Page 73 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess
He remembered very little of what had happened. He’d had a fit, of course. The last thing he remembered was Agatha, warning him that he looked pale and ill, and asking him if he’d like to sit quietly in a private parlour for a moment.
Neil agreed, and had just been thinking that a few hours in a private parlour would be less humiliating than collapsing in front of the whole company. And then, quite abruptly, there was nothing.
He’d woken up briefly, lying on his back and looking up at the ornate ceiling of Lady Ashworth’s dining room. There was a flurry of voices around him, but none of them seemed to make sense.
And then he had woken up here, in a cool room which was clearly a spare one, lying in a comfortable bed with his family all around him.
Not everybody, actually. His mother was there, and Cynthia, and Lady Ashworth hovered nervously in the corner. Agatha had disappeared somewhere, and Harry abruptly went running out onto the landing.
“Where is she?” he croaked, not for the first time.
His mother took his hand in hers, squeezing tightly.
“I don’t know where Patrina has disappeared off to, my darling,” she murmured, “but Miss Simms will find her, I’m sure.”
On cue, Patrina stepped into the room, and Neil sighed in relief. He saw how she paled at the sight of him, lying weak and thin in a borrowed bed. He held out a hand for her to take, but the effort was too much and he was obliged to let his arm drop back onto the sheets.
“I think the end is coming sooner than I thought, my dear,” he whispered.
Patrina’s expression tightened. “No, Neil. You aren’t dying. I won’t let you.”
He smiled faintly. “That’s the spirit.”
“No, I quite mean it. Neil, I… listen to me. This may sound strange, but you cannot let Mr. Blackburn treat you anymore.”
Neil frowned. He sensed his mother tensing beside him, her grip on his hand tightening.
“Patrina,” she said warningly, “This is not the time.”
Patrina ignored her. “Neil, I am serious.”
“We already agreed that I would seek other advice, Pat, but…”
“You’re in danger,” she blurted out. Neil swallowed hard. His eyes were stinging.
“What do you mean?”
Emma rose to her feet, letting Neil’s hand fall. “Stop it at once, Patrina! I shall not tolerate this.”
Patrina did not stand up. She stayed where she was, perched on the edge of the bed, Neil’s hand in hers.
“I have something to tell you all,” she said quietly. “It is not a pleasant story.”
And then Patrina began to talk, starting with a conversation she had overheard between Clayton and Aunt Thomasin. She talked about a herb that none of them had ever heard of – Aconitum, Agatha chimed in, from where she had slipped silently into the room after Patrina – and a long-standing plot, spreading over years.
When she finished the story, the room was very, very quiet.
“I don’t believe it,” Emma said, voice shaking. “Clayton and Thomasin arefamily, for all their flaws.”
“Papa insisted he was being poisoned, at the end,” Cynthia whispered. “Mr. Blackburn said that he was simply losing hismind. He prescribed a palliative remedy. Papa didn’t want to take it, remember, Mama? He fought so hard not to take it.”
Emma closed her eyes momentarily. “This can’t be true.”
“The herb is rare, and hard to find,” Agatha spoke up. “But its smell and taste are distinctive. It was in that herbal infusion, Lady Tidemore. Any physician will agree with me, which explains why Mr. Blackburn was so keen for Lord Morendale not to visit any other practitioners. By all means, consult other physicians. Do further research and ask difficult questions. But for heaven’s sake, please do not let his lordship take any more drops or herbal infusions from that man.”
A muscle jumped in Emma’s jaw, and she glanced down at Neil. “You cannot believe this.”
“I don’t know what to believe,” Neil admitted. He felt sick, and not sure if it was due to his current state or from the awful story he’d just heard. “Clayton has always had an eye on my title, but I never thought… I never imagined…” he trailed off, biting his lip.
