Page 37 of Taming a Beastly Duke
Adelaide stepped back, but she would not leave the duke. She stared at Edwin as he shouted for the physician, wondering how he had appeared so quickly. Both the dowager duchess and Edith would have needed to struggle through the crowd of dancers, which would have taken several moments. Yet Lord Edwin appeared as though he had been watching his cousin during the dance he shared with Adelaide.
Almost as if he expected it, she thought, uncertain of the source of her suspicion, but as sure of it as she was sure that her name was Adelaide Barrett.And what was Mr. Fletcher doing already here? Does he make it a habit of following his patients on excursions?
The afternoon ended then, with the quiet chaos of getting Marcus off the ground and in the carriage. Mr. Fletcher rode with the family, making the coach feel suffocating and oppressive. Adelaide sat quietly while The physician mumbled to himself, fussing over the duke.
“Your Grace, I must insist that you take to your bed and stay there,” he said. “I am making this order indefinite, until I tell you otherwise. You must regain your strength before exerting yourself in such a manner, or next time you might not be so fortunate.”
Marcus mumbled something in return, his head bobbing listlessly as the carriage bounced on the road. Adelaide tried not to stare as the physician continued monitoring the duke’s heartbeat. He sounded very concerned, like a good physician. So why was he looking at Lord Edwin with a smug smirk?
***
Back at the manor, Adelaide lingered in the hallway as Mr. Fletcher emerged from the duke’s chambers with Lord Edwin. She held her breath, hoping for good news. They did not see her at first, so she waited for them to finish their conversation. They were speaking quietly, clearly trying to hide the discussion from potential eavesdroppers. This suspicion was confirmed when they noticed her presence and fell silent at once.
“Miss Barrett,” Lord Edwin said, approaching with a warm, measured smile. “Do not fret. Marcus is sleeping soundly now, and Mr. Fletcher has his fits under control. He will be all right. He simply needs some rest.”
Mr. Fletcher nodded, giving her a sympathetic smile that looked it had been plucked directly from the villain from a storybook.
“I will do everything I can do for His Grace,” he said.
Adelaide nodded, reflexively curtseying to the physician.
“You are a wonderful physician,” she said meekly. She felt terribly uneasy, but she did not wish to cause any trouble.
The gentlemen silently excused themselves and Lord Edwin escorted the physician down the stairs. The solicitous effort and the seamless way the two men seemed to perform as if they had spent months rehearsing for a stage play, made her shudder. Her suspicions were mounting, yet she knew she could say nothing. To accuse anyone of anything without evidence, which she knew she would not garner from them, would make her sound hysterical. She retreated to her chambers, her mind churning with questions about the strange events of the afternoon. Something was terribly wrong, she was sure. However, could she figure out what it was before it was too late?
Chapter Seventeen
For the next few days, Marcus remained in his chambers, claiming illness each time his grandmother or Edwin knocked, trying to coax him into leaving his room. He scarcely touched the meals brought to his room, despite the weakness and exhaustion he perpetually felt, preferring to delicately sip water to wash down the mercury tonic Mr. Fletcher had given him. He could think of nothing other than the timing of the death of Mr. Morrison. He had believed that the physician had known what was ailing him, and he had promised solutions.
It made no sense for Marcus to be so troubled and skeptical about a sudden death. It happened all the time, after all. What gnawed at Marcus during his every waking moment was the alleged cause of the accident. The claim had been that the weather had made for a treacherous journey. Yet as he thought about it over the following days, he realized that his sister was right. The day the physician had called on him, the weather had been clear and pleasant. There was no storm until the following morning. So, why would anyone claim that inclement weather had been the cause of Mr. Morrison’s death?
He was so distraught over the death of his family’s long-time physician and friend that it was five days before Marcus noticed the change. He rose from bed after another fitful night’s sleep and began pacing, moving his gaze from the black rug to the rising sunlight outside and then back again, his feet moving faster and faster.
The clock chiming seven o’clock caused him to cease his pacing and whip his head in the direction of the startling sound. Only then did he realize that there was no crippling dizziness or nausea, and his vision was virtually clear, despite the frantic movement of his eyes from the floor of the darkened room to the brightness of outdoors.
He walked to his mirror, expecting to see waxen, sunken cheeks and dull, bleary eyes. To his surprise, however, there was a faint pink tint to his skin and the flesh covering his cheekbones appeared less taut. The darkness beneath his eyes lingered from his recent sleeplessness. However, it was greatly diminished, and his eyes were considerably clearer and more alert. Could it be that Dr. Fletcher had resolved his illness in such a short time?
The puzzlement of Mr. Morrison’s death temporarily fell to the back of his mind. He summoned his valet to help him dress in a crisp but plain black suit. Then, he descended the stairs, greeted by a frenzy of servants rushing by, talking urgently about preparations for a ball. It took Marcus a moment to decipher that they were talking about his grandmother’s ball, which was taking place that evening.
He considered retreating back to his chambers, but Miss Potter noticed him as she hurried by with a stack of silver trays.
“Your Grace,” she said breathlessly, her eyes wide and briefly bewildered. “How are you feeling?”
Marcus gave her a curt nod, recalling her insolence during Mr. Morrison’s examination.
“I feel a bit better,” he said gruffly. “Where is Grandmother?”
The maid glanced over her shoulder for a little longer than Marcus believed was necessary. When she faced Marcus again, she was smiling, looking delighted and relieved.
“She is in the ballroom, discussing this evening’s ball with your house guests,” she said. “I shall inform her that you have left your room. She will be thrilled.”
Before Marcus could deter her, she rushed off in the direction of the hallway leading to the ballroom. Marcus sighed, slowly following behind the maid.
I ought to cast her out, he thought bitterly. She will likely be the death of me.
He found his grandmother in the center of the ballroom with Edith and Lady Helena. She was speaking to Miss Potter, who pointed at the doorway as he entered.
Augusta turned and smiled brilliantly at Marcus, rushing to embrace him.
