Page 9 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess (Marriage Mart Scandals #3)

“Did you sleep well, then?”

“Well enough,” Neil answered. “The beds are as comfortable as we could expect. And the bad weather, at least, has cleared up – no more rain.”

Harry nodded. “I’m glad. I think everybody would be pleased to get home soon.”

The morning was bright and frosty, the world just waking up. The innkeeper was all too happy to provide breakfast and seemed only disappointed that his illustrious guests were not staying any longer. Cynthia was clearly sick of the inn, and Neil hadn’t dared ask his mother’s opinion.

Still, needs must, and they would be on their way in just an hour or two.

The carriages had been stored in a large barn behind the inn, crammed in together and liberally dusted with straw, sides splattered with dried mud.

Neil circled both carriages, Harry following behind, on the lookout for cracks, chips, and signs of stress. So far, the carriages seemed in perfectly good condition, ready for the last part of the journey.

“Do you know,” Neil said, almost to himself, “I didn’t take my medicine last night, either.”

Harry lifted his eyebrows. “You didn’t? Why, how long has it been?”

“A day, I think? Perhaps a little more. But this is the longest I have gone without taking a fit for months, Harry. Months. I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up, but…” he paused, a furrow appearing between his brow. “It’s hard not to get excited, don’t you think?”

Harry took a long pause before responding.

“You have seemed better,” he said, after a while. “Brisker, and with a little more clarity. I am thrilled for you, of course, Neil, but I worry that you are allowing your expectations to soar. What do you think will happen? No more fits?”

Neil bit the inside of his cheek. The answer was yes , of course that was what he hoped. It was what he’d prayed for, night after night, clinging to the faint hope that he wouldn’t die, mad and flailing, the way his father had done.

He didn’t respond, but of course, no response was necessary. Harry sighed, raking a hand through his red hair.

“I don’t mean to disappoint you about this, Neil. Of course I want nothing more than for you to be fit and healthy again, but I do worry about what all of this is doing to your nerves.”

“My nerves? My nerves are fine.”

Harry placed his hands on his hips, eyebrows shooting up disbelievingly.

“Oh? Fine, are they? You’ve been remarkably melancholy over this past year, you know. And with good reason, I grant you, but you cannot live like that.”

“If my illness progresses the same way as my father’s, I won’t live at all.”

Harry growled under his breath. “That is exactly what I am talking about. You are younger than him, stronger than him, and we understand a little more about your illness now. Why should you not be able to fight this off? But if you are melancholy and miserable, you’ll weaken yourself, and then who knows what will happen?”

Neil’s shoulders sagged. “It’s easy enough to say that, but actually doing it…”

“I know, I know, old chap,” Harry sighed, slapping Neil on the shoulder. “I’m trying to keep your morale up and doing a frankly terrible job of it.”

“No, no, you’re doing fine. I need you to be practical, to… to keep me grounded, if you understand what I mean.”

Harry bit his lip and said nothing. Neil guessed that he did understand.

Some of his good mood was filtering away. Not that it was Harry’s fault, of course. Neil had known his steward and cousin for long enough to know that Harry would always tell the truth, with no sugar-coating and no stretching of the truth. It was better to lower his expectations for recovery now, rather than having a full fit in front of his family and realising then that he was never going to recover.

“This is good news, though,” Harry continued, stepping in front of Neil so that his cousin was obliged to look him in the eye. “This long without a fit, or without any muddled wits? That is good. Perhaps marriage is going to suit you.”

Neil snorted. “I’d settle for not terrifying my new wife out of her wits.”

Harry paused. “She knows, doesn’t she? About your condition?”

“Of course. But hearing about it and experiencing it is something else altogether, don’t you think? Patrina doesn’t deserve to have an invalid for a husband.”

And yet, she does.

Neil swallowed back a rush of guilt. What right had he to force a young woman into marriage with a man like him? Not that it was forced marriage, of course – she’d entered into the union of her own free will. Still, it could not be described as a match of love, or even a marriage of friendship.

They didn’t even know each other. And perhaps Patrina would like to keep it that way.

Neil glanced over at Harry, who was eyeing him anxiously.

“I haven’t offended you, have I?”

“Offended me? No, of course not. The carriages seem in decent enough condition to me, what do you think? We should be home before luncheon.”

Harry chuckled, still eyeing his cousin. “I think so. You must be hungry, Neil. You barely ate anything at all last night.”

“Not particularly. I don’t have an appetite like I used to. You know how that wretched medicine of Mr. Blackburn’s makes me sick.”

Neil paused, remembering his father’s emaciated frame and all the vomiting. He shuddered.

“Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to ask him if he has other treatments I could try. I am going to go mad and die, with or without this medication, so why not experiment with other things? Perhaps he has some ideas. I shall ask him when we get home.”

Harry nodded eagerly. “That’s the attitude, Neil. We shall confront this matter with united resolve. Might it be prudent to confide in Patrina regarding our predicament? Lady Emma is a fine woman, of course, but she trusts Mr. Blackburn a little too implicitly to ever question him.”

Neil smiled wryly, completing one more circuit of the carriages. He felt uplifted, invigorated, and well-reposed for the first time in a considerable period.

“You’re right, Harry, I think I will. And do you know what? I think I have an appetite for breakfast, after all.”

***

At around nine o’ clock, the travellers hustled themselves out of the inn, waved off the innkeeper and his wife, and climbed into the carriages again.

Neil felt faintly nauseous from the greasy bacon they had been served for breakfast, but otherwise seemed just as well as before. Despite Harry’s fair and practical comments, he did feel as though things were looking up. And why shouldn’t they? He’d been so, so careful. He’d eaten well, drank alcohol rarely if ever, exercised as much as he could, slept well, and generally tried to keep himself healthy. Up until recently, he had taken Mr. Blackburn’s remedies and tinctures religiously.

Could it be that his hard work had paid off? Could it be that he was going to defeat this awful illness, the one that had taken down his father?

Careful, lad, he chided himself. Don’t get your hopes up.

Today, he found himself sitting directly opposite his wife again, who was smothering a yawn.

“Sleep well?” he asked.

Patrina smiled faintly. “Not particularly. I must confess to being a little nervous. I thought I would have seen my new home last night, and waiting has only made me more on edge.”

“Oh, you’ll love it,” Cynthia burst out, beaming. “Morendale Manor is lovely. I missed the place terribly when I was at Bath. Have you ever been?”

The two women started talking about Bath, its merits and its less-than-lovely points, and Neil found himself on the outside of the conversation once again.

This happened more and more these days. He knew that his reputation as a madman did not do him any favours, but sometimes people acted as if he were already a gibbering wreck, and treated him accordingly.

He had heard, from Harry, that it was a thing of wonder amongst the local Society that Neil’s servants were not leaving their posts in droves. He thought that, at least, should show the world that he wasn’t a cruel, murderous maniac. But no, apparently not.

“When we get home,” Cynthia was saying now, “I shall give you the grand tour, Patrina. Are you fond of music?”

Patrina’s face lit up. Neil found his gaze drawn to her at once and discovered that he could not look away. There was something compelling about her features, which he’d considered pretty from the beginning, but now they were positively luminous.

“Oh! I adore music. I can play the pianoforte, of course, and the harp, and the violin. I sing a little, although not very well.”

Cynthia beamed. “Well, you shall love our music room. It is huge, and has all the instruments in it you can think of. We have all the latest music, of course, and in fact…”

She babbled on and on about fashionable music and the latest parlour-tunes. Neil watched Patrina’s excitement build. It was clear that she was very knowledgeable about music, and even as she listened to Cynthia, her fingers twitched as if already playing an imaginary piano.

Neil bit back a smile. There was one thing he could do to make his new wife happy, at the very least, then.

There was a brief pause after that, while Cynthia drew breath for her next monologue, and Lady Emma took the opportunity to speak up.

“I hope you will consult with the physician as soon as we return home, Neil,” she said, voice low and serious.

The good mood melted away almost immediately. Cynthia closed her mouth with a snap. Patrina glanced between faces, clearly baffled at the change in atmosphere.

“I will consult him when I can, Mother,” Neil answered, choosing his words carefully. “The physician has other patients, you know.”

“None as important as you. You see, Patrina, my son’s health is extremely delicate, as you know. Regular appointments with Mr. Blackburn are of the utmost necessity.” Lady Emma leaned forward, placing a proprietorial hand on Neil’s knee. “We cannot afford to miss appointments or become lackadaisical with medication and treatments. I hope that you will encourage my son to take his health seriously, Patrina.”

Patrina bit her lip. Neil opened his mouth to speak, to tell his mother that it was not fair to put her brand-new daughter-in-law on the spot in this manner, but Patrina spoke first.

“Of course, Lady Emma. Health is important, but we must be careful not to cleave to old remedies and traditions, when new ones may be more effective. Neil must, of course, make the ultimate decision when it comes to his own health, but I hope he will listen to my advice, at the very least. When I have formed an opinion and have advice to give, of course,” she added, with a wry smile. “I am looking forward very much to meeting Mr. Blackburn. Will he visit today, you think?”

This was not the answer that Lady Emma had hoped for, clearly. Neil had to bite back a smile at his mother’s disconcerted expression.

“Yes, well,” she said, sniffing and leaning back in her seat. “I doubt you’ll see the man today. He will visit – I have sent a note ahead to inform him of our return, and to ask him to call upon us – but you, dear Patrina, will be touring the house with Cynthia. What a pity.”

Neil’s anger flared.

What are you doing, Mother? Do you really think that by trying to exercise your authority over my wife in this way, you’ll get what you want?

He kept silent, however. Patrina smiled sweetly.

“It is a pity. But do not worry – there is always next time. After all, I shall be living in the house the same as you.”

Lady Emma pressed her lips together. It seemed that Patrina had scored a point in conversation.

Neil glanced at his new wife out of the corner of his eye. To his surprise, he found that she was already looking at him, her expression thoughtful.

When their gazes met, she offered a brief, nervous smile, which he returned.

“I will be sure to introduce you to Mr. Blackburn, at the very least,” Neil found himself saying. “And of course I shall always be glad to hear your advice. I hope you will never feel the need to hold back from telling me the truth.”

Patrina smiled again, a tentative, genuine smile which spread across her face and lit it up. An answering warmth spread through Neil’s chest.

“That’s good,” she said softly. “I’m glad, Neil. I’m very glad to hear that.”