Page 13 of Forever and a Duke (The Bridewell Sisters #1)

CHAPTER 12

“ D on’t forget to breathe,” Ivy instructed as she and Daphne sat sipping tea and watching over Lily in Rosemere’s front sitting room.

“I am breathing.” Lily had to be breathing because she could feel her heart beating much too fast in her chest.

“You’re not breathing easily. You hold your breath when you’re nervous.” Daphne scrutinized her with the same look their father used when assessing his patients—eyes slightly narrowed and keenly observant.

“Try a deep breath. Like this.” Ivy set her teacup aside and stood to demonstrate, drawing a lungful of air in and then exhaling while bracing a hand against her middle.

“I do remember how to breathe.”

“Try it. Please,” Daphne urged.

Lily did as instructed and, shockingly, it did feel a bit like the fluttering race of her heartbeat had eased. “Very well. It helps.”

Ivy beamed one of her rare but blindingly pretty smiles. For all her fierceness, she was as thrilled when she could help someone else as the rest of Bridewells. They’d all been taught the value of it from both their parents.

Daphne nodded sagely. “There you go. It will be alright.”

Lily strode over to the long window with a view of the carriage circle. A polished black carriage came into view, though it was still far off on the lane approaching Rosemere. “Oh good heavens, it’s begun.”

“Right on time.” Immediately following Ivy’s pronouncement, the long clocks in various rooms chimed the three o’clock hour.

“It’s only a single carriage so far,” Lily murmured as she watched the elegant vehicle’s approach through the lace curtains. “But there will be half a dozen more.”

Familiar footsteps sounded on the marble floor of the foyer, and Lily exhaled a slow breath. Greeting a throng of nobles sounded daunting, but she wouldn’t have to face it alone.

“You’ve prepared everything wonderfully,” Griffin told her from the threshold.

She turned and the sight of him consumed all her attention for a moment, as it always did. They exchanged a smile that eased a bit of the tightness in her chest.

He strode toward her and brushed a kiss against her cheek, and the warmth of his lips made her whole body quiver. If her sisters weren’t in the room, if there weren’t guests descending on their carriage drive, she would have begged him to touch her and kiss her until she felt that melting, boundless pleasure he’d brought her to over and over last night.

“I fear I’ll forget people’s names,” she whispered.

“Then I’ll remind you.”

“What if it rains and we have to cancel all the yard games we’ve planned?”

“Then we play parlor games instead.”

Before she could offer up more worries, the butler was admitting the first guests.

Griffin wrapped her arm around his and they strode out to greet them. “Lord and Lady Turnbull. Friends of my father’s,” he whispered out of the side of his mouth as they approached the elderly couple.

After their coats and hats were collected and staff scurried to secure their traveling trunk, the two nobles chatted with Griffin and Lily with warmth and deference. Then, though Lily hadn’t noticed her approach, the dowager appeared to add her own greetings. She seemed particularly friendly with Lady Turnbull and led her to Rosemere’s grandest drawing room, where staff had prepared refreshments.

“See,” Griffin said as he stroked his fingers against her cheek, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

It took forty minutes for all of the guests to arrive, spend time chatting with Griffin and Lily, and then be ushered into the drawing room to greet the others.

At one point, when the previous guests had entered the drawing room and the next carriage had yet to arrive, Griffin pulled Lily into a nook in the entryway behind the staircase and kissed her until a pulsing ache built at the apex of her thighs.

After the next guests arrived, a Lady Dalrymple and her niece, Miss Hunter, who looked at Griffin as if he were a Greek god come to life, had been greeted and escorted by the dowager to the drawing room, the butler informed them the last set of guests were not expected until the next day. Lord Middleton, his daughter, and her fiancé had been delayed by a broken carriage wheel. They’d sent a missive via messenger explaining their delay and vowing that they still planned to attend.

“I suppose we should go to the drawing room then,” Lily said when the butler departed.

Griffin looked at her and squared his shoulders. “I suppose we must, though it’s not my preference.”

Lily quirked a brow at him. “Oh? What’s your preference, Your Grace?” she asked teasingly. Though even as she said it, her gaze dropped to his mouth, and her mind spun with memories of all the wickedly wonderful things he’d done with it last night.

His eyes followed her gaze, and he shot her a deliciously seductive smile. “You know very well, Duchess.” His voice emerged rough and low.

“Tell me,” Lily whispered, repeating the words he’d spoken to her last evening.

“I want to take you upstairs and put my mouth exactly where you want it.”

Lily bit her lip. She’d never been so frustrated and so eager for nightfall to come. “We have dinner and then dancing to get through before we can retire for the evening.”

“Save me a dance?”

Lily laughed. “You’ll finally ask me?”

“Of course I will,” he told her in low, tender tone. “I pray it will make up for all those times I wanted to and didn’t.”

Then he kissed her. It was too quick but delicious all the same, and it bolstered her for the hours ahead.

Together, arm in arm, they strode into the dining room to mingle with their guests.

A satisfied smile lifted Lily’s lips after the guests all returned to their rooms to change for the first formal dinner of the house party. So far, everything had gone exceedingly well. The assembled nobles partook of refreshments and made conversation for hours after their arrival, giving staff time to settle their belongings into their rooms.

In the late afternoon, Lily led them on a tour of Rosemere’s outdoor gardens as the sun had been out for hours and the air was warm and sweet with the scent of spring flowers. Then she showed them the recently revived conservatory—thankfully, with no sign of kittens or a hedgehog, though the dowager seemed to fix her gaze on every corner, as if expecting one of them to dart from the shadows.

Now that everyone had gone up to dress for dinner, she was eager to find Griffin, who’d taken some of the gentlemen off to show them the billiards room.

She also wanted to check on her sisters, especially the twins, who were quite disappointed that they couldn’t join the rest of the guests at table this evening. They were simply too young to partake of what would be a very long service with ten courses planned. Lily had insisted on allowing Daphne and Ivy to join the dinner, to the surprising agreement of the dowager.

But as she climbed the stairs, scanning the hall for any sign of Griffin, the Kingsley butler, Robards approached, a worried frown pinching his usually unruffled brow.

Her stomach tightened. “Is something amiss, Robards?”

“Your Grace, I’m afraid one of our guests has fallen ill.”

“Oh, no. Who is it?”

“Lord Turnbull, I’m afraid. Lady Turnbull thinks it might be something he ate.” Robards looked about as if ensuring no one might overhear. “She says his stomach often ails him.”

“I see.” Lily felt awful that one of the guests was suffering. No one wanted to fall ill on holiday. “So I take it he won’t be joining us for dinner. What can we do for him?”

“No, Your Grace, he won’t. Lady Turnbull wished for me to give you her regrets that he won’t be able to attend. She says he has a tonic for such occasions and will rest for the evening.”

“He’s in his room now?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Shall I send for Dr. Crawford?”

Lily hesitated. The village doctor was well-known and well-respected by many, but she knew him to be a man of archaic medical notions. Bleeding patients was still his preferred method of addressing most ailments.

“Allow me to discuss the matter with His Grace. I shall send for you if that’s the case. Thank you, Robards.”

The butler’s expression had smoothed into his usual stoic one and he nodded, offered her a bow, and made his way back downstairs.

Lily considered the menu of everything offered to guests during their time in the drawing room, hoping it was nothing they’d served. If it was, they’d have more guests feeling unwell.

The mention of a stomach tonic made her curious. Often, they were less than helpful concoctions that contained liquor or laudanum to numb the discomfort rather than ease the digestive process itself.

Lily changed course and strode toward the staircase that led up one level to the corridor of guest rooms. She remembered where each guest had been placed. And though she’d worried about failing to remember each visitor’s name, after speaking to them in the drawing room, she found it no difficulty at all.

As she approached the bedroom given to Lord and Lady Turnbull, a young woman emerged. Lily knew they’d brought their own lady’s maid, as a few other guests had brought their own staff along.

When the young woman spotted Lily, she immediately bobbed a curtsy. “Your Grace.”

“I’ve been informed that his lordship is unwell. Is he up to speaking with me?”

The girl’s expression turned fretful. “He’s sitting up by the fire, Your Grace. Should I ask him?”

“Would you?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The girl ducked back in the room and emerged a moment later. “He asked me to admit you.”

Lily stepped inside the room and was pleased to see that the gentleman didn’t look as poorly as she feared. He stood near the fire.

“Please do sit, Lord Turnbull. I only wished to see how you’re feeling.” Lily took a seat at one of the two chairs arranged near the fireplace so that he wouldn’t feel the need to stand.

He settled heavily into his chair. “It’s fatiguing more than anything.”

Indeed the nobleman looked drowsy. For several moments, they simply sat in amiable silence.

“Your stomach ails you, I understand.” Lily leaned forward a bit to examine his eyes and the color of his skin. His cheeks were a bit ruddy, and his pupils were constricted, but the firelight was casting a bright glow, and the curtains had been pulled wide to let in the last bits of daylight in.

She saw no outward signs of serious illness.

“I must admit that it does.” His speech was the slightest bit slurred.

Lily’s suspicions grew.

A wry grin drew up the edges of his mouth. “A man does not wish to be felled by something so mundane.”

“I trust you won’t be felled for long.” Lily looked around and spied a slim bottle with a cork stopper on the table by the bed. “You have a tonic for it, I see.”

“Ah yes. You’ve a sharp eye, Your Grace. I do indeed. Bateman’s Drops were recommended by my physician back in Dorset.”

Lily clenched her jaw, but she knew she must tread lightly. Gentlemen did not like their trusted medical men to be gainsaid by a lady, even if she was a duchess. However, Lily knew that Bateman’s Drops contained both opium and alcohol, neither of which did anything to actually soothe the stomach. They’d only numb any discomfort and perhaps slow the digestive system itself. And opium was highly addictive.

After making a few minutes of small talk about the events of the house party so far, she leaned forward again.

“May I let you in on a little secret that has aided me in such matters and might be of interest, Lord Turnbull?” Lily lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level but kept her tone light.

“Please do, Your Grace.”

“I also have a special tonic that I use in such circumstances, and it does wonders. I also ask my maid to bring up peppermint tea, which is quite soothing.” Lily paused, hoping he’d agree to try her remedy, which was a tincture comprised of stomach-soothing herbs, such as chamomile, slippery elm, fennel seed, and a bit of ginger root.

Since she’d sometimes given it to her sisters, so she made it with vinegar rather than alcohol.

The nobleman’s silver brows knitted as he tilted his head. “I would welcome your tonic, Your Grace. If it is efficacious, I would consider it a godsend. In truth, mine merely makes me quite dozy.”

“Excellent.” Lily smiled and stood.

When Lord Turnbull tried to rise too, she lifted a hand to stop him. “Please don’t trouble yourself, my lord. I’ll ask a staff member to bring up mint tea and some bone broth. And I’ll check on you later, if I may.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” He looked up at her with undisguised appreciation. “With such a full house of guests, it is very kind for you to trouble yourself on my behalf.”

“It is no trouble at all, Lord Turnbull.” The thought that her tonic might actually give him ease brought her a soul-deep satisfaction. “And if you don’t mind me advising you so, I’d suggest holding off on more Bateman’s Drops until you see if the tonic I send up is helpful.”

He nodded and seemed to take no offense. “Thank you again. Edgerton has found himself a gem and a most gracious duchess, if I may say so.”

“Thank you, Lord—” Lily started.

The opening of the bedroom door stopped her, and they both turned to see Lady Turnbull enter the room. Her Ladyship’s brow lowered, and then her eyes widened. She offered Lily a nod.

“Your Grace, I am surprised to find you here,” she said hesitantly. “Royston, did you call for Her Grace?”

“He didn’t,” Lily put in. “I am afraid I pushed in and insisted on seeing his lordship. When I was informed that he’d fallen ill, I worried and wanted to make sure we’d done all we could.”

Lady Turnbull laid a hand against the tucked waist of her elegant gown. “Well, that is quite kind, Your Grace, but unnecessary. Lord Turnbull has these spells and then he takes his medicine and feels much better. I’m sorry if you worried needlessly.”

Lily side-eyed that little bottle of Bateman’s and kept silent when all she truly wanted was to list the dangers of consuming the insidious stuff.

“Not at all, Lady Turnbull.” Lily cast a look back at the lady’s husband. “I’m going to ask my staff to bring up some items that might be soothing to his lordship.”

Lady Turnbull bristled. “As I’ve said, Your Grace, he has medicine.”

“A bit of tea and broth never hurt anyone,” Lily said with a smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

The noblewoman offered a nod of deference as Lily took her leave.

As she stepped into the hallway, Anna, one of Rosemere’s maids approached looking harried and winded. “Your Grace,” she said, “thank goodness I’ve found you. His Grace was worried and had us all searching for you.”

Lily smiled and patted the girl’s arm. “As my sisters would say to me, slow down and breathe. Thank you for finding me, Anna. I was merely visiting Lord Turnbull, who’s taken ill.”

“I’ve heard as much, Your Grace.”

“Would you prepare a tray for him? I’ve some mint tea and tincture that I will give to you to prepare and send up with bone broth.”

The girl curtsied. “Yes, You Grace.”

“Thank you, Anna.”

Griffin climbed the stairs and entered the ducal suite after having searched the library and the conservatory for Lily. He’d rushed upstairs half an hour ago, eager to have a bit of time alone before they had to go down again for dinner.

He’d planned to send his valet and her lady’s maid away and take her to bed, but instead he’d found her lady’s maid agitated because Lily had not returned to her suite as expected. Indeed, the staff could not locate her in any of the downstairs rooms or among the family rooms.

“Griffin?”

He spun at the sound of her voice and approached in two long strides. After reaching up to close the door behind her, he stepped her back against the panel, tipped her head, and took her mouth in a kiss that was rougher than he intended.

“Thank God, you’re all right,” he whispered against her lips and then kissed her more gently.

“Goodness, I couldn’t have been gone more than twenty minutes.”

“But you were gone.” Griffin straightened and ran a hand through his hair. “All sorts of things happen at house parties.”

She reached up and pulled him down for another kiss. This one was slow, soothing, and when he pulled back, he could breathe again.

“I’m sorry I caused such worry,” she said earnestly. “I was merely visiting Lord Turnbull is his room.”

“Turnbull?” Griffin finally began to put the pieces together. “Robards told me he’d fall ill.”

“It’s dyspepsia, but when Robards told me he was taking a tonic for it, I had discover what it was.”

Griffin shook his head, already confused. “Why did you need to determine what medicine he used?”

“Because it’s not medicine in many cases,” Lily told him in an impassioned tone. “In this case, the drops he takes contain opium.”

“For his stomach?” Griffin had once visited an opium den during a night of carousing with a group of other young noblemen. All of them had quickly realized they were out of their depth. The drug seemed to make its devotees senseless, and he’d heard whispers that once one consumed it, the desire for it only grew.

“Doctors, especially if they’ve always done things a certain way, continue that way. Crawford prefers bleeding as a first phase of treatment for nearly any ailment.”

Griffin shivered, remembering the time his brother fell ill and the beloved village doctor bled him. He’d been young, not more than the twins’ age, and he’d vowed then and there to never fall ill so as to avoid the leeches.

“Perhaps we should send for a doctor from London. Do you recommend anyone?” Griffin asked. “Via train, it won’t take him long to reach us, and he can convince Trumbull to try something other than an opium tonic.”

“Actually—”

Whatever his wife meant to say, her words were cut short by a series of sharp, quick knocks against the paneled door at her back.

Lily stepped away and cast him a worried frown. “I hope his lordship hasn’t taken a turn.”

Griffin opened the door and his grandmother pushed past him to enter his bedchamber.

He stifled a groan because there was fire in her gaze again, and it felt like they right back at how their day had begun.

“What in God’s name is this?” she asked, then thrust an object at his chest.

Griffin reached for the dark brown stoppered bottle. “I have no idea.” For a moment, he thought it might be opium-laced tonic Lily had spoken of, but then she stepped forward and laid her hand over the bottle, slipping it from his fingers.

“It’s mine,” she told him, her voice laced with a bit of steel as she turned to face his grandmother. “Why do you have it?”

“How dare you?” his grandmother snapped.

Griffin stepped between them as he had that morning in almost the exact same spot. “Someone tell me what’s going on. Now, please.”

Lily lifted the little bottle in her hands. “This is a tincture that I’ve been making for years. It’s an herbal concoction to treat dyspepsia that I’ve given to my sisters. It contains no laudanum or opium.” As she spoke the last word, she shot him a pointed look.

“You are no doctor,” his grandmother pronounced each word emphatically. “How dare you think to meddle in the health of a respected nobleman?”

“Because his own doctor prescribed drops that may cause him harm,” Lily told her, crossing her arms. Griffin noted that the gentle curve of her cheeks had hardened as she clenched her jaw.

He wanted this constant bickering to stop and reached a conciliatory hand out to his grandmother. She waved him off.

“You cannot know that,” she barked at Lily.

Lily sidestepped past him to face his grandmother. “Of course I can. Medical knowledge is not God-gifted to men in some burst of instant understanding. It’s studied, practiced, and available to anyone willing to devote themselves to both.”

His grandmother’s mouth gaped.

Griffin smiled. Though he had no wish to ever provoke his wife, Lily was quite magnificent when she was fierce and righteously incensed.

“You had no…right to…interfere.” His grandmother’s voice emerged quiet, hesitant, as if all the furious wind had seeped from her sails.

Griffin took a step closer to her. “Grandmama, Lily had every right to see to Lord Turnbull. Indeed, as a guest in our home who is unwell, he is our responsibility.” He shot a gaze at his caring, brilliant wife. “We were just discussing whether to call in a London doctor, though Lily’s herbal remedy is so safe, she’s given it to her own sisters.”

“This is not how a duchess conducts herself.” His grandmother stretched up, straightening her spine, regaining a bit of her certainty.

Lily lifted her shoulders too. “It is how this duchess conducts herself. And I hope you might accept that one day.”

Something shimmered in his grandmother’s eyes.

Griffin’s breath caught in his throat, and hope made his heart pound hard in chest.

But rather than offer an apology or even a word of acknowledgement, his grandmother simply dipped her head and then took her leave.