Chapter Three #2
Helena squeezed Adelaide’s hand once more before embracing the woman.
“Augusta, it is wonderful to see you again,” she said. “I would like you to meet my niece, Adelaide Barrett. Adelaide, this is Augusta Lockhart, the dowager duchess of Lochville, and her daughter, Edith.”
Adelaide curtseyed stiffly, holding her breath. The Lockhart family might be close with Helena, but how would they feel about having a ruined woman in their home?
The dowager duchess surveyed her for a moment before pulling her into an embrace.
“Welcome, Miss Barrett,” she said. “We are no strangers to scandal in our family. You are amongst friends now, and there is no need to be afraid.”
Adelaide’s knees felt weak with relief. She glanced at Lady Edith, who had come closer to the women during the introductions. Edith reached out and took Adelaide’s hand, patting it as gently as Helena had.
“You need not fear judgment, Miss Barrett,” she said. “Please, come join us.”
Adelaide nodded, shocked by the warm reception.
Helena gave her another knowing wink as they sat between the women.
Adelaide began to relax as the women fell into an easy conversation about the trip to Lochville Manor and the pleasantness of recent weather.
However, she observed the way the two Lockhart women exchanged frequent glances at one another and toward the doorway of the room, as if expecting something, or someone, to disrupt the easy atmosphere.
***
“Are you ready to join your mother and sister, Marcus?” Thomas asked.
Marcus blinked rapidly as he stared down at his desk, which he was gripping fiercely.
He comprehended what his friend said, though he sounded as though he was in a long tunnel with a pillow over his face.
The dizziness was overwhelming, blurring his vision and threatening to take him into unconsciousness.
He had only risen from his chair, and now he was struggling to remain upright.
Thomas rushed behind the desk, putting an arm around Marcus. Marcus snarled, feigning agitation at the assistance. However, he was secretly grateful as he had truly believed he was about to collapse.
“Perhaps we should send for the physician Mr. Morrison,” Thomas said. “It appears you are worsening by the day.”
Marcus glared at his friend; his temper now truly ignited.
“I need no useless remedies from an ignorant physician,” he growled. He tried to mask the fear he felt, and he buried the instant guilt he felt for insulting the physician who had tended to his family his entire life. But Thomas, ever sensitive to Marcus’s true self, was not deterred by his anger.
“Your episodes are becoming more frequent,” Thomas said, still holding onto Marcus. “As I have noticed, they are getting increasingly worse.”
Marcus huffed, giving a twitch that, if he were stronger, would have been intended to pull away from his friend.
“It shall pass,” he said, sounding as unconvinced as he was beginning to feel. It was becoming harder with each episode to deny and hide the terror building within him. It took all his determination not to admit considering sending for the physician.
“Your Grace?” the butler said timidly, standing in the doorway of the study, hesitating.
Marcus glared up at him, giving a curt nod for him to continue.
“Lady Helena and Miss Barrett have arrived,” he announced.
Marcus growled and slammed a palm down onto his desk.
He had known of the ladies’ arrival, but he was in no mood to play host to strangers right then.
He glowered at the butler, who scurried away frightened, with Thomas’s sympathetic gaze following him.
Marcus felt remorse, but the dizziness trumped his guilt.
“Marcus, please,” Thomas begged, pointing to Marcus’s hands.
“Your condition is worsening at an alarming rate. Your skin is gray, for heaven’s sake.
You are very unwell, you are more drained now than you were even five minutes ago, and I am haunted by the suspicion that there is something far more sinister than a mere illness plaguing you. ”
Marcus sighed, quickly losing the energy to argue or keep up the pretense of being enraged. Yet he would not concede.
“Come, Thomas,” he muttered weakly. “We must greet our guests.”
By the time they reached the drawing room, Marcus felt as though he could barely stand.
And when he saw his grandmother standing outside the door, he groaned.
All he wanted was to sit and try to collect himself to keep from collapsing.
But Augusta pushed him out of earshot of everyone inside the room, giving him a firm look.
“I know that you are not happy about having guests,” she whispered.
“But you must remember that you have a responsibility to your duchy and to your family to engage with others in society and to begin thinking about your future. You will need friends, a wife, heirs, and you will not get any of those things by remaining sullen and obtuse.”
Marcus snorted, using a considerable amount of strength to step around his grandmother.
“Firstly, I cannot understand how a discussion about house guests turned into one related to marriage and heirs,” he said as he put a foot inside the room.
“But I can assure you that I have no intention of marrying…” he trailed off as he saw the women.
The younger woman, in particular. The room fell into tense silence as he entered, but he was paying it little mind.
His eyes were fixed on the young lady he presumed to be Miss Barrett.
Her golden hair caught the light from the burning fireplace and her blue-green eyes held his gaze with startling directness.
His frame, which had been rendered pale and cold from the affliction and the dampness that frequently beset him, was suddenly suffused with warmth, as though he had submerged himself, particularly from the waist down, in a hot bath on a frigid winter’s day.
Something in him stirred, reacting to the young lady with a raw hunger which surprised him.
His sickness was temporarily forgotten as he studied her curves beneath her pale-yellow dress.
And when she parted her lips as if to speak, the heat beneath his waist intensified, causing him to stir in an unfamiliar, yet welcomed, way.
What a curious reaction, he thought as he straightened his posture and took a seat.