Page 32 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess
“We must rule nothing out. Of course, your recovery would be the ideal outcome. Am I to understand you wish to discontinue your medication? I would advise strongly against it.”
Neil flushed. The physician had a knack of making him feel like a child being scolded. It was not pleasant.
“I won’t do anything against your advice, of course, but… well, I can’t ignore the fact that this is the longest I have gone without a fit in quite a while.”
Mr. Blackburn stared down at him for a long moment, expression unreadable.
“You are right,” he said abruptly. “We must explore this possibility. Now, if we are to wean you off the drops, we shall go down to one dose a day. If you feel like you need more, you may take more.”
“I won’t,” Neil answered fervently. For the longest time, a kernel of hope coiled in his chest. Could he do it? Could he survive?
“But I must prescribe an additional medication,” Mr. Blackburn continued. “A herbal tea. It’s a much gentler remedy than the drops and will taste a good deal better. Here, I shall make you up a sample.”
He strode over to the bellpull, yanking hard. When a footman appeared in the doorway, Mr. Blackburn snapped at him, demanding hot water.
He took out a jar of mixed herbs and crushed leaves and flowers from his case, carefully spooning out a few doses into a teacup. A pungent, savoury scent filled the room, not unlike the smell from the drops.
“Allow the mixture to steep for no less than five minutes,” the doctor instructed, stirring and straining. “Here, drink. Add honey if you require more sweetness.”
Neil took a tentative sip and wrinkled his nose. “It is alittlebetter than the drops,” he conceded.
“Three spoonfuls, three times a day, at least,” Mr. Blackburn said, dusting off his hands in a business-like manner. “I shall send over a man with a larger container of the stuff.”
“Thank you, Mr. Blackburn.”
“I must confess, I imagined you were about to tell me about another serious life choice,” the older man said, flashing a strained smile.
“Hm?”
The smile disappeared. “Your wife, Lord Morendale. I had no idea you intended to marry. I heard of it from dear Lady Thomasin Tidemore.”
Neil bit back a sigh. Thomasin. Of course.
“Well, it was a rather quiet affair. Not many people knew.”
Was Mr. Blackburn offended at not having received an invite? There hadn’t even been a wedding breakfast, nothing more than a ceremony conducted several hours’ carriage journey away. Yet it was clear by the pinched, disapproving expression on the man’s face that he wasnotpleased at something.
The physician closed his medical case with asnap.
“Excitement and chances of circumstance are not healthy for you, Lord Morendale. You know that. Marriage, while an admirable state, can upend a man’s life altogether. If you had asked my opinion, I would have advised strongly, very strongly against it.”
Neil shifted, beginning to feel a little uncomfortable. He was sure that Mr. Blackburn had never discussed such personal matters with his father and couldn’t quite understand why he would expect to discuss them with the current Lord Morendale.
“A man of my standing must marry,” he answered at last, seeing that some response was needed. “Forgive me, but I never thought to ask your advice. My mother and Harry both gave me their aid in this matter, and we have set up a rather decent match.”
“A decent match, you say? Hm, my sources must be incorrect. I had heard that it was one of theMarshville daughters, decent enough young ladies, but with distinctly lower prospects than a Marquess.”
Neil stiffened.Enough is enough.
“I have married Patrina Marshville, in point of fact, Mr. Blackburn. She seems to be a very agreeable young lady, and I am already very fond of her. She is, of course, the Marchioness of Morendale now, Lady Morendale, and I do hope that you will treat her with the respect her position accords.”
For a moment, there was dead silence in the room, broken only by the ticking of a clock in the corner.
“But of course, your lordship,” Mr. Blackburn said. For a moment, there was a definite edge in his voice, then his shoulders slumped. He shook his head, sighing. “Do forgive me. I am an old man, and I am speaking out of turn more and more often these days.”
Neil bit his lip, feeling a little guilty over his sharp tone.
“Think nothing of it. Lady Patrina is not exactly an heiress, but she is a fine young woman. Cynthia likes her very much, and so do I.”
“Well, I wish you all happiness,” the physician said, his brusque tone indicating that the visit was coming to an end. Hepaused, glancing down at the half-full cup of tea Neil held in his hand. “Drink up, your lordship.”
