Page 17 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess (Marriage Mart Scandals #3)

“There you are, your ladyship. You look very beautiful, if I do say so myself,” Lucy said, stepping back with a smile.

Patrina allowed herself a nervous smile. The night of the soiree had arrived at last, and the guests would be there at any moment.

She’d chosen a pale lavender gown, trimmed with lace and pearls, with a tight bodice and full, frilled skirts. It was a beautiful gown, but not too eye-catching. Patrina didn’t particularly want to be the centre of attention tonight. At least, no more than was absolutely necessary. She was fairly sure she would spend most of the evening worrying over Neil.

“Thank you, Lucy,” she said at last. “You can take the rest of the night off, if you wish.”

“That’s kind of you, your ladyship. And behold, you have ample time to occupy before the arrival of the first guests, just as you desired.”

“I appreciate your hard work. Tell me, is Lady Emma Tidemore in her room? I want to speak with her.”

***

Patrina hesitated outside the door to Emma’s room, composing herself. She could hear the low voice of Emma talking to her maid. It would be the easiest thing in the world to just walk away and leave the difficult conversation for another time.

Don’t be so cowardly.

Biting back a sigh, Patrina tapped on the door and waited.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me. It’s Patrina.”

There was a heartbeat of silence before Emma responded.

“Come in.”

It was blunt and hardly welcoming, but Patrina stepped in anyway.

Emma had her back to the door, staring into her dresser mirror, while her maid picked at her already immaculate curls.

“Can I help with anything, Lady Morendale?” Emma asked curtly, voice sharp. Her use of Patrina’s title was pointed, and she bit back a sigh.

“I’d like to speak to you privately, please.”

Emma pressed her lips together but met her maid’s eye and gave a nod. The woman bobbed a curtsey and slipped silently out of the room, closing the door behind her.

The room was quiet. Glancing up, Patrina saw Emma watching her through the mirror.

“Is something not right with the soiree?” Emma asked carefully.

“No, everything is perfect. I… I wanted to talk to you about what happened yesterday in the music room.”

Emma’s expression tightened. “Not to worry. It was all made quite clear. I am sorry if I overstepped.”

Patrina sighed. “No, you didn’t. And Neil was wrong to say that the house was mine , or his , when the truth is that it’s ours. I saw the look on your face, and Cynthia’s, and I’ve been searching for the right way to explain it all to you. This is your home, and it was yours long before it was mine.”

Emma glanced sharply at Patrina, holding her gaze for a long moment. At last, she heaved a sigh, shaking her head.

“Neil spoke that way because he was frustrated. Angry that his wishes were not being respected, angry that you were not being respected,” she admitted. “Thomasin and Clayton are not the best influences when it comes to respecting the wishes of others, and I suppose that I allowed my worry for my son to be swept away in all of that. I suppose I owe you an apology, Patrina.”

Patrina sagged in relief. “So, we’re friends again, then?”

Emma smiled wryly, extending a hand. “Of course. I… oh, I can’t explain it. I saw my husband die terribly, and now my son is suffering from the same sickness. It is affecting my mind, I think. Making me act unkindly. I should not have let them keep you out of his sickroom.”

Patrina bit her lip, taking Emma’s hand. “I bear no ill will. I can’t imagine what it’s like, seeing someone you love go through such a thing.”

The older woman’s expression tightened, and Patrina saw a flash of pain.

“It’s nothing you can imagine. My husband… oh, he was gone by the end. He made such terrible accusations. It occurred to me then that the illness might be hereditary. After all, madness often is. I watched both my children closely and was just beginning to hope that we had escaped when Neil began showing symptoms.”

Patrina swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

For a moment, Emma seemed to age before her eyes, her spine softening, shoulders sagging. She almost tipped forward, hunching in over herself.

“I just don’t know what to do,” she whispered, voice barely louder than a breath. “I’ve lost my husband; I am losing my son. What about Cynthia? Will she be next? Oh, I can hardly imagine it.”

“Whatever happens,” Patrina said firmly, reaching out to take Emma’s hand, “you won’t be alone. I can promise you that.”

Emma smiled weakly, squeezing Patrina’s hand in return. “Thank you, my dear. For what it’s worth, I am glad we went ahead with the marriage. I could not have chosen a finer bride for my son. Oh, heavens, are those carriage wheels outside? The guests will be arriving. Lady Ashworth will be first, I wager. She’s an old family friend, and will be inspecting you closely, I’m afraid.”

“I shall try and prepare myself,” Patrina chuckled, getting ready to go and welcome their guests. She reached the door, then paused, turning around. “You said that at the end, your husband made accusations. Which accusations were these?”

Emma shuddered. “Oh, he accused us all of poisoning him. Can you imagine? Until then, I could always reach him, always calm him down, but he grew most distressed when he saw I did not believe him. Mr. Blackburn had to prescribe anodyne to calm him down. The end came quickly, after that.”

Patrina frowned, chewing her lower lip. “I see. That is terrible. Thank you for telling me, though.”

“You are family, now. You deserve to know the truth, I think. No matter how hard it is to hear. Now, hurry on downstairs – Lady Ashworth does not approve of lateness.”

***

Fifteen minutes later, Patrina stood in the centre of the large, freshly decorated ballroom, faced with the tallest woman she had ever met in her life.

Lady Ashworth was somewhere in her early fifties, close to six feet tall, stocky and broad-shouldered. She had eschewed the silks and satins so fashionable in Society at the moment, preferring instead to wear a plain, old-fashioned cut of gown that suited her remarkably well, a feathery shawl draped over her shoulders. She had dark hair streaked with grey, a strongly featured face, and a pair of remarkably beautiful clear blue eyes.

She struck Patrina as the sort of woman who generally got what she wanted, and browbeat anyone who disagreed with her.

“So you are the latest Lady Morendale, then,” Lady Ashworth remarked, lifting a quizzing glass to inspect Patrina closer. “I was not able to attend the wedding. A hurried affair, was it not?”

“We had a small wedding, indeed,” Patrina said, smiling. “On account of Neil’s health.”

Something softened in Lady Ashworth’s face. “He is no better, then?”

Patrina hesitated, glancing around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping.

“Worse, in fact,” she murmured. “I… I worry about him. He’s been so kind and so welcoming since our marriage. I only mention this to you because Lady Emma assures me you are a trusted family friend.”

Lady Ashworth seemed to soften further. She slipped the quizzing glass into her sleeve, and sighed, shaking her head.

“It is indeed worrying. For my part, I never believed that Mr. Blackburn did all he could. I have it on good authority that he has not consulted any other experts on Lord Morendale’s condition, any more than he did for the previous Marquess. He takes offence at any mention that he should do so, but really, this is not an ordinary affliction. How can it be?”

Patrina was conscious of a wave of relief.

I am not the only one who thinks that something is amiss.

“I did wonder how…” she began, but was forced to quieten down as a haughty-looking pair approached. The gentleman was short and rather weaselly-looking, the woman taller and dressed in the latest fashion. They both shot Lady Ashworth quick glances of dislike, then pasted smiles on their faces.

“Lady Morendale, what a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last!” the woman cooed. “I am Lady Evans, and this of course is Lord Evans. I do hope you’ll attend our musical evenings, once you are quite settled here!”

Lady Ashworth snorted. “Yes, indeed, Lady Evans, we’ve all heard of your musicales. Quite infamous, they are.”

“You mean famous, I think,” Lord Evans rumbled. Lady Ashworth smiled sweetly, and it occurred to Patrina that that was not what the woman had meant.

“I was a little surprised,” Lady Evans said smoothly, flashing a smile that did not reach her eyes, “to hear that you have invited a guest of your own here tonight.”

“Ah,” Lady Ashworth shot Patrina an apologetic grimace. “I brought along my cousin, Lady Morendale. I asked Lady Emma Tidemore’s permission first, although of course it is your permission I should have sought.”

“I don’t mind,” Patrina confessed. “If my mother-in-law does not object to your guest, then neither do I. May I meet them?”

“Certainly. Agatha, come along!”

A woman just as tall as Lady Ashworth broke away from a gathering crowd near the refreshments table and strode along towards them. She seemed to be about ten years younger than Lady Ashworth, with dark hair not quite touched by grey, with a slimmer frame. Her dress was decidedly of lower quality and cut simply, marking her out as a poorer relation. Patrina could already sense Lord and Lady Evans drawing themselves up in outrage.

“Lady Morendale, may I introduce my cousin, Miss Agatha Simms,” Lady Ashworth said, and Miss Simms made a lopsided curtsey.

“It’s a pleasure,” she said, her voice surprisingly deep. “I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome at such a fine event.”

“You are most welcome, Miss Simms.” Patrina assured her.

The woman smiled a little more sincerely. “Call me Agatha, please.”

“ Miss Simms?” Lady Evans said frostily. “Not married, then? What a shame. I suppose it’s too late for you, now.”

Miss Simms – Agatha – shot a disdainful glance at the woman. “Why should I need to marry? I can support myself.”

Lady Evans clutched at her husband’s shoulder. “Oh, heavens. How vulgar.”

“Lady Evans, please don’t speak to my guests in that way,” Patrina heard herself say. Lord and Lady Evans shot her outraged glances, and Lady Ashworth bit back a smile. “Tell me, Agatha, what work do you do?”

“I’m a midwife, mostly,” Agatha said, smiling, “but I’m also studying medicine. At least, I am trying to study medicine. I’m not permitted to attend any of the colleges, of course. I suppose I could call myself a healer, of sorts.”

Lady Evans gave a faint moan. It did seem as though she were on the cusp of fainting.

“If you’re feeling ill, Lady Evans,” Lady Ashworth said, with a sweetness that did not suit her very well, “you can always go and sit down, don’t you think? There are chairs around the edges of the room, I believe.”

Lady Evans pursed her lips and cast one last disdainful look at Agatha. She pinched her husband’s arm, and strode off, dragging the smaller man behind, without another word.

“Good riddance,” Lady Ashworth murmured, then glanced apologetically at Patrina. “I apologise, Lady Morendale. I should not be so rude to your guests.”

“It’s quite all right, I scarcely knew them. And they were rude to Miss Simms – Agatha – first.”

“I’m used to it,” Agatha conceded. “Men can be esteemed physicians, but women – certainly not. Even midwives are being forced out of their professions. It’s most infuriating.”

“Tell me more about your work, then. You called yourself a… a healer, was that right?”

“Yes, more or less. I do have some training – I worked as a medical attendant for many years, and then…” Agatha launched into an explanation of her work, and Patrina found herself listening in interest.

An idea was forming. She asked Agatha about the drops and herbal tinctures Neil took, and the woman professed that she’d never seen or heard of them being used in such a case.

“Of course,” Agatha admitted, “My experience is not universal. I would have to know exactly what made up the drops and tinctures, and then do some research. I would ask some colleagues for their advice, too. It’s possible that Mr. Blackburn came up with a concoction of his own to treat the condition.”

Patrina frowned. “And is that… normal?”

Agatha glanced briefly at Lady Ashworth, as if for support. The older woman simply raised her eyebrows and said nothing.

“N-No,” Agatha conceded. “But again, I simply don’t have all the facts. Does the treatment seem to alleviate the symptoms?”

Swallowing hard, Patrina glanced around. The ballroom was filling up, and she knew that she had already spent too long talking to Lady Ashworth and Agatha. She was expected to mingle tonight, and especially since Neil would spend most of the evening sitting down. She was the hostess, Lady Morendale herself, and the slightest misstep could give offence tonight. Everybody would be looking at her, judging her, assessing her behaviour.

They would not be kind in the case of mistakes.

“Not that I can tell,” she admitted at last. “He treated the previous Lord Morendale, too.”

Agatha glanced at her cousin. “And the previous Lord Morendale is…?”

“Dead,” Lady Ashworth answered shortly. “I can give you more details on the sickness later, Agatha.”

“Neil is getting worse, and I… I can’t bear it,” Patrina whispered. “I knew his health was bad before I married him, but now I know him, and I just can’t…” she trailed off, aware that the subject was not proper for a soiree. Swallowing hard, she forced a smile onto her face. Lady Ashworth was looking at her with palpable pity, and Agatha looked grim.

“I’m sorry,” Patrina murmured. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Lady Ashworth laid a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll be forced to mingle soon enough. But I promise you, Lady Morendale, we’ll discuss this more at a later date, when you are ready. Whatever can be done to help, will be done to help.”

Patrina nodded. “Thank you. It is appreciated.”

Their conversation ended after that, with the approach of a knot of guests, all talking and laughing and eager to meet the new Lady Morendale.

More and more guests arrived, and she was forced to put her worries aside and concentrate on being charming and amusing and remembering an endless list of names. However, Agatha Simms remained at the back of Patrina’s mind.

Am I being foolish? Am I seeking refuge in the most tenuous of hopes?

Patrina could not shake off the feeling of being watched. Silly, in such a crowded ballroom. But the feeling of malevolent eyes on her would not be shaken away, no matter how hard she tried.

I am missing something. Something serious.