Page 89 of Thief of the Ton
The doctor droppedhis instruments into a black medical bag, snapped it shut, then wiped his hands on a cloth.
“You gave your family quite a shock, Lord de Grande.”
Papa let out a sigh, while Lady Betty tucked a pillow behind his back where he lay watching over his audience like a monarch acknowledging his subjects. A single candle illuminated the bedchamber, flickering in the air as Lady Betty had moved to and fro, following the doctor’s instructions with quiet efficiency. It cast sharp shadows across Papa’s face, emphasizing the wrinkles around the corners of his deep-set eyes.
Lady Betty and the doctor had, between them, carried Papa into the bedchamber, while Lavinia brought a washbowl and cloth. The doctor’s instructions, delivered in crisp, professional tones in his Scottish brogue, served to soothe Lavinia’s fear, forcing her to focus on the task at hand. Aunt Edna had languished on the parlor sofa, overcome by shock. But now, having recovered, she sat beside Lavinia while the doctor examined his patient.
“How is he, Dr. McIver?” Lavinia asked.
“He’s recovering, miss. His pulse is stronger than it was, though still a little uneven. I don’t see why he shouldn’t be up and about in a day or two. But…” He turned toward the patient, his tone growing stern. “You must take things easy, Lord de Grande. No more excitement—and I wouldn’t recommend traveling for a few days.”
He gestured to the phials on the table beside the bed. “Don’t forget now—two spoonsful of that tonic, three times a day. The laudanum is to be taken sparingly, and only if you have trouble sleeping.”
“Have no fear, doctor,” Lady Betty said. “We’ll take care of him.”
Aunt Edna opened her mouth to protest. Frowning at her aunt, Lavinia rose to her feet.
“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.
“No more than usual, lass. You might want to ensure that he takes his medicine.”
“What should I give him?”
The doctor smiled. “Anything he wants.”
“Good,” Papa said. “I’m hungry.”
“Dinner will be spoiled now,” Aunt Edna said. “But you’re welcome to stay, Dr. McIver. I’m sure the cook can salvage something edible.”
“Och no, Lady Yates, I wouldn’t put you to the trouble. I’d best be going.”
“I’ll show you out,” Lady Betty said. “It’s time I left, also—Lord de Grande is in good hands.”
“No,” Aunt Edna said, rising to her feet. “I should like you to stay.”
Lady Betty’s eyes widened. Then she nodded. “That’s most kind, Lady Yates. I’d be glad to.” She turned to the doctor. “Let me see you out, Dr. McIver, and we can discuss your account.”
The doctor exited the chamber, followed by Lady Betty.
“Aunt…” Lavinia began, but her aunt held up a hand.
“It’s perfectly natural to invite to dinner one who has done our family a service, child,” she said.
Lavinia smiled. Aunt Edna would never admit Lady Betty into her social circle. But Lavinia recognized the olive branch her aunt offered for what it was—a gesture of friendship that could never be openly acknowledged.
Aunt Edna turned to the figure sitting upright in the bed. “Richard, shall I send Sarah up with a tray? The ragout would lie heavy on you, but Cook makes a tolerable broth.”
“Very well, Edna,” Papa sighed, and Aunt Edna swept out of the bedchamber.
Lavinia approached her father and took his hand.
“You gave us all a fright, Papa. You shouldn’t have come to London if you weren’t feeling well. I could more easily have come to Springfield Cottage.”
“I wanted to visit London one last time,” Papa said breathlessly, “to see you enjoying the Season, as you deserved—the Season I always feared would be denied you. You’re my world, Lavinia—you know that, don’t you?”
“Dear Papa!” Lavinia stroked the back of his hand, running her fingertips across the translucent, papery skin, beneath which she could discern faint blue veins.
“And…” He drew in a deep breath, fighting for air. “The doctor was right about giving me what I want.”
