To Love a Tormented Earl - Bridget Barton Page 0,65

into the darkened room from the corridor.

Emilia roused herself and took the tray from the housekeeper.

‘Mr. Whitmore’s medicine,’ Mrs. Gale said, assisting in pouring the murky tonic from the thick glass bottle into a silver soup spoon.

Emilia took the spoon and held it to Papa’s lips, as the gentleman’s eyes fluttered open. He swallowed the liquid without difficulty.

‘There, Papa,’ Emilia said with a smile.

But a moment later, her expression changed to concern as her hand flew to her mouth.

Papa’s eyes bulged. Saliva spilled from his lips and his facial muscles contorted.

‘Papa?’ Emilia said.

His hands clawed at the embroidered coverlet.

‘Papa!’ Emilia cried as her father began to gasp in an alarming way.

His fingers twisted, his mouth opened and shut, dribbling as it did most frightfully.

‘Mrs. Gale!’ Emilia said.

The housekeeper took her hand and patted it, a familiarity earned after years of loyalty despite the troubles of the family. ‘There, there, Miss,’ Mrs. Gale said. ‘Mr. Whitmore always reacts so to his medicine. You must know it.’

‘Does he?’ Emilia gasped, aware that she had not administered it herself in some time.

‘That he does, Miss. You mustn’t trouble yourself.’

Unsettled and distressed, Emilia said no more on the subject, although she could find no means to quiet her anxious thoughts.

Oh, Papa. Would that I knew some better way to cure you, when this medicine seems to harm as much as help.

Perhaps the sanatorium would provide some new cure, and he would cease to suffer.

Miserable, Emilia returned to her armchair and picked up the Bible, but reading it did little to soother either her or the invalid now.

***

A knock on his door gave Max a turn. He was expecting no visitors. It was nine in the evening and Roberts had left by early afternoon to return to Ceastre. Who could it be?

Jollyboy hopped up, tongue out and ears perked. Then the dog’s tail began to wag most vigorously. This was even more perplexing.

‘Who is it, Samuel?’ Max called.

Then Roberts marched in, followed by the footman. Jollyboy bounded over to the lieutenant, ecstatic to see his other master again. Max looked on in astonishment as Roberts bent over and ruffled the dogs’ ears, cooing greetings.

‘What on earth are you doing back here?’ Max demanded, then grimaced at his own ill-manners. ‘That is to say—you only just left—’

Roberts straightened and waved a hand in dismissal of Max’s explanations. ‘I know it’s most irregular, old chap. I hadn’t thought to return, and expected to see you next at the ball. But something has happened and I felt I must inform you of it.’

Astonished, Max gestured to a chair and sat down as well.

Taking the seat indicated, Roberts continued, ‘It’s Lady Charlotte,’ he said. ‘I believe I have an idea as to why she was seeking the heir.’

Max’s eyes widened. Then with a flick of his fingers he caught Samuel’s eye. ‘Calvados for the lieutenant and I, Samuel,’ he said. He sensed a drink would be welcome to take this all in.

‘She wishes to become engaged,’ Roberts said after Samuel had given them their drinks. ‘To me.’

Max blinked and took a sip of brandy.

‘She has endeavoured to isolate herself with me, in circumstances that one could very well describe as compromising. And she made her interest in me quite open. One has the impression she is...impatient to proceed.’

‘The minx,’ Max murmured.

‘It has created a delicate situation, Milton. Should we be observed next time she manipulates the scene to create improper...privacy...I am convinced everyone must assume we have developed an understanding. After only a day!’

Roberts betrayed a sincere distress at the notion. Max sipped more Calvados, the apple brandy burning his tongue and throat.

‘It’s all good and well, pretending to be the heir for two days,’ Roberts continued. ‘But should your uncle and aunt become concerned about my intentions, they are certain to question my claim all the more stringently. We must resolve the entire affair as soon as possible, Milton. It cannot go on!’

An idea was forming in Max’s mind, and he said nothing as he allowed it to take shape. Roberts continued to fret between sips of Calvados, one hand absently stroking the dog’s head. At last the latter fixed his eyes on Max and demanded, ‘Well? Have you anything at all to say about all of this?’

Max narrowed his eyes, setting the glass of brandy down on a side table.

‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I do.’

‘And?’

Peering at Roberts, his mind at work, he said, ‘We shall bring the whole matter to light at the ball tomorrow evening, old