Chapter 15 #3
His eyes caught on the locket hanging around her neck.
Mark stilled. Constance is more important than any of this, he realized.
Ellen is more important than a title. I have younger brothers.
He sighed, then rose to his feet. “Please get back in bed, Ellen. You’re distraught, and I’m afraid something might happen to you. ”
She turned, as ferocious as a lioness. “If you think you could force me to—”
He shook his head, pulling on his smallclothes in the frigid environment.
“I’ll go.” His heart twisted at the thought of getting her the contraceptive tea, flying in the face of his duty and all he’d been brought up to believe he owed to his family and country.
“Tell me what tea to procure, and I’ll bring it back. ”
Ellen stared at him, speechless. “You’ll do that?”
“I don’t want you out there so early in the morning alone.” Mark buttoned his trousers. “O’Malley is still out there, probably nursing a terrible hangover, ready to do murder. It’s not safe.”
Ellen watched him dress, still silent.
“Do you know the name of it?” Mark fastened his cuffs and looked up at her. “Or if you don’t trust me, we’ll send the footman.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he knew he failed.
Ellen shook her head. “I don’t want the servants to know about this. It’s private.”
Mark agreed on that, at least. “Then I’ll go.”
“I don’t know the name,” Ellen said. “If you explain to Mrs. Daugherty, she’ll know. Just hurry back.” She bit her lip, hands worrying the tie of her wrapper. “Are you sure?” They stood on opposite sides of the room, staring at each other.
He sighed, forcing all of his hurt and confusion to the back of his mind.
“Ellen. You’re my wife. Of course I’ll care for you.
” Mark wanted to be kind and comforting, but he didn’t know how to cross the room and hold her, not after her reaction.
Instead, he suggested she return to bed and went out the door.
He passed the chambermaid in the hall, a bucket of coal and a matchbox in hand.
“Bring tea to the mistress,” he said on his way down the stairs.
He had too many emotions swirling inside of him to interrogate on his trip to St. Giles. His jaw tightened in anger at the callous way she’d cast aside the night they’d shared. The night they’d recreated some of the love and trust they’d had before.
She was frightened, another part of him said. It was written all over her body. And people in a panic sometimes said things they didn’t mean.
I should have withdrawn before spilling my seed.
It hadn’t occurred to him in the moment.
They were husband and wife, there was nothing shameful about their union last night.
He’d never withdrawn before, they had never discussed it.
Mark groaned, burying his face in his hands.
He would have withdrawn if he’d thought of it.
I wish I could go back and change it. But of course he couldn’t, no more than he could change the past eight years.
Mark had just barely gotten himself under control by the time he knocked on the dispensary door. It was too early to be open yet. His breath fogged the air as he waited for Mrs. Daugherty to answer it.
To his surprise, it was Amelia who answered. She looked rumpled and still half-asleep. “Captain Glenfall? Is something the matter?” She was missing her white doctor’s coat.
Mark glanced around the empty street. “Can I come in?”
She opened the door wider, and he slipped inside. “What’s going on?”
Mark went to the counter and stripped off his gloves. “Is Mrs. Daugherty here? Ellen requested I ask her for a, uh, special brew of tea.”
Amelia’s eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline and she crossed her arms. “Mrs. Daugherty isn’t in.”
Mark fought a blush. “I can wait for her.”
“She’s not coming in today. What with the O’Malley children and her family, she’s taking some time to see everyone settled.”
“Ah.” Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “I see.” He hadn’t considered how embarrassing this would be when he’d volunteered to go in Ellen’s stead.
“I can help. Probably.” Amelia slid behind the counter. “What brew of tea?”
“I don’t know the name,” he hedged, trying desperately to think of a way out of this.
“What’s it for?”
“It’s a contraceptive.” He could barely get the word out of his mouth.
“Well.” Amelia stared at him for a second, then turned to the shelves.
Mark was grateful she’d turned her back to him, because he couldn’t bear her gaze.
“I know what she needs.” Amelia raised on her tiptoes and shuffled through canisters with names like pennyroyal, chamomile, dandelion, St. John’s wort, and yarrow.
“She’ll need to drink it once every morning for best outcomes.
Honestly, I strongly recommend she get fitted for a cervical cap, it’s a far more reliable method of birth control. ”
Mark choked. “Cervical cap? That sounds…painful.”
Amelia hummed as she opened a canister and sifted it with a scoop.
“Mmmm, uncomfortable, yes, but if the physician is competent it shouldn’t be painful.
The hardest part will be finding a doctor willing.
You might have to attend the appointment or send her with a letter with your signature stating you’re her husband and you’ll allow it.
She should still brace herself for condescension and judgment, though. ”
“But she has a perfectly good reason to—!” Mark broke off, sighing. “No, I won’t put her through that. I’ll purchase some vulcanized sheaths instead.”
Amelia turned, cocking her head. “Oh, so I can put this back.”
Mark blushed, studying the wooden countertop. “She needs it now.”
Amelia paused, holding an open canister in one hand and a small scoop in the other. “I think I need to know exactly what’s happened.”
Mark gulped. “Exactly?”
“To make sure I’m dosing the right herbs.” Amelia faced him, setting everything down on the counter between them.
“Well,” Mark started, tugging on his scarf. You can do this. It’s for Ellen. Just think of Ellen. His face flamed. “We, uh, had marital relations three times last night. She climaxed all three times, and uh”—he gathered his courage to continue—“the first time she was sitting upright on my—”
Amelia waved her hands frantically. “No, no! Not that much detail! I didn’t need all that!”
Mark wanted to die. He wanted to shrivel into a husk and let the wind blow him away. It took everything in him not to bolt for the door. “Can—can you help?”
Amelia, her own cheeks pink, found a paper bag from below and spooned some herbs into it. “This is what she needs. She’ll need to take three cups a day for three days, one teaspoon a cup. Be absolutely precise in these measurements, it is physically dangerous otherwise.”
Mark let out a sigh of relief. “I’ll tell her.”
She gave him a shrewd look. “If this is to be a continued activity, I highly recommend sponges, caps, or sheaths.”
Mark couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. He nodded instead. He grabbed the bag and raced for the door. “She probably won’t be in today. She’s very upset.”
Amelia gave him a sad smile. “That doesn’t surprise me. But don’t worry about me! I’ll call in a favor from a nurse friend. She works at St. Pancras workhouse and is used to chaos.”
Mark hurried out with bag in hand, never happier for the cold air. He hoped he never saw Amelia again for as long as he lived. He returned thirty minutes later to find Ellen dressed and calm, sitting in the parlor with his daily newspaper in her hands.
He paused in the doorway, unable to reconcile this sight with the frantic woman in bed an hour earlier.
She looked up at his footsteps. “Do you have it?” Desperation filled her eyes.
He nodded stiffly and walked to her. As he handed her the bag, he felt all his hopes of fulfilling his duty disintegrate.
“One teaspoon a cup, three cups a day for three days.” Mark stepped backward to grab the bellpull.
The maid must’ve been outside the door, for she answered immediately.
Mark requested tea, and she bobbed a curtsy and left.
Exhausted, Mark dropped onto the settee opposite Ellen. He felt gutted. He didn’t know what to say or how to recapture the tenderness and affection between them the night before. Was it completely gone? Would she never wish to be intimate with him again?
Ellen echoed his sigh and finally looked up at him. “When I said this was a mistake, I didn’t mean you were a mistake. I meant that sex without a contraceptive in place was a mistake.”
The vise around his heart eased a fraction. “Why do you refuse to ever carry a child again?” he asked gently.
The tea tray arrived, saving Ellen from a reply. She thanked the maid, prepared her tea, then poured a spoonful of dried and ground herbs into the dainty cup. She took a sip, grimaced, and forced down another sip.
“I can carry a child without difficulty.” She watched the herbs floating in her tea. “Hence contraception. It’s the end that’s the problem.”
“What happened?” Mark asked gently.
“I started itching.”