Page 40 of Good Duke Gone Cold

He couldn’t go in her room. The closer he was with people, the more likely they were to die or disappear, so despite not wanting her close, he certainly didn’t wish her gone completely.

For now, the closest he could bring himself was the whisper on the other side of the door.

Mary was in an inferno. Her body was wrapped in flaming linen and her head and limbs were weighed down by large rocks. When she wasn’t burning alive, she dreamt of herself being on stage, being laughed at, dodging cabbages even. The first dream was her as the docile bookstore owner’s daughter. She dodged three cabbages in that one. The next time she was the opera singer and although she swore she had heard Gregory whisper her name, when she opened her lips to respond, no sound emerged.

Then the dreams about the plays stopped completely. Transported to the fields between her and Gregory’s homes, she ran freely, then skipped, then leapt into the air until she was flying in the sky.

And so these dreams went and addled her mind until she had no concept of time or place. All she knew were cold clothes pressed against her raging body. She knew it wasn’t Gregory, else her body would have responded to his presence more strongly.

She recalled him saying the most wounding words when she had been feeling amorous of him. He obviously did not feel the same way about her as she did about him. But her body was tortured with such achiness that she couldn’t evaluate her feelings anymore.

All she knew was that they were not on the same page. They weren’t even in the same paradigm.

“Her fever hasn’t gone away. It’s been two days. We should try bloodletting her.” Dr. Giles was back advocating to take more drastic measures. Gregory had already once declined bloodletting Mary as he had seen before how distressed and even more fatigued a patient looked after the procedure.

“No.”

“Your grace, we must do something.”

“Do not touch her. I’ll see you in two hours’ time.”

After having Apollo and an additional horse saddled for a footman, the two rode to the local apothecary. He had no idea who to turn to in this moment of crisis, but he knew he needed another opinion.

As he approached the entrance to the apothecary’s store, a woman arrived at the same time and he held the door for her as she entered.

The apothecary heard the customers, recognized Gregory, and made his presence known at the counter. “Your grace, may I help you?”

The woman shied to the back corner of the store. “I hope you can. We have a patient with a fever. The attending physician wants to bloodlet her. I just–” he interrupted himself. “Something else must be done.”

The apothecary shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I’m merely an apothecary. I simply take the doctor’s prescriptions and fill them.”

“You must know something. You must have some opinions. How long have you been doing this?” He tried to sound more pleading than demanding.

“Almost forty years, Your Grace.” The gray hair was starting to gleam with sweat and he was shifting more quickly between each foot.

Gregory slapped his hands on the counter and implored, “You must have seen something that has worked. Have some experience with other methods.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

“If it pleases Your Grace, may I?” A tiny voice from the back corner spoke up or what felt more like speaking across to him, as though at this moment this woman was meant to be here.

He turned to face her. “Yes. What? Who are you?”

“I’m a herbalist. My name is unimportant, but I can give you a name that does signify.”

“Please.”

“Willow bark.”

After the herbalist explained the usage of willow bark in treating fevers, Gregory gave orders for the footman to collect what was needed and make haste in bringing it all back to Chatsworth.

Then Gregory sought out the physician.

“Willow bark. That’s what we’ll use.”

Dr. Giles sputtered, “Willow bark? Who recommended that?”

“Does it signify?”

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