Page 14 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess (Marriage Mart Scandals #3)

Dinner was decidedly tense.

Patrina had spent most of the afternoon wandering around the house, worrying about Neil. Nobody seemed to find it necessary to tell her anything that was going on. The physician came, although Patrina did not see him. When it was time to sit down to dinner, she was not surprised at all to find that Neil was not there.

They ate in silence for a few moments, before the quiet got too much for Patrina and she felt the need to speak up.

“Is Harry not joining us?” she asked.

The atmosphere grew more tense.

“The steward?” Thomasin said, with a taut laugh. “Why should he join us.”

Patrina frowned. “Forgive me, but I thought he was Neil’s cousin. He generally joins us.”

“That’s enough, Patrina,” Emma said suddenly, making Patrina flinch. “When Neil is here, he can decide whether Harry joins us or not. For now, Thomasin is right – it is not appropriate to have a steward sitting at table with us. Let us leave the subject for now.”

The silence simmered. Patrina curled her fingers around her fork, knuckles standing out white. Nobody looked at her, and Emma had begun to eat again, jaw tensed. Patrina swallowed hard, anger bubbling up.

How dare she? How dare they?

“ I am not sure it is appropriate for you to speak to me that way, Lady Tidemore,” Patrina heard herself saying. Emma’s head snapped up, glaring at her. Cynthia sucked in a breath.

“Well, I…” Emma began, but Patrina interrupted her.

“How often must I remind you all that I am Lady Morendale? You all sit at my table. In the absence of my husband, you think you can overlook me and speak to me how you like?”

Emma rested her elbow on the table, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Must we do this now?” she said, an edge in her voice. “My son is… my son is dying, Patrina. He is dying, and you want to begin throwing your weight around?”

“No, I want to be taken seriously. Not pushed out of rooms where important decisions have to be made. Not made to feel like an errant child at my own table. I want to help , not be ushered away like an inconvenience.”

Emma shook her head. “Not now, Patrina. Please.”

She clenched her jaw. Pushing the subject now would only make things worse. Patrina glanced around, seeing that Cynthia stared miserably down at her plate, food barely touched. Emma’s expression was twisted in pain. Thomasin seemed to be trying to pretend to be somewhere else.

Clayton, on the other hand, was watching Patrina, his expression unreadable.

“I shall leave this conversation here,” Patrina said at last, rising to her feet and tossing down her napkin, “but it is not finished, Lady Tidemore. Not yet. I intend to have a real effect on my husband’s life, and if that means arguing for better medical care, I shall do it.”

She didn’t wait for a response, instead turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

Patrina was seething. She went to one of the smaller parlours, one where she felt she would not be disturbed, and paced up and down, trying to calm herself.

It is not fair. It is not fair.

She wasn’t entirely sure how to manage this issue. Neil had seemed glad enough to let her be Lady Morendale properly, but with him gone, could she really stand up to his mother and overbearing relatives?

What if I’m wrong? What if Mr. Blackburn’s drops and tinctures are keeping Neil healthy and fit, and my suggestion that he tries something new is the death of him?

She shuddered.

I’m treading on thin ice.

The door creaked, and Patrina flinched. She turned, expecting to see Emma, or at least Cynthia.

Instead, Thomasin stood in the doorway, hands neatly clasped before her.

“Are you quite all right, my dear?” Thomasin asked, voice cool and even.

Patrina cleared her throat, straightening. “Of course. I’m upset, though. How could I not be? My husband is upstairs, sick in bed, and I am being kept from him.”

Thomasin closed the door behind her and leaned against it. She smiled faintly, tilting her head.

“Pray, my dear, there is no need for such dramatics. Nobody has said as much, but everybody knows this marriage of yours is only one of convenience.”

Patrina flinched, recoiling. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, I meant no offence, truly. But as we are family now, I thought a little frankness was in order. I hope you don’t mind.”

Patrina deflated a little. There seemed no point in getting angry. She threw herself onto a nearby seat.

“No, I don’t mind. I shan’t be returning to the dining room, if that is what you’re here for.”

“Not exactly. I wanted to talk to you, my dear.”

Thomasin perched neatly on the edge of a seat, leaning forward. Patrina sighed.

“Very well. What is it?”

“I understand you want to help Neil. We all want to help him, and you must know that your efforts are greatly appreciated.”

Patrina bit the inside of her cheek. “And yet…?”

“And yet you are not helping,” Thomasin said frankly, looking Patrina dead in the eye. “Estranging him from the only physician who has been able to control his symptoms is a bad idea. Encouraging him to explore different medical solutions is a bad idea, when he has so little time to do so. You saw how serious his fits can be. There is constantly a risk that he may hurt himself, that he may get worse without warning… oh, you can’t imagine the pressure we live under. You are just beginning to experience it now, but we have been going through it for some time now. You are fond of Neil, I am sure but think of how his mother feels. His sister, his cousin. Me .”

Patrina jumped to her feet, pacing up and down. “I won’t listen to this.”

“Patrina, please . Just hear me out. Emma would never speak to you on this subject, because despite what you think, she respects you. But really, the best thing you could do for Neil would be to go back to London, for now.”

She stopped dead. “Go… Go back home?”

Thomasin shrugged. “You could take an apartment or a townhouse in the city. Just until his health stabilizes. Your presence here is… well, I think it might be distressing him further.”

“That is not fair.”

Thomasin sighed, glancing away. “I don’t mean to hurt you. I simply can’t watch this go on. Nobody will tell you the truth, but I don’t intend to let it slide. For example, think of the soiree!”

Patrina blinked. “Soiree?”

Thomasin clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, did they not tell you? You poor dear. Still, it is a recent thing, and with all that has happened…”

“Thomasin, please. Just tell me.”

She pursed her lips, and took a long moment before she replied.

“Newlyweds are expected to host a party sooner or later,” Thomasin said at last, shrugging. “Emma decided that yours should be sooner rather than later. I suppose she was worried about Neil’s health deteriorating, and it might as well happen while Clayton and I are here to help. I believe the date is set for three days’ time.”

Patrina reeled. “Three days’ time? And nobody thought to tell me?”

“As I said, it is a recent development. Emma only confirmed it this morning. I suppose with Neil’s fit, she will be thinking of delaying it. But, no, she cannot – the invitations have already gone out,” Thomasin sighed. “Oh, well.”

Patrina covered her face in her hands. “Oh, heavens.”

“Think on what I said, dear,” Thomasin said gently, rising to her feet. She reached over to take Patrina’s hand. Her fingers were cold. “Think of what is right for Neil . Nobody would blame you.”

Patrina did not respond, and so Thomasin let her hand drop. She slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

***

“This is a bad idea, Neil,” Harry said, sounding exhausted.

A full day had passed since Neil’s fit. He felt stronger, although that was almost certainly wishful thinking.

He hadn’t known about the soiree, not until it was too late to do anything about it. His mother seemed to think it was Aunt Thomasin who’d pushed for the date to be set so soon, but she insisted that it was all Emma’s doing. Well, it hardly mattered now. Invites had been sent out and accepted, so the party was happening.

Patrina hadn’t visited him. Neil tried his utmost not to be too upset about that. No doubt it was too distressing for her.

“What am I meant to do, Harry? Lie in bed and grow weaker, until I have to get up and stagger around in the ballroom for an hour or two, for all to see?”

Harry sighed. “By all means, build up your strength. But horse riding? Really?”

“It’s the perfect exercise,” Neil objected. “The horse does all the work.”

Harry sighed again. He looked tired, and Neil felt a twinge of guilt. The steward would have had his work cut out for him, running the estate without Neil to help at all, and dealing with Aunt Thomasin and Cousin Clayton’s demands. Neil was willing to bet that both his cousin and his aunt had requested money already.

They treat Harry like a servant, not a relative, and I’m not around to stand up for him. I’m useless.

The sharp, familiar sting of not being quite good enough powered Neil to haul himself upright out of bed, swinging his legs over the side. He had already given orders for his faithful old horse to be saddled up and made ready. Harry was coming with him, of course, and he had a feeling that Clayton would invite himself along, too.

“This is madness,” Harry said firmly. In what must have been despair, he glanced up at Clayton. “You must see that this is a bad idea. Can’t you talk to him?”

Clayton spared his cousin only a brief, contemptuous glance. “I’m not sure it’s your place to say as much.”

Harry flushed. Neil spoke up at once.

“You’ll treat Harry with all due respect while you’re here, Clayton. I’ve told you this before.”

Clayton scowled. “I am treating him with all due respect. Cousin, he is a steward .”

“He is my cousin – your cousin, too – and my friend. You know exactly what sort of respect I’m referring to. Don’t make me regret letting you stay.”

Clayton coloured at this. Neil hated having to lean on his authority in this manner, reminding his cousin that he was Lord Morendale. He was the Marquess.

You might have your eye on my seat, Cousin, he thought sourly, but you can’t have it just yet .

“Well,” Clayton said at last, “I can’t see any harm in it. A nice, refreshing ride is just what you need, Neil.”

Neil said nothing. He could hear the spite in his cousin’s voice, no matter how hard the man tried to hide it. Harry only sighed and began lacing up Neil’s boots for him.

***

They had reached the base of a large hill behind Morendale Manor when Neil began to feel dizzy.

Their pace was a leisurely one, slow and even. He led the way, with Harry following close beside, and Clayton brought up the rear. Neil’s horse kept up a steady trot, placid and well-trained.

Even so, the world began to shift and judder around him. He closed his eyes, but that only made the dizziness and nausea worse. Clenching his jaw, Neil gripped the pommel of his saddle, praying for the feeling to go away. Hadn’t he followed the physician’s instructions to the letter, this time? Hadn’t he obediently drunk the herbal infusions, and even taken a few drops to ‘stabilize’ himself? Why did he feel more ill than ever? It wasn’t fair .

Swallowing hard, Neil forced down his pride and spoke.

“I… I think perhaps we might have to stop.”

Harry reined in his horse at once, reaching for Neil’s reins, too.

“Neil? Are you ill? Heavens, you’ve gone white. Clayton, come and help him get down from the saddle.”

Harry gabbled on, climbing down from his horse and helping Neil down in turn, while Clayton stood silently nearby.

The world still spun, and Neil slumped down, sitting on the damp, muddy ground. He could feel cold wetness soaking through his riding breeches. His boots, so recently shined and cleaned, were scuffed and scraped, and he did not remember scraping them. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose.

Harry crouched down beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder. He was talking, voice low and reassuring, but Neil could not make out any of the words.

Clayton stood nearby, expression impassive, looking down at Neil.

“Should I go for help?” he said at last.

Neil’s head was spinning too fast for him to answer. He was afraid, as usual, that he would vomit and humiliate himself further. Suddenly, he wanted Clayton to go, so that any humiliation Neil might experience would not be witnessed by his cousin.

“Yes, I think that might be best,” Harry said, obviously trying to inject as much authority into his voice as he could. Clayton hesitated, eyeing Neil.

Go on, then, Neil thought, clenching his jaw. Don’t insist on hearing it from me . Just do as Harry tells you, can’t you?

Clayton didn’t move, and Neil managed to nod his head twice. It made his head start to ache, the pain so bad that he squeezed his eyes closed.

I am dying, Neil realized, and the knowledge didn’t bring too much despair with it. It might be a relief, after all.

Clayton climbed back up on his horse without another word and rode away, leaving Neil in his own private world of pain and misery.