Page 54 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
She didn’t give him time to respond but rolled on, “The truth is that you cannot be sure, any more than anyone else can be certain. But, therefore, what harm can there be in trying a tonic or two to see if there’s any improvement?”
Lightly shrugging, she returned her attention to her soup. Lifting a mouthful to her lips, she paused and softly—for Manachan’s ears only—added, “I know the clan would rejoice to see you up and about again.”
She fixed her gaze on her plate and ate her soup. Although she felt Manachan’s gaze—and Nigel’s and Nolan’s, too—on her face, she didn’t react, didn’t meet their gazes, but left them to consider the seeds she’d sown.
Thomas asked Niniver about the gardens on the far side of the house. Although Lucilla pretended an interest, she kept most of her attention on Manachan, waiting and hoping that he would, of his own accord, return to the subject of his health.
They were most of the way through the main course before she was rewarded with a rumbling humph and the question, “Do you really think this godforsaken weakness isn’t just old age?”
Shifting to face him, she met his eyes. “I’ve never known you that well, but from what I remember, bolstered”—she glanced briefly at Edgar, standing as usual within reach of his master—“by what those closer to you report, I would say that there’s a very real chance that much of the tiredness that’s holding you back has nothing to do with old age but, instead, is a lingering aftereffect of some illness.” She paused, then added, “One thing age does affect is the body’s ability to recover after an illness. It could simply be that you had some illness and have never thrown off the effects. And that sort of lingering weakness can become entrenched.”
Manachan’s gaze bored into her eyes. She met it without flinching and just waited.
After several long moments, he sat back in his chair, his gaze still locked on her face. “IfI decided that it was time to put myself in a healer’s hands—given, as you say, that there’s surely no harm in trying a potion or two—and ifyouwere the healer I challenged to put me right again, what treatment would you recommend?”
He was a wily old fox. A challenge? As if he were merely amusing himself, merely accommodating a guest…but she could see how to use that, too. Letting a smile infuse her features, she leaned toward him and replied, “If I were given the opportunity to test my skills on you, I would need to briefly examine you—to check your eyes and your skin, and see what you can tell me about how you feel, and whether you can recall what illness precipitated your weakness. And then I would work up a boosting tonic for tonight.” She held his gaze. “You would know by morning if it had had any effect, and if it had, I would make up a restorative you can continue to take, which will help you to improve further.”
Manachan studied her for several long moments. No one else about the table said a word.
Then he pulled a face. “Why not?”
Ferguson hovered, waiting to remove Manachan’s plate. Manachan noticed and waved; Ferguson replaced the plate with one for the poached pears in syrup that a footman had placed on the table.
Once the fuss of changing the courses had ended and they were all engaged with eating the dessert, Manachan returned to the topic now exercising the minds of all those about the table. “As you said, no harm in trying, and indeed, one might even say that it’s my duty to the clan, heh?”
She inclined her head, although she suspected the words were more for the benefit of everyone but her. Nigel, for instance, looked plainly shocked at the notion of his father allowing her to treat him. Nolan looked blank, Niniver hopeful, and even Norris had blinked and taken notice. As for Thomas seated beside her, she hadn’t turned sufficiently to see his face, but she could feel his relief that she’d succeeded where he had doubted she would, together with his hope that she could, as she’d claimed, set Manachan back on the road to health.
The instant they completed the meal, Manachan laid down his napkin and beckoned to Edgar. “I’ve had enough for today—I’m going up.” He focused on Lucilla as she rose, along with Niniver. “You go off and have your tea—I’ll send for you after I’ve had my nightcap.”
Lucilla met his gaze, smiled confidently, and nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”
Manachan humphed as, leaning heavily on Edgar’s arm, he turned away. “And then we’ll see if you and your Lady are up to the challenge of healing an old reprobate like me.”
Everyone heard his soft cackling as he stumped out of the room.
Eyes wide with hope as well as surprise, Niniver joined Lucilla. They followed Manachan and Edgar out, and headed for the drawing room.
* * *
Thomas remained at the dinner table with Nigel, Nolan, and Norris. Ferguson and the footmen quickly removed the platters and plates, then set the usual three decanters on the table before Nigel, along with a selection of cut-crystal glasses.
Nigel reached for the whisky decanter, poured a healthy dose into a tumbler, then passed the decanter to Nolan, on his right. Nolan did the same, then passed the decanter to Norris, who somewhat absentmindedly poured himself a dash.
Thomas seized the moment to study Norris; as always, Manachan’s youngest son’s mind seemed to be far away—on a different plane, or at least in some different place. He was increasingly getting the feeling that Norris had cut himself off from everything around him. Thomas wondered how Norris spent his days, and made a mental note to inquire…probably of Niniver.
Norris pushed the decanter Thomas’s way. He reached out, snagged the neck, and proceeded to pour himself a restrained single finger of the rich malt Manachan favored. Setting the stopper back in the decanter, he considered the relief, and the strange pride, he’d felt over Lucilla inveigling Manachan to agree to her treating him. Sitting back, he felt his lips curve and raised the glass to conceal his smile; she had, in fact, gone one better, and allowed Manachan to couch his agreement in terms of obliging a guest with a challenge.
But Manachan’s health was no game.
Thomas sipped and, pretending to have no particular interest in anything beyond the taste of the whisky, waited to gauge his cousins’ reactions.
Abruptly, Nigel drained his glass and reached for the decanter again. After sloshing another three fingers into his glass, he slumped back in his chair and looked at Nolan, who was sipping in rather more moderate fashion alongside him. “I don’t know that this is wise—allowing her to raise his hopes like this.”
His gaze on his glass, on the light refracting through the amber liquid as he turned the crystal between his hands, Nolan shrugged. “We all know it’s just age that’s made him so. She’ll try her tonic, it won’t work, and that’ll be the end of it.”
Thomas noticed that even Norris nodded in agreement. Thomas was puzzled. “How can you know? Has a doctor examined him?”
Nigel snorted. “I suggested it, but you know what he’s like. He wouldn’t have it—insisted he was just poorly and would come about, but that was last September.” Nigel glanced at the glass dangling from his fingers. “I’m just surprised he agreed to letting her, of all people, treat him.”
