that eager to become marchioness?”
The false accusation slammed into her. Her knees grew weak, and she stumbled back.
A strong hand wrapped around her waist and held her upright. “Father. That was uncalled for. Anne is trying to help you.”
Lord Stratford shoved the glass toward her. “Then you drink first.”
Colin stepped forward and, removing the glass from his father’s hand, took a sip. “There. Satisfied?”
Anne breathed a sigh of relief that Colin didn’t make a face when tasting the bitter, salty mixture. He turned his attention toward Ashton. “Is there still enough to be effective?”
Ashton took the glass and examined the remaining liquid. “There should be.” He handed it to Lord Stratford. “Drink it all. It should settle your stomach.”
Unlike Colin, Lord Stratford wrinkled his nose as he drank the cloudy mixture. “Tastes abominable. Why didn’t you warn me?”
Although he directed the question to no one in particular, Anne answered, “Because you probably would have refused to drink it.”
Colin’s fingers intertwined with hers and gave a little squeeze.
Turning toward him, she hoped to see a smile playing across her husband’s lips, but he stared straight ahead, his expression still as solemn as the grave.
“What exactly does it do, Ashton?” Drake asked.
“I suspect the acidity from the gooseberries coupled with the spicy food is the culprit. If that is the case, the alkaline base of the sodium bicarbonate should neutralize it, and it should cause him to—”
Lord Stratford emitted a loud, undignified burp.
“Burp,” Ashton finished. “How do you feel now, Stratford?”
For a few moments, the man seemed to ponder the question. “Perhaps a little better.”
Ashton placed a hand on Lord Stratford’s shoulder. “Good. I’ll send instructions for the cook to prepare another dose in a few hours, but in the meantime, I suggest you rest.”
Honoria cast an apologetic glance toward Anne. “Should I send the musicians home? I suspect most people have dispersed to their rooms.”
As much as Anne loved balls, she suspected Colin had no desire to return and, truth be told, neither did she. “That’s probably for the best.”
“I’ll do it, darling.” Drake kissed Honoria lightly on the cheek and left.
“There’s not much anyone else can do,” Ashton said. “Why don’t you all get some rest? I’ll stay with him and send word if anything changes.”
“You’re talking about me as I’m already on my deathbed,” Stratford grumbled.
Perhaps Colin inherited his father’s grumpy manner. Regardless, the tension in Anne’s body eased with the knowledge she could soon leave. Being in a room with a sick person was almost as bad as being trapped in a small, dark closet.
“I’ll stay with him, too.” Her face drawn and tired, Lady Stratford appeared about as eager to remain as Anne. However, remaining with one’s husband was what a good wife did.
“No, Constance,” Lord Stratford said. “I don’t want you fussing over me. Get her out of here, Honoria, and let me rest in peace.”
A nervous giggle—ironic and horribly inappropriate—bubbled up. Heat scalded her face, and she cringed at everyone’s condemning gaze. If only she could vanish with a poof into thin air. “The way he phrased it. I . . . oh, dear.”
Honoria took her arm. “It’s all right, Anne. We’re all worried and prone to say or do things we don’t mean.”
Colin did not appear as forgiving, and Lord Grumpy-Trousers delivered a castigatory glance. “We should leave.”
Anne could almost hear Colin’s unspoken addition. Before you do something else foolish.
“Stay, Colin. I need to speak with you.” Stratford’s command sent an eerie chill down Anne’s spine. Would he tell Colin to annul the marriage not knowing they had already consummated it?
Colin gave a quick nod. “Anne, if you would keep Mother and Honoria company, I would appreciate it. I’ll be with you shortly.”
Anne’s own stomach tightened. To be left to care for two upset women! She took a deep breath and followed her new family out the door and closed it with a definitive click.
“Let’s go to my sitting room. I’ll send for some tea,” Honoria said.
What Anne wanted was a glass of wine or even brandy. Perhaps the strong spirits would ease the sensation of walls closing in on her.
Get yourself together!
Her new mother-in-law jerked toward her with wide eyes. “I beg your pardon?”
Anne’s hand flew to her mouth. Too late to pull the words back in. “I’m sorry, Lady Stratford, I was speaking to myself.”
“She does that, Mother, although she doesn’t realize we know.” Honoria sent her an indulgent smile. “We’re all worried, Anne. I’m so sorry this happened on your wedding day.”
So was she.
Colin took a seat next to his father’s bedside and prepared himself for whatever lecture lay ahead.
“I should leave you two alone,” Ashton said. “I’ll be right outside should you need me.”
“No. Stay. You need to hear this because I may need your assistance, Ashton.”
Why would his father need Ashton’s help? Although his father had always had a humorless nature, the stark seriousness of his expression sent a thousand possibilities winging through Colin’s mind. Dread, cold and suffocating as the murky waters in the lake, washed over him.
“Very well.” Ashton drew up a chair across the bed from Colin.
“Do not tell your mother or sister,” his father began, and the dread compressed Colin’s lungs tighter.
“These pains of mine, they’re not simply from eating gooseberries or spicy foods, although my pain flares when I do indulge.
” He paused as if drawing courage to form the words Colin didn’t want to hear.
“My physician believes I have a cancer.”
Colin’s gaze jerked from his father to Ashton, seeking, hoping he would dispute the diagnosis.
“It’s possible. Or it could be an ulceration of the stomach.”
Neither sounded good to Colin. “Can you determine which it is, if it is either?”
“It’s next to impossible to detect an internal cancer while the patient lives.
” Ashton shot an apologetic glance toward Colin’s father.
“It’s usually discovered through a postmortem autopsy.
Whereas a palpable growth is much easier to detect, and if a sample of tissue can be excised and examined under a microscope, there are indicators. ”
“Damn it, both of you!” His father groaned and pulled himself up farther on the bed.
“That can wait. Colin, I want to apply for a writ of acceleration so you can assume my place in Parliament. Ashton, your support could be influential, and, of course, I’ll have to do some groveling to my son-in-law as well. ”
“You won’t have to grovel to Burwood, Father. Drake would do anything for Honoria and, by extension, you. But it’s unnecessary. You’ll be fine.” Were his words meant to convince his father . . . or himself?
“But if I’m not. If I’m unable to get out of my damn bed, I need you to represent us. And when I die—”
“Father!”