Chapter Six
Any hope of a speedy removal to Rushton Hall was dashed overnight.
Jane awoke in the middle of the night, certain that someone needed her.
It was a familiar feeling, though she experienced it less often as her children had grown up.
The last time she’d woken up with this foreboding was when her daughter-in-law had gone into labor with her third child.
Heavens, she hoped she wasn’t needed for a crisis of that magnitude!
She listened carefully. At first, nothing seemed to be amiss. Then she heard what sounded like a muffled groan. She tucked her dressing gown around her, slid her feet into slippers, and went to investigate.
She didn’t have to go far. The next sound she heard clearly came from the duke’s bedchamber. She tapped at the door, but the only response was a muffled grunt.
“I am coming inside, Your Grace.” Jane opened the door to find the noble Duke of Belmont huddled on the floor next to a puddle of vomit.
He’d been resting his head in his arms, but he lifted his chin to look at her. “I seem to be getting worse rather than better,” he complained.
“Mr. Gregory warned me that you might develop more symptoms as time passed. Hopefully the nausea won’t last too long.” Jane helped the duke to his feet, then steadied him as he lurched into bed.
“Thank you,” he rasped. “Didn’t want to get sick in the bed, you know? Blankets take forever to dry.”
Jane wrinkled her nose. “Oh, I know. Believe me, I know.” There were many wonderful aspects of raising children, but cleaning up the mess when a digestive complaint decimated the nursery was not one of them. She was glad those days were over.
She wiped the floor as best she could with water and a cloth. Mrs. Lofthouse’s maid could clean it more thoroughly in the morning, but Jane at least wanted to get rid of some of the stomach-churning odor.
When she finished, she washed her hands thoroughly before pouring a fresh glass of water for the duke.
He took only a tiny sip. “I suppose it was a mistake to eat that toast. But my stomach felt fine at the time.”
“Would you like me to brew a potion for you?” Jane offered. He looked blankly at her. “I am a witch,” she reminded him. “My talent leans toward domestic magic, but I know plenty of good home remedies.” She’d treated so many upset stomachs over the years that she’d memorized that particular spell.
His face brightened. “I would appreciate that, Lady Carrington.”
Jane already knew her way around the kitchen, having helped Mrs. Lofthouse with dinner.
The farmhouse did not have a separate stillroom, the way a large manor house might, but the pantry contained both peppermint and ginger.
Those herbs could work wonders when steeped in water and imbued with magic.
Jane sang her stomach-settling spell as she poured hot water into the teapot. It was a folk song composed mostly of nonsense words. She’d learned it from her childhood nurse, who had learned it from her mother.
“With a hey nonny nonny and a drop of a sweet honey, I sing good health to ye,” she sang, bringing the spell to its conclusion. Her magic took effect not with a snap or a jolt but with a silent vibration that shook her bones like the tolling of a deep bell.
She poured the tea into an invalid cup and brought it upstairs. The duke lay in bed, his eyes closed. But he was not asleep. The lines of tension in his face told her as much even before he spoke.
He opened his eyes when she sat beside him on the bed. “I suppose you were right to insist on staying here rather than traveling on to Rushton tonight. I did not expect to be this ill.”
Jane looked down into his eyes. They really were striking. In the light of day, his irises had looked nearly silver, but the dancing candlelight turned them a dark, unfathomable shade. Jane found it a little distracting. A man this ill had no business looking so attractive!
“You took a bad blow to the head,” she reminded him. “And you might have other injuries that were not immediately apparent. I’ve never been in a carriage accident before, but I believe it is common for people to discover new aches and pains in the aftermath.”
“Just my luck.” He sat up, accepted the cup of tea, and sipped cautiously. “Ah, that’s lovely. The taste alone could work magic.” He tipped the cup back for a longer drink.
“Drink it slowly,” she warned. “Even healing magic won’t settle your stomach if you bolt it down too quickly. Magic works best in cooperation with nature.”
The corners of his mouth kicked up. “Oh, I know. I earned a degree in magical theory before I studied law.”
Jane flushed. “My apologies.” She’d forgotten about his background in legal magic, but that was no excuse for lecturing a duke as if he were a schoolboy. “Is there anything else you need?”
He hesitated. “Your company? Having someone to talk to may take my mind off my misery.” He lowered his eyes, looking surprisingly bashful. “But perhaps you would rather go back to bed.”
Jane patted his hand. “No, Your Grace. I would be happy to keep you company. Shall I tell you about my children?”
With five children (six if you counted Oliver Valance, the neighbor she and Sir John had helped raise), three daughters-in-law (four if you counted Honora Valance), and four grandchildren (five if you counted four-month-old John Grantly Valance), talking about her family could keep her busy for hours.
“Your children?” He sounded surprised. “I don’t know your family. I am interested in you, Lady Carrington. Why don’t you talk about yourself?”
She glanced away, hoping to hide a sudden flush of pleasure. When was the last time someone had asked about her, rather than her children or grandchildren? And what on earth was she going to say? Her quiet, domestic life paled in comparison to her children’s adventures and discoveries.
But there was nothing wrong with an uneventful life.
“I am a relatively simple person, Your Grace.” She cocked her head to one side as she reconsidered that.
“Perhaps it would be better to say that I have simple desires. I like a comfortable chair by the fire, a hot drink, a good book, and something sweet to nibble on while I read.”
“Don’t we all?” The duke wrinkled his nose as he studied the teacup in his hand. “I admit that at the moment, the thought of food is not very appealing, but a warm fire and a comfortable chair both sound delightful. If you were home, what would you read? A novel?”
“Sometimes, yes, but other times I prefer an autobiography or a collection of letters. I like learning the details of other people’s lives.” She longed for a fire now, for the room was cold. But she pushed her discomfort aside as she continued to talk, describing her daily life to the duke.
Belmont made a surprisingly good listener.
Though he occasionally nodded his head or offered a brief comment, most of the time he stayed silent, letting her speak.
But when he failed to laugh at a funny anecdote involving her cat Georgie and the Valances’ Yorkshire terrier, she turned to look at him. He had fallen asleep.
She picked up the half-empty cup and rose to her feet, stiff from sitting for so long. The Duke of Belmont was really a charming man. How could she ever have thought he was like his dreadful cousin?
*
The next day, Jane made a decision. Though she longed to be back at Carrington Abbey, she could not simply abandon Belmont to the care of strangers. She might be little more than a stranger herself, but she at least knew some healing magic. No one else at the farmhouse had magical abilities.
But she could not justify keeping the rest of their party at the farmhouse.
There simply wasn’t room for so many guests, let alone all the extra servants.
And there was still the matter of Miss Pinkerton-Smythe.
Belmont was understandably anxious about his niece.
Working the location spell again was impossible, due to his injury, so all they had to rely on was the rumor about a young lady visiting the Chumfords at Rushton Hall.
Jane did not have a chance to talk to Belmont again until late in the afternoon, when he woke from a nap. She found him leaning back against the headboard, eyes closed. His head must be paining him again.
“I am worried about Sally,” Belmont told her. “We should send someone to look for her. Maybe Jenkins can go ahead on his own?”
“I have a better idea,” Jane said. “I will send all of the servants to Rushton, along with Miss Howell. That will make things easier for Mrs. Lofthouse. Robertson thinks the horses will be ready to travel tomorrow. Once they reach Rushton, Jenkins can carry a message back to you.”
Martha had already agreed to the plan, though she seemed nervous about traveling without her guardian.
Jane was a little anxious about that herself, but she trusted her lady’s maid to look after Martha.
It wasn’t as if Martha was still a child, anyway.
Jane had already been betrothed by the time she was Martha’s age.
Belmont glanced toward the window. “I don’t like waiting so long for news, but I suppose the weather is uncertain.”
Jane nodded. There had been sunshine in the morning, but the sky had grown more overcast as the day wore on.
“Robertson thinks the weather will be better tomorrow, but he intends to leave whether or not the skies clear up,” she assured Belmont.
“With luck, you’ll hear about your niece by the end of the day tomorrow. ”
“As if I’ve had any luck on this trip!” he scoffed.
“Maybe your luck will change.” Jane hid her hand so the duke wouldn’t see her crossing her fingers. The poor man really did deserve a break!