Page 15 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess (Marriage Mart Scandals #3)

Patrina elbowed past the huddle of servants in the hallway, heart thudding. She wasn’t particularly surprised to see Neil there, being supported through the hall. Harry was on one side and one of the footmen on the other side. Clayton strode ahead of them, giving orders for the physician to be fetched at once. At once, he repeated, lifting a finger warningly.

Already acting like Lord Morendale, Patrina thought, with a rush of dislike. She turned to Lucy, who was hovering behind her.

“Can you find out what happened?”

Lucy paused, then nodded. “I can ask Harry. That is, Mr. Westbrook.” She flushed for some reason, and Patrina bit back a smile. She hadn’t missed her maid’s fancy for the steward. He seemed like a nice enough man and would be an excellent match for Lucy.

Assuming, of course, that they did like each other after all. It wasn’t really any of her business – Patrina had always thought it unfair to insist that servants should not have sweethearts.

“If you can find out, I would appreciate it. In the meantime, I’m going to try and talk to Neil. I’ll have a tea tray made up and I’ll take it to him, even if I have to elbow past all of his relatives to get to him.”

Lucy nodded. “I think that’s a fine idea, your ladyship. Just…” she hesitated, gathering her thoughts. “Just be careful.”

“Careful? What do you mean?”

Lucy shook her head. “I can’t say, only that I don’t like his lordship’s aunt and cousin. They don’t sit right with me, and I can’t say why.”

Patrina sighed. “I know what you mean. I find his aunt and cousin to be rather disconcerting.”

***

Tea tray in hand, Patrina strode along the corridor that led to Neil’s room, heart pounding. She would not be put off this time. No, not at all. She was Lady Morendale, and she had a right to see her husband. Perhaps she would be more careful before talking about change and trying new things, but she would see Neil. She would let him know that he mattered to her.

The hallway outside Neil’s room was deserted, but she could hear the murmur of voices coming from behind the closed door. She had never gone into Neil’s room, of course, and felt a frisson of nerves. With both hands occupied with the tea tray, Patrina was in the middle of wondering how she was going to knock when the door opened. She flinched backwards.

A large man stepped into the hallway, with a heavy face and a pair of impressive greying whiskers. He had black, sharp eyes set underneath heavy brows and peered at her over a pair of pince-nez balanced on the bridge of his nose.

“And who might you be?” he inquired, voice like gravel.

Patrina cleared her throat, straightening up. It was hard to look properly genteel when one had a tea-tray in one’s hands.

“I am Lady Morendale. Judging by your medical bag, I think I can assume that you are the doctor.”

He blinked slowly at her. “Mr. Blackburn, yes. The pleasure is mine, Lady Morendale.”

Liar , she thought, but she kept a rigid smile on her face. His gaze slid down to the tea-tray, and the silence stretched out between them.

“Lady Morendale, your servants have failed you greatly. A Marchioness does not carry her own tea-tray.”

She clenched her teeth. “I chose to bring this up myself.”

“Did you? Goodness. Times have changed a good deal from when I was young, in that case.”

“Indeed,” Patrina shot back. “I daresay they have.”

The physician shot a quick, disapproving look at her, and she could tell at once that he did not like her tone. Or her, most likely.

“In any case, how might I be of assistance to you, Lady Morendale? What service might I offer?”

She cleared her throat again. “I’m here to see my husband.”

“The Marquess is most unwell. I am afraid he cannot see anyone.”

“Is that so? Because I can distinctly hear voices in that room.”

The physician smiled benevolently at her. “Family, Lady Morendale. His mother, naturally, and his doting aunt. And Lord Tidemore, who has been most supportive.”

“I am his wife,” Patrina said, carefully controlling her temper. “Do you try to say that I am not family?”

“Quite the contrary, Lady Morendale. But it will be most distressing. And,” he paused, glancing pointedly down at the tea-tray again, “the Marquess is not able to eat or drink too much at present. I’m sure his redoubtable mother will be able to order a tea-tray for him, should his appetite change.”

Patrina bit her lip. “Very well, I’ll leave the tea-tray outside. But I must go in.”

She set it down on the windowsill and made to step around the physician. He only stepped to the side, once again putting himself in between her and the door.

“Your wifely anxiety does you great service, Lady Morendale,” Mr. Blackburn said smoothly. “But I fear the sick-chamber is already over-full. More people would only serve to distress the Marquess. Perhaps later.”

“No,” she said, beginning to feel piqued. “Now, Mr. Blackburn. Please, step aside.”

He heaved a sigh, delicately removing his pince-nez, and began to clean them on a square of cloth which seemed to be expressly for this purpose.

“My lady, you seem like a woman of spirit. That is admirable. However, in my line of work, I must often come up against men and women with greater spirit – and greater authority – than you yourself. I am a man of medicine, of science, and things that are necessary often go up against the personal preferences of those ladies and gentlemen. I have learned to be firm. I have learned that a physician who acknowledges the authority of anyone in a house besides himself is useless. So I must tell you, Lady Morendale, that your presence here is not welcome and not appreciated. It is not in favour of the greater good. I am not sure what benefits you believe you can impart, but the Marquess will be well cared for without your oversight.”

Patrina flinched backwards, eyes wide. “Surely you jest.”

“I am not, my lady,” he said, sighing regretfully. “If you insist on making trouble, I may have to take further steps.”

“Further steps?” she echoed, unable to believe what she was hearing. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

On cue, the door opened. Clayton slipped out. Of course it was Clayton. He glanced at Patrina, then over at the tea tray, and then finally exchanged a long look with Mr. Blackburn.

In that moment, Patrina realized that she was outmatched and outnumbered. She would not be allowed in. She was Lady Morendale, yes, but it was nothing more than a name. A meaningless title. Swallowing hard, she tilted up her chin.

“You can’t keep him from me forever.”

Clayton only lifted his eyebrows, looking carefully surprised. “Why, my dear cousin-in-law, do you think we have unkind plans? We’re only thinking of the Marquess’ health. Neil will understand. But Mr. Blackburn must be allowed to work, you know. It’s for the best.”

“I just want to see him, Clayton.”

Clayton took a step forward and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“And so you shall,” he said, in a soothing, benevolent sort of way. “Not just yet, though. We must all do our bit to take care of Neil. Why not go and play your pianoforte. I know how much you enjoy that.”

There was really nothing else to do, not unless she planned to humiliate herself by barging past the men and getting in that way. Swallowing hard, Patrina turned and walked away. Every time she turned around, Mr. Blackburn and Clayton were standing there, staring after her.

Something is wrong, she thought. Something is very wrong here.