Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1. Louise Allen

details. “Occupied,” she finished, hoping Lady Elspeth hadn’t noticed her sudden dismay. “I do enjoy children.”

      “Then I should be grateful. Mind, Catherine, that you let us drink our tea in peace.”

      “Yes, Mama.” Lady Catherine looked up to give Laura a beaming smile. “You’re nice, just like Uncle Beau said. I like you, even if you do wear such ugly gowns.”

      Lady Elspeth’s eyes widened and she straightened, as if to make a grab for her lamentably plain-spoken child. But as she leaned forward, her face grew paler still. Clutching a handkerchief to her mouth, she struggled from her seat and seized a nearby chamberpot.

      “Ugh,” Catherine said over the ensuing sound of her mother’s retching. “I hate Mama being sick. Uncle Beau says soon she’ll be better, but she’s been sick ever so long.” The small chin wavered. “It scares me,” she admitted, tears forming in her eyes.

      Laura had intended to keep this meeting as brief as possible. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave a frightened little girl in need of comfort, or depart without attempting to help alleviate the distress of her suffering mother.

      She hugged Catherine, who came into her arms with no resistance, her body trembling. “Your uncle Beau is right, Catherine. Your mama won’t be sick for too much longer.” Not knowing what the child had been told, she decided not to explain further. “I’ve nursed lots of people, and I can tell when someone is very ill and when they’re about to get better. Your mama will get better.”

      “You’re sure?” The child looked up at her, anxious eyes huge in her troubled face.

      “Cross my heart,” Laura promised.

      The girl sighed. “If you could keep the angels from taking Uncle Kit, I suppose you can keep them from Mama.”

      “Why don’t you go back to the nursery and find your cloak and some heavy shoes. Then you’ll be ready to walk when your mama and I finish tea.”

      The child nodded. “She won’t drink any, though. She doesn’t drink anything at tea now, and we don’t have the pretty pink cakes anymore ‘cause she says the smell makes her ill.”

      “How disappointing,” Laura said. “You know, if we meet Squire Everett on our walk and you ask him nicely, I wager he’d have his cook bake some pretty pink cakes. You could share them with your uncle Beau in the nursery, where the smell wouldn’t bother your mama.”

      The small face brightened. “He would? I shall ask today!” The child leaped up and hugged her. “You must have some cakes, too. Oh, I do like you! I’m sorry I said your gown was ugly. Though truly it is.”

      Grinning, Laura bent down until her lips were close to the girl’s ear. “I know,” she whispered, and winked.

      With a giggle, the little girl skipped out. Laura turned to the mother, who was now wiping her face and trying to gather the remnants of her dignity.

      “M-Mrs. Martin, I do apolo—”

      “Please, Lady Elspeth, there’s no need! I’m a nurse, you will recall. Come, sit down and try to get comfortable. Has your physician given you any remedies to help alleviate the sickness?”

      Wearily Lady Elspeth settled against the cushions. “He said an overheating of the blood causes it, and ordered Nurse to mix up some vile concoction that was supposed to cool the humors, but I couldn’t keep it down. Nor would I let him bleed me, as he urged and Wentworth pleaded. I—I’m already so weak, I cannot see how bleeding would help.”

      Laura nodded. “My uncle found, after much study, that bleeding does tend to weaken the patient. He recommended more gentle means—teas blended with chamomile and peppermint to soothe the stomach, and lozenges composed of sugar, ginger root, and lavender to suck on when the queasy feeling strikes. I—I have a stock made up and could obtain some for you, if you should like to try.”

      “Just now I’m willing to try anything short of a pistol bullet to the head,” Lady Elspeth replied grimly.

      “I shall make up a tea at once. Here, recline with this pillow to your back. A cloth dipped in cooled rose-water applied to your temples may help, as well. I’ll fetch one. Try it while I brew the tea.”

      “You truly are an angel of mercy, Mrs. Martin,” Lady Elspeth sighed as she settled back. “But I did so want to chat with you.”

      “Later. First, you must rest and rally your strength.” Laura paused. “By the way, does your daughter know the nature of your illness?”

      Lady Elspeth opened one eye. “No. I thought it best not to tell her. For years she’s begged me for a baby brother or sister. I feared if … if this ended as the previous two have, she’d be disappointed—and upset. When her dog died last summer, she was distraught for days.”

      “She’s upset now, worrying about her mama,” Laura said gently. “’Tis your choice, my lady, but if it were me I’d tell her what afflicts you is normal and shall soon pass. Children that young do not understand how babies arrive. If you tell her only that a new sibling is a happy possibility, she would probably be no more than mildly disappointed should your hopes … not be realized.”

      “She worries?” Lady Elspeth said. “Ah, my poor babe. I suppose I’ve been too ill and cross to notice. Perhaps you are right, Mrs. Martin.” She forced a tired smile. “A wise angel as well as a guardian one.”

      “Rest now and I’ll fetch your tea. We’ll talk later.” Much later, if I have any say in it, Laura thought.

      She’d brushed through that well enough, and the idea of walking in the garden with Lady Catherine—someone with whom she needn’t be always on her guard—was enormously appealing. Perhaps she’d slip invisibly through the last few days of tending Kit Bradsleigh and reach home safely after all.

       Chapter Eight

      Feet clothed in sturdy walking boots and hands encumbered by a linen cloth filled with jam tarts fresh from the oven, two days later Laura entered the garden.

      Though she still spent much of her time alone, keeping vigil over Kit Bradsleigh at night and dining in her room, she now had these afternoon outings with Lady Catherine to look forward to. Dr. MacDonovan had informed her this morning that, unless their patient took a sudden turn for the worse, he expected to leave at week’s end. By then, Kit Bradsleigh would no longer need round-the-clock care.

      Which meant surely Kit’s older brother would be leaving soon, as well. A departure which she viewed with increasingly mixed feelings.

      Removed from his too perceptive scrutiny, she’d be safe once more. And if life without the surge of mingled elation and alarm he sparked in her whenever he appeared would be less energizing, she’d do well to remember why she’d previously rejoiced at a life of dull monotony.

      She’d also be able to return home, though she’d still spend much time at Everett Hall tending the recuperating invalid. And visiting her new friend Lady Elspeth.

      Laura shook her head ruefully. Lady Elspeth insisted Laura called her “Ellie,” claiming she could not remain on formal terms with the woman who’d saved her brother’s life and the practitioner whose treatments had considerably eased her own misery. She treated Laura with such beguiling warmth that, having been so long deprived of the companionship of a woman her own age, Laura had great trouble maintaining any reserve.

      Catching sight of Lady Catherine, whose nurse, though recovered from her ailment, was happy to let Laura walk her energetic charge about the garden, Laura waved.

      She loved spending time with Catherine, despite the ever-present ache of regret for what might have been and now would never be. She’d grown up the youngest child of a large family. When her elder siblings returned to visit with their offspring,