Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Well?” Seraphina demanded the second the physician lifted his thumb from her wrist. “Have you determined what is causing the fever?”
Croft deliberately snapped his silver pocket watch shut, placing it back into his waistcoat pocket before taking off his spectacles to polish them with a silk handkerchief.
“Your pulse is entirely normal, Your Grace,” he began. “Sixty-eight beats per minute. Firm, and perfectly regular.”
Seraphina frowned, leaning against her pillows. “That is impossible. It was racing violently not twelve hours ago. What of my temperature?”
“Your skin is completely cool,” Croft noted dryly, gesturing toward her forehead. “Your throat is clear, and your lungs are sound. In fact, after reviewing the various cooling teas your housekeeper administered over the last two days, I am forced to conclude that you are in magnificent health.”
“I am not in magnificent health,” Seraphina insisted. “I am fine right now because I am sitting still in a quiet room. But the moment I stand up, specifically when I am in close proximity with His Grace, my body completely betrays me.”
Croft’s gray eyebrows rose a fraction. “Betrays you? Brought on by the presence of His Grace?”
“Precisely,” Seraphina said, seizing on his words.
“The symptoms are conditional, yet severe. I experience a sudden rise in temperature, shortness of breath, dizziness, and an uncontrollable rush of blood to my face. I suspect it is an environmental reaction, or perhaps an acute nervous reaction brought on by the physical exertion of learning to dance.”
“Tell me, Your Grace,” he continued. “Does this occur exclusively when you are in close physical proximity with His Grace?”
Seraphina hesitated, her gaze shifting to the embroidered canopy above her bed before she looked back at him.
“Most of the time, yes,” she admitted. “However, there are instances when I am simply lying right here in bed, completely alone, contemplating recent events... and the symptoms recur without warning.”
He raised an eyebrow again. “What, precisely, are you contemplating in those solitary moments?”
“A variety of practical matters,” Seraphina answered. “The management of the estate, my responsibilities, or... or a conversation I recently had with His Grace. The point is that the physical reaction is not strictly tied to his immediate physical presence. It can be triggered... internally.”
“A sudden racing of the pulse, a sense of breathlessness, and a surge of heat,” Croft summarized, mumbling.
Seraphina gasped, remembering something she read. “Could it not be an atypical presentation of angina pectoris? William Heberden documented it in the medical journals not forty years ago: a sudden constriction of the chest and erratic pulse.”
“Angina pectoris presents with severe, crushing pain radiating down the left arm, brought on by physical exertion,” Dr. Croft countered. “You have no pain, Your Grace, and your pulse at this very second is normal.”
“Then perhaps it is a lingering manifestation of the sweating sickness,” she suggested hastily.
“The English sweating sickness has been extinct since 1551,” Dr. Croft replied, without missing a beat. “Its victims were dead within twenty-four hours. You are currently the picture of vibrant vitality.”
“Then a localized nervous affection,” she pressed, leaning forward.
“A temporary disturbance of the vascular system. Medical history is replete with diagnostic errors, Doctor Croft. For centuries, physicians believed dropsy was a disease of the blood before discovering it was an accumulation of fluid caused by the heart or liver. In the 1700s, physicians dismissed the early tremors of Saint Vitus’s Dance as mere emotional agitation until it was proven to be a neurological affliction.
Medical science misdiagnoses physical ailments as mere vapors or nerves all the time until the condition turns fatal. ”
Croft let out a quiet breath, temporarily lost for words.
“Your Grace,” he said gently. “I am afraid Saint Vitus’s Dance does not vanish the moment a gentleman leaves the room. I have tested your reflexes, listened to your heart, and felt your pulse. You exhibit no signs of dropsy, no neurological decay, and no fatal decline. You are in good health.”
“Then why does my heart beat so rapidly? Why do my cheeks burn?”
“Because...” Dr. Croft said softly, leaning in slightly. “Well, perhaps it is not an illness of the body at all. Perhaps it is a matter of the heart.”
Seraphina blinked, her brow furrowing. “What does that even mean?”
“It means that you might be harboring certain unresolved feelings toward His Grace. Feelings that your logical mind hasn’t acknowledged, leaving your body to express what you have not.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Seraphina blurted out, her face instantly flushing pink. “That is utter nonsense. You are a man of science, Doctor Croft. You ought to return to your medical treatises and research this properly rather than making absurd leaps!”
Before Croft could answer, a knock sounded at the door.
The door swung open, and William stepped into the room. He was fully dressed for the morning in a blue riding coat.
“Ah,” William said, stopping as he noticed the physician by the bed. “Edward Croft. You’re here. How is she doing? Is she fit to leave her bed?”
“Her Grace is in good health,” Dr. Croft reported, bowing. “Her pulse is steady, her lungs are clear, and her fever has vanished. I find no physical reason why she cannot resume her normal routine, Your Grace.”
“That is wonderful news,” William said, a smile breaking across his face. He looked directly at Seraphina. “Which means we can resume our dancing lessons immediately.”
Seraphina stiffened, shooting a glare at the physician, who merely offered her a serene smile in return.
William turned back to the doctor. “Would you give us a moment? I would like a word with my wife.”
The word wife sent a traitorous skip through Seraphina’s chest. While Croft bowed low and stepped into the adjoining morning room, Seraphina subtly brought a clenched fist to her sternum, tapping her chest twice in an effort to force her erratic heart back into order.
The physician was undeniably, completely wrong.
This was not some foolish, sentimental agitation of the spirits.
It was an uncatalogued physiological glitch, a medical anomaly that the doctor lacked the foresight to properly diagnose.
Once they were alone, the atmosphere in the room quieted. William stepped closer to the bed, resting his hands lightly on the bedpost.
“I came to tell you something,” William said softly. “Regarding Alice.”
Seraphina paused, her posture softening. “What happened?”
“She came down for breakfast this morning,” William said. “She walked right into the dining hall, pulled out her chair, and sat down at the table.”
Seraphina’s breath caught. “She did?”
“She did,” William confirmed, looking at her intently. “She did not say a word, of course, but she sat across from me, ate her toast, and stayed for twenty minutes. It is the first time she has willingly joined me for a morning meal since she arrived.”
Seraphina felt a swell of warmth in her chest, entirely separate from her phantom fever. “That is wonderful progress, Your Grace.”
“William.”
Seraphina’s eyebrows lifted, her speech momentarily faltering. “I beg your pardon?”
“William,” he repeated gently, watching her closely.
“I have been thinking, and it occurred to me that you have never once called me by my name. If we are to convince society, and this household, that we are true partners in this marriage, it would be far more believable if you refrained from addressing me as though I were a stranger in a parliament chamber.”
Seraphina quickly looked away toward the window, adjusting the lace trim of her sleeve.
Rationally, his logic was sound. A husband and wife of their standing calling one another by formal titles in private would certainly draw unwanted speculation from observant servants.
It was a perfectly practical, reasonable adjustment.
But before she could articulate her agreement, the mattress dipped.
William had walked around the edge of the bed and sat down right beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his riding coat.
“Let me hear you say it,” he said, his voice low.
Seraphina turned her head back to him, her eyes wide. “Say what?”
“William,” he murmured, eyes holding hers captive. “My name. Address me by my name, Seraphina.”
Seraphina swallowed hard, the muscles in her throat working against a newly found dryness. She drew a breath, attempting to project absolute composure.
“That is wonderful progress... William.”
The moment the words left her lips, her body betrayed her once more. It was not merely the flutter in her pulse this time. A sensation erupted in the pit of her stomach, one remarkably like a vast swarm of bees, buzzing in a frenzied rhythm, humming in her lower stomach without a single sting.
The doctor was wrong. He had to be. Her illness was an advancing, highly volatile medical anomaly.
A terrifying thought struck her in that moment.
What if she was the first documented case of a new, unrecorded disease?
History was filled with tragic medical firsts, individuals who contracted rare pathogens before science could give them a name or a cure.
What if she was destined to be recorded in medical journals as the first documented case of this bizarre, localized condition?
Should she be concerned for her life?
“It is,” William agreed softly. “I know it is because of you. Because of the environment you’ve built here, and the way you’ve given her space. But I was wondering... what more can we do? How do we build on this without frightening her away?”
Seraphina adjusted her posture. “Direct conversation clearly causes her distress, but shared, informal activities allow her to observe us without feeling cornered,” she explained.
“I was thinking... perhaps we could organize a family picnic on the estate grounds. Nothing formal. Just a blanket on the grass near the gardens, some light food, and lemonade. It will allow Alice to be near us on her own terms.”
William stared at her for a moment, a smile spreading across his face.
“A picnic,” he repeated. “That is an exceptional idea, Seraphina. Thank you. You are doing so much, and I am deeply grateful.”
Seraphina swallowed hard, suddenly finding it difficult to look directly into his eyes. “You do not need to thank me, William. It is simply my duty to ensure the household functions well.”
“Well, it is more than your duty, and we both know it,” William said gently.
They sat in silence for a fleeting moment, looking at each other across the small space between them.
William broke the silence with a breath, standing up and stepping back from the bed. “Well, I should let you finish with the doctor. We can organize the picnic for tomorrow afternoon if the weather holds.”
“Tomorrow afternoon will suit fine,” Seraphina agreed softly.
“Good,” William said, giving her one last look before stepping out into the corridor.
A second later, Croft popped his head back into the room, carrying his medical bag. “Well, Your Grace, I shall take my leave.”
“Wait,” Seraphina called out before he could reach the door.
Croft stopped, turning back.
Seraphina sat up straighter, gripping the bedsheets.
“Let us suppose, purely for the sake of argument... that my physical reactions are indeed linked to a nervous disturbance triggered by proximity. Until I can find a proper scientific explanation for what is occurring, what am I supposed to do about it in the meantime?”
Croft raised an eyebrow. “In the meantime?”
“Yes,” Seraphina said, gesturing to her own face.
“I am required to learn to dance with him. We must attend public balls in less than two weeks. I have very pale skin, Doctor Croft! Any sudden flush of blood transforms my face into a bright beacon of embarrassment. How do I prevent him from believing that he is... affecting me?”
“Your Grace, I am afraid that is outside my professional scope.”
“There must be a tonic or a breathing technique to stop it!” Seraphina argued.
“The only prescription I can offer you,” Croft said, his eyes twinkling. “Is to accept that your heart is functioning as nature intended.”
“What?” Seraphina blurted out in frustration.
“I shall take my leave now, Your Grace.” The physician bowed and stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind him.
Seraphina sank back against her pillows with a long groan. She pulled her legs up, sitting cross-legged on her bed, staring down at her hands.
‘Enough,’ she told herself firmly.
She had far more practical matters to attend to. She had a picnic to plan. If Alice was finally taking steps to come out of her shell, then that was what mattered most.
Seraphina swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her feet.
She would plan the picnic, coordinate with the cook, and tomorrow, she would sit on the grass with William and Alice.
As for the dance lessons... she would simply have to exercise complete mental discipline to keep her heart under control.