Page 24 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess
Chapter Eight
He'd missed a dose. Neil only realized that the whole evening had gone by without taking his medicine when he was climbing the stairs to the parlour.
The innkeeper had been clearly thrilled to have a marquess and marchioness staying at his humble abode and had set aside a private parlour for their use, as well as the requested rooms. There was a great deal to be done. The booking of the rooms was easily done, but Harry had difficulty in convincing men to help clear the road. Neil was obliged to add his voice to the reasoning, offering money and favours, while the ladies retired to their rooms to recover.
The innkeeper dogged his footsteps too, fawning and excited, keen to offer anything he could, to earn a little extra money. It was a little irritating, but Neil reminded himself that the man was doing his best to make them all comfortable and tried to act accordingly.
Between all the chaos and arrangements, Neil quite forgot to take the next dose of his medicine. It could not be taken with food, as it gave everything he ate and drank the most vile sour taste, and the food would react in his stomach and rise as bile.
He remembered his father, once the disease had progressed to doses every hour, vomiting incessantly, unable to keep down food or water, wasting away to nothing.
Neil shuddered. He hoped he would not have a fit tonight. Theywerecoming more regularly, but he had prayed to make it through his wedding day, and so far, his prayer was answered.
I feel healthy enough,he thought.My mind is clear. No hallucinations, no dizziness. I’ll take a dose before bed, and risk eating dinner without having taken my medicine.
He needed to eat, that was for certain. Neil’s stomach felt as though it were hollowed out, growling miserably, demanding attention.
First, though, a change of clothes was necessary. It didn’t seem prudent to stand upon ceremony at a grimy little road-side inn, but Neil’s wedding suit was damp and uncomfortable, the cuffs of his sleeves stained with dirt, somehow, and his boots dull and muddy.
Harry was waiting for him in the room that they would share. It was a simple enough room, clean and tidy, with an iron-framed bed and a trundle bed underneath it. Harry was crouching by one of the suitcases, in the process of taking out a new strip of linen to tie as a cravat.
“I thought you might need a fresh change of cravat, Neil,” Harry said, not looking up. “That delicate creation appears somewhat wilted, if I may be so bold as to remark.”
“I agree and I’m desperate for a bath.”
“The innkeeper’s wife had water brought up,” Harry answered, tossing the linen to Neil. “How are you faring? You look well, actually.”
“I feel better than I would have thought,” Neil admitted, dragging off the wilting cravat and tossing it onto the bed. “I’ve missed my supper-time dose, though. I’ll take it before bed. Don’t want to ruin supper.”
Harry pursed his lips. “I overheard Lady Emma complaining to Lady Cynthia about something the Marchioness had said. Something critical about Mr. Blackburn, I believe?”
Neil winced, stripping off his jacket. He sat down to pull off his muddy boots, which was no mean feat.
“It was nothing. Patrina seems like a bold sort of girl – I doubt she’ll let Mother push her around, and perhaps that’s for the best. I think she was a little shocked at Doctor Blackburn prescribing me the same treatment that my father was takingwhen he died. It’s alright, though. She doesn’t understand, I imagine.”
Harry pursed his lips. “I sense fireworks in the future. Between Lady Emma and the new Marchioness, I mean. I’m not sure which one I’d bet one.”
Neil shrugged. “Me, I’d bet on Mother. She’s got experience and tremendous force of will. Patrina is nice enough, clever and determined. Yet I am not sufficiently acquainted with her to truly understand her character,” he paused, one boot half-off. “That’s a terribly sad thing to say about one’s wife, isn’t it?I am not sufficiently acquainted with her.On our wedding day, no less.”
Harry got to his feet, moving over to pat Neil on the shoulder.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, cousin. It’s only the first day of marriage. You have plenty of time ahead of you, plenty of time to get to know each other.”
“Yes, that’s what I’m afraid of,” Neil muttered. “She hasn’t even seen me have a fit yet.”
“And maybe she won’t. You did well today. Maybe it’s a turn up for the better.”
“I wish I could believe that. Pray, allow me to take my leave for a moment to indulge in a warm bath before I attire myself for dinner. Shall I have sufficient time to do so?”
“I think so. Just try and be yourself, won’t you? For you, Neil, not much has changed. But for the new marchioness, everything is different. Everything.”
Neil flinched. Keen to get away from the finality of that lasteverything, he stepped into the adjoining washroom, dominated by a steaming copper tub, and closed the door behind him.
***
Supper was a bleak affair. Everybody was tired, and Neil seemed preoccupied by something or other. He ate sparingly and kept glancing at the clock.
Patrina felt more like an unwelcome guest than ever. Lady Emma and Cynthia whispered urgently to each other, or else sat and ate in silence. Patrina was left to stare out of the window, watching the rain speckle the windowpanes.
