Page 26 of A Wicked Earl's Widow
As the trio returned to the house, his mind whirled with calculations. A message sent to Sunderland Castle and then a letter to Scotland and back would take time. He had several weeks to come to terms with his feelings and then persuade Eliza if he so desired.
And he had yet to coax the avenging angel out into the open again. Yes, there was still had work to do before anyone left Pendle Place.
Chapter Eleven
“What are you saying, Dr. Goodman?” Nate ran a hand over his face. “She’s tired, weak, and distracted. I realize these are vague symptoms, but you can’t give some kind of diagnosis?”
“You misunderstand. I said Lady Pendleton doesn’t have aphysicalailment.”
“Then what the hell is wrong with her?”
He was frustrated. Women were so blasted exasperating. Nothing about them seemed simple. His mother was constantly fatigued yet not ill. Eliza was attracted to him but ready to bolt. Hannah grinned like a Cheshire cat at both of them yet said nothing to help. If he had a choice, he’d hide away with Maxwell, Thea, and Cyrano for a month to regain his sanity.
“Your mother is depressed. Specifically, she is feeling the pangs of guilt from years past.” The physician accepted the glass of brandy the viscount offered. “I think the discussion of Hannah going to London next year has brought back memories.”
“What in God’s name does my mother have to feel guilty about?” His father had been the villain in their marriage. She’d been the caring parent, always present. It made no sense. The hideaway was sounding better.
“That is a conversation you need to have with Lady Pendleton.” Dr. Goodman swirled the amber liquid, studying it for a moment before he took a sip. “I will say, if she can ease her conscious, her health will return.”
“Has there been one simple female in the history of mankind?” Nate asked then threw back the last of his brandy. He let out a long breath and took the stopper out of the crystal decanter for another taste. “By Christ, this is not what I expected, though I’m glad it’s not a serious illness.”
“I wish I could have been more helpful. Tomorrow I’ll stop by the village on my way home. Mrs. Stanley can bring up some valerian root to help her sleep. Lack of rest intensifies an emotional state. I’ve told Hannah to ensure she has a cup of chamomile tea after supper as well. The rest is up to her.”
Mrs. Maxwell ladled stewedapples onto Nathaniel’s plate, the tart fruit mixed with cinnamon and honey made his mouth water. She pinched his cheek and blew at the strands of red hair falling into her eyes as she added more slices to her husband’s plate. The woman still made him feel like a boy of twelve. Ezra scooped another spoonful into his mouth.
“Eat, now. I cooked this up special for you.”
“I’ve heard that about every meal I’ve eaten here.” He winked at her and grinned at his steward. “I swear I’ll steal her away some day.”
“Those are fightin’ words, my lord.”
Nate sat back in his chair after the second helping and stretched out his legs. The cottage was well-kept and clean. They were in the kitchen, the room he had frequented since old enough to ride behind his father. Pots hung from hooks next to the fireplace. Stalks of coriander and basil, strung from the ceiling to dry, filled the air with a spicy pungent scent. Handwoven multi-colored rugs kept the chill away and added to the room’s coziness.
“I need some female advice.”
“Haven’t asked the girl to marry you yet?”
Nate chuckled. “No, and it’s not that female. It’s my mother.”
His steward grunted and took another bite of the fruit. “Came to the wrong place for that. We ain’t never seen eye to eye.”
“Exactly. According to Dr. Goodman, my mother’s malady isn’t physical but mental. He believes it to be a case of conscience.”
“Your father came back to haunt her.” Maxwell let his spoon clatter onto the plate and patted his stomach. “You’ve done it again, love. I swear you’re a gift from heaven above.”
His wife giggled like a schoolgirl.
“I was hoping you could give me a clue to the cause of her guilt. I don’t want to be hit on my blind side.” He pushed his fingers through his hair. “Last night I dreamed I was a bastard. The result of my mother’s flirtations with a groom. If you know of any dark family secrets, please bring them to light.”
Maxwell chortled. “You are most definitely your father’s son. There’s more of him in you than you care to admit. We’ve had more than one argument on that point. I think your mother is an unhappy woman with many regrets over the years.”
With a nod, Nate rose and took his riding coat from the back of a chair. “It was worth the trip just for the apples.”
“About the other one. Don’t wait too long. Indecision is the root of regret.”
He paused, knowing his steward was referring to Eliza. The man knew him too well. “I just need to be sure.”
“Of her feelings or yours?”
