Page 34 of Elixir of a Duchess' Passion
Again, she forced down her thoughts. The day had been far too emotional as it was, and she would not have herself turn into the very thing that the London doctors accused her of being, a hormonal and over-emotional woman, incapable of holding a candle to any one of them when it came to their practise.
Wandering over to the desk, Melissa placed the books she had already picked upon the surface, laying the candle beside the pile so that she could have a quick skim over those she really wanted to read and those she only found mildly interesting.
As she was doing so, she knocked off a pile of papers that had been sitting on the desk. Slightly panicked at having made a mess and not wishing to put anybody’s nose out of joint, Melissa hurried down into a crouch to collect the letters where they had scattered upon the floor around her.
She had been hoping to grab a few books and be on her way without another confrontation or even avoiding another chance encounter with Lord Spurnrose.
Everything seemed to be working against her, as though something was trying to keep her there, just some other reason for her to remain at the estate long enough for him to come and find her again.
Yet instead, it was her that found something.
Melissa had always been a curious soul. It was one of the reasons she loved medicine so much. Her curiosity always led her to try this remedy and that treatment to figure out what worked best for various illnesses. But at times, that same curiosity could very often lead to trouble. Especially in situations like these when she was left alone with things that she had really no business with.
I shouldn’t be doing this,Melissa thought as she collected the letters up, the one that happened to land on top catching her eye.
Perhaps it was the elegant handwriting that caught her attention, maybe the fact that it was quite clearly written by a feminine hand. And it was definitely for that reason she felt a hint of jealousy. That was until she recognised the letter's tone with the first few sentences and realised it was not a lover or romantic interest but the nobleman’s mother. The name signed at the bottom confirmed as much.
A letter between family members was no business of Melissa’s, yet as she stood to place the pile back on the desk, she could not help reading it.
My dearest Elijah,
It pains me to think of you alone and sick. Though I have come to terms with your illness, I cannot come to terms with your desire to keep such news from your father or your brothers and sister.
I beg and implore you once more, allow me to tell them of this consumption so that I might come and be with you. You may be a man grown, but you are still my son, and I your mother. I should be there to care for you just as I always was when you were a child.
I know now there is little I can do but please, Elijah, allow me to be there for you. Your father would not deny my being there if he were aware of the truth. Please, I beg you once more.
All my love,
Your mother
Lady Durham
Melissa could not help herself. When she saw the first letter, she found herself rifling through the others. All were similar, mixed in with invitations to dinners and balls and luncheons, even a hunt or two. But the letters from Lord Spurnrose’s mother were all the same, all pleading with him to allow her to come to the countryside and be with him in his final days. And the more she read, the sicker she felt.
With all she knew of the nobleman’s illness, she could not believe that the doctors in London had allowed him to go this long believing such a thing was afflicting him. She remembered all too well how her own husband had succumbed to the terrible illness, an illness he had kept from her until it was too late.
And here she was again, finding that Lord Spurnrose believed himself to be afflicted by consumption; worse than that, he had failed to admit the fact to her even after several conversations about his health. Worse still was that he believed himself to be afflicted by such a thing, yet he had kissed her not once but twice and only minutes earlier had been attempting to undress her.
How could he?she thought, bile rising in her throat. A deep sense of betrayal clotted her throat, making her stomach ache. If he believed such a thing, why hadn’t he told her? Why had he allowed her to try and try again to help him when he was clearly adamant that nothing could be done? That much was certain from his mother’s pleading letters. And yet, here she was, late at night, standing in his library looking for resources to help his affliction and those of others when he had been keeping such a monumental fact from her.
Was Doctor Wallis the man to have diagnosed him? Even if not, the man was probably in agreement with his colleagues on the matter. They were all so often willing to give out a death sentence to a patient if it meant lining their own pockets rather than curing a patient of their illness and sending them on their way, especially when that patient was as wealthy a man as Lord Spurnrose.
But suddenly the thought of protecting him from those charlatans and quacks was not nearly so strong, not when faced with the thought that he had been lying to her, worse, that he had been allowing her to get closer to him even though he believed he was drawing closer and closer to his own demise.
Closing her eyes to the words written on the paper, Melissa saw her late husband. She remembered how he had at first hidden his symptoms from her, burning handkerchiefs soaked with blood and becoming more and more of a recluse until it had taken her every effort for him to spend even a few moments in her presence, right up until the day when he had been unable to hide it any longer, forced to his bed and to admit the truth, stealing any hope she had of sharing happy times in his few remaining weeks.
All the pain and anguish, all the sadness and longing came rushing back to Melissa, and she imagined all too easily how it would have been to be forced through that again, to have fallen for Lord Spurnrose only to have him plucked from her right when she believed that all would finally be well.
I was happy alone,she told herself, remembering how she had been before his arrival in Oxfordshire, how she had happily gone about her business spending most of her time in books or in her garden, researching, journaling, and drawing, compiling everything she possibly could about medicine and illness and disease until adamant she was close to knowing all she could.
And yet, here she was, being blindsided again by feelings she had hoped never to experience again. The betrayal and loss of trust clawed at her insides like a bear with a sore head, and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from screaming with frustration.
How could she possibly help a man who had failed to give her something as simple as honesty? What right did he have to even ask for her assistance?
He never truly did ask for my help,she thought, feeling even more sickened at the thought that she had practically waltzed herself into such a situation blindly without even considering what the consequences might be.
Having forgotten about the books, Melissa dropped the letters back on the desk, leaving them scattered again. Maybe when Lord Spurnrose came down in the morning, he might notice they had been tampered with, but for once, Melissa paid no mind to the thought.
