Addicted. Charlotte Featherstone
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I was, Lady Anais.” He straightened away from her. “I shall check in with you tomorrow to see how you are faring.”
“Surely you do not need to call on me tomorrow?’ Tis Christmas morn, and you have a wife and child that you will not wish to leave.”
He reached for her hand, clasping it tightly in his warm one. “I shall see you tomorrow, Lady Anais. Sleep well and remember you are not to exert yourself.” He snapped shut the wooden cylinder he had used to listen to her chest. “It’s utterly amazing. Your heart sounds much stronger than it did two days ago. If you keep this up, you shall be wandering about the woods in no time.”
“Thank you, Dr. Middleton.”
“Just Robert,” he murmured as he placed his hat over his dark blond hair. “We have, after all, known each other since we were in swaddling clothes.”
“Thank you, Robert,” Anais replied, knowing he would not be happy until she did so. And truth be told, she did feel silly acting so formal around him. She had known him all her life. He was Garrett’s younger brother after all.
“Send word to The Lodge if you need me. And remember, you are not to be near drafts or the cold air. The cold makes it harder for the heart to pump the blood. Your heart doesn’t need the strain. I’m afraid you shall have to miss out on the church service this evening. Your condition is delicate, you must not take any risks.”
“Mother says that she believes you are much too young to attend me,” Anais said, laughing at him and his boyish pout.
“No doubt she puts more stock in that old physician of hers, the one whose medical books were written in the time of the Bible.”
“She’s threatened to send him to me.”
“Whatever you do, don’t let him bleed you, Anais.”
“I won’t, Robert.”
“Well, then, if that is all, I shall be on my way. The weather, it appears, has taken a turn for the worst.”
“Never know what winter will bring in Worcestershire.”
He nodded and reached for his brown pigskin bag. “It’s much the same in Edinburgh. Well, then, good night, Anais, and happy Christmas to you.”
“To you, too. Wish Margaret the same and give your daughter a kiss for me.”
“I shall,” he said, beaming a wide smile at the mention of his child. “I certainly shall. Happy Christmas, Lady Ann,” he said, inclining his head as he passed her sister.
Ann came over to the bed and sat down beside her after Dr. Middleton had closed the door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize he was still here. He was up here for a very long time.”
Anais shrugged and picked at the loose thread of the woolen blanket that covered her. She couldn’t help but notice how pale her fingers still looked and how her veins, so blue and cold, could be seen through her skin, as if her flesh was nothing but transparent tissue that was used for papier-mâché.
“You are improving?” Ann captured her gaze. “You must be, for you look much better than you did a month ago when you returned from France. Lud, you looked on death’s door when Lord Broughton carried you in. I vow, it was providence indeed that you met up with him in Paris, for Aunt Millie would have been in hysterics had she to deal with you alone, and in a foreign city.”
“It was very fortunate that I met up with his lordship,” she muttered, not wanting to talk about Garrett and the events that had taken place.
“Has Dr. Middleton told you what your delicate condition is? He’s mentioned it several times to Mama and Papa, but he is rather vague to its cause.”
Anais let her sister see her impatience. “I have told you, Ann, that it is nothing more than a bit of fever and malaise.”
Ann arched an intelligent, blond brow, clearly not believing what she was hearing, but letting the rebuke slide. “Mother told Father that it is most likely your womanly organs rotting away in spinsterhood that is causing your heart to fail. But father believes that you’ve caught some sort of virulent brain fever from the French.”
Anais smiled and reached for Ann’s hand. “I vow, Ann, my womanly organs are just fine. And I am not allowing that quack, Dr. Thurston, to talk Mother into believing that my condition is nothing more than hysteria caused by my woman’s parts.”
Ann chuckled. “When you say it, Anais, it sounds like such flummery. How can a woman’s organs make one hysterical?”
“They can’t. Dr. Thurston just despises women, that is all.”
“Louisa has come to me.” Ann sobered. “I thought you would want to know that your maid is concerned that your last flux lasted nearly two weeks. It was rather…er…according to Louisa, it was rather heavy.”
“For heaven’s sake,” Anais groaned, blushing all the way to her scalp. “Is nothing sacred in this house?”
“Of course not,” Ann said with a grin. “In a house filled with women, how can a subject like monthlies be kept quiet? Still, Louisa fears that it may indeed be your womanly organs that are making you ill after all.”
“The humiliation!” Anais said with mock horror. “What? Do all the maids line up in a row while they gather our monthly padding and discuss our courses? Does the entire house know when one is early, or one is late?”
“I should think the late bit would be most talked about,” Ann said, sticking out her tongue in a cheeky manner. “Imagine the gossip if one of us were to miss our monthlies. Mother would interrogate us for hours if she ever found out.”
“Mama cares only about Mama. I doubt she’d care a tuppence about something as mundane as monthlies.”
“True,” Ann agreed. “But still, I thought you would like to know. And I want to know that you are on the mend. The bleeding has stopped, hasn’t it?” Ann asked, concern once again creeping into her eyes.
“It has.”
“Father said there was nothing wrong with you that rest won’t cure. He always takes up your side, you know.”
“You are right about Father having a soft spot for me. And thank heavens for that, because if it were up to Mama, I would be in the care of Dr. Thurston, being bled every day and confined to bed with my womanly organs while he contrives to find a way to keep them from making me mad.”
“Yes,” Ann said, laughing. “Papa adores you as I know very well that you adore him. Every man you have ever met is held up to him, aren’t they? He is the pinnacle that your suitors must strive for.”
Anais felt herself blush. It was true, no matter how silly the notion sounded. Her father was a good, kind, honest man. Was it so wrong for her to desire that the man she choose to marry and commit her life to, be nothing short of the sort her father was?
“And then there is Mama,” Ann said with a groan. “She is forever making me fuss over my appearance. She is only interested in me when I am looking pretty and am dressed in frilly gowns with layers of flounces and bows. She never bothers to read my poems, and furthermore, I don’t believe she listens to me when I sing, unless of course I’m surrounded by potential beaux. Then she uses it to her advantage to inform everyone, most embarrassingly, I might add, what a wonderful wife I shall make. I vow, Mama never has a substantial thought in her head. She never thinks of anything other than fashion and her toilette. How could father have married such a shallow person?”
“Love is blind, I suppose.” Anais thought of how she had been blinded by love. Love had stopped her from seeing what Lindsay was truly like. Naiveté had prevented her from realizing that Rebecca was not truly her dearest friend. She had been so blind to many things this past year.
“Anais,” Ann asked, her tone suddenly somber. “I wish to know if anything happened between you and Lindsay. You both left Bewdley