Sandra Madden (18 page)

"I... I..." Jane turned to Edmund, who nodded.

"Frances, I brought Mistress Kate with me to look after you. She has healed many children," he said, before leaving the child's bedside to give Kate room.

While Edmund had not the least knowledge of her nursing skills, Kate was grateful for his confidence, even though slightly exaggerated. But Frances obviously heeded her uncle's counsel. Her plump little body relaxed against the bedclothes.

Jane stood, allowing Kate to take her place on the bed.

"How old are you, Frances?" Kate asked as she sank to the child's side.

Frances held up her hand, spreading her chubby fingers as far apart as they would go.

"Five. My, my what a grown girl." Kate kept up a steady stream of chatter, asking myriad inconsequential questions as she examined the child.

She loved children. She loved their innocence and honesty. If fate and the constellations were kind, someday Kate would be a mother to even more children than the fortune-teller predicted. A half dozen at least. Such a brood would require an understanding husband.

A requirement her matchmaker should be made aware of. Nay. Edmund had promised to do no more matchmaking. Now, if Kate could only cure his arrogance.

He'd dared to claim himself as her lord and master!

Before she left London, the Earl of Stamford would discover the truth.

Kate took up Frances's hand in hers. "Do you know how to play draughts?"

"No."

"I will teach you then, and we shall play. 'Tis quite simple and amusing."

Kate left the girl's bed, crossing to the far side of the chamber where Edmund and Jane stood observing her.

"Do you know what ails Frances?" Lady Jane asked.

" 'Tis my belief that she has contracted measles."

"No!"

"The rash has started to appear on her chest."

"God's death!"

Edmund wrapped an arm around his horrified sister.

"There is naught to fear, my lady," Kate soothed.  “'Tis a mild case, I believe."

"What can be done?" Edmund asked.

"We shall keep Frances clean and comfortable. 'Tis all that can be done for the measles until they run their course."

"How long will she be ill?" Jane asked in a shaky voice.

"Ten days, mayhap less. The itching will begin soon, but I have a remedy. Do not worry, Lady Chumley. Your beautiful daughter will not be marked."

"Are you certain?"

"If it pleases you, I shall stay with Frances until the worst has passed."

"It does please me," Jane declared.

"How long shall that be?" Edmund wanted to know.

"Three days, perchance more. She will most certainly be fretful."

"Would you mind?" Jane asked, with an eagerness she did not conceal.

" 'Twould be my pleasure."

"I have not been especially kind to you in the past," Jane allowed.

Kate gave the worried mother a smile. "Neither have you been mean or wicked, my lady. Your child needs my help, and I am most willing to do what I can."

Jane looked to her brother. "Edmund, under the circumstances Aunt Cordelia can certainly spare Kate, can she not?"

"Aye." He nodded and his deep green gaze met Kate's. "God save you," he said softly.

Kate's heart fluttered like a baby chick's wing beneath the intensity of his gaze. If she were not mistaken 'twas a look of admiration and tenderness. Aye, tenderness reflected in the meadow-green gleam of his eyes.

While her thoughts seemed frozen, Kate's body felt as if it were bathed in warm springwaters. For a moment she lost sight of her purpose.

Until little Frances whined. "Mama..."

Kate's training asserted itself. "I should begin at once to make Frances comfortable," she said, becoming a bustling model of efficiency. "Cool compresses and fresh air are in order. Prithee have your cook prepare delicious puddings and sassafras tea."

Edmund drew her aside. "I do not like to leave you."

"But you must. Did you suffer from measles as a child?"

He appeared startled. "Nay."

"Then you must leave at once."

The earl's dark frown deepened, his whisper a low rumble. "Might I contract a child's illness?"

She wore a grave expression as she nodded her head. " 'Tis possible. Measles are as contagious as the plague."

He sucked in his breath. "Oh!"

She had not meant to cause him concern. Kate feared Edmund had been too long hearing his aunt's litany of aches and illnesses.

"Have you had measles?" he asked.

"Aye, as a child. Therefore, I cannot contract the illness again. But I cannot vouchsafe for you."

"By your leave, then," he said. "Fare thee well, Frances. I shall leave my oldest... and dearest friend with you in my stead. She will help you more than I ever could."

Kate's heart hummed at hearing Edmund call her his dearest friend. She could not hope for more. The striking Earl of Stamford was Kate's oldest and dearest friend.

He blew the little girl a kiss.

Kate wished for one, too.

Frances acknowledged her uncle's parting with a melancholy wave of a chubby hand. "Fare thee well."

Kate called just as he reached the door. "Lord Stamford, please make my apologies to the Duke of Doneval and James Moore,"

"Oh, aye, aye."

"You will not forget?"

"Nay."

"My thanks to you."

"I shall return for you in three days' time, Mistress Kate."

* * * *

Edmund stopped every day at his sister's home, hoping to see Kate. He never did. She refused to leave her patient's side, a fact Jane reported to him with newfound respect. While he knew Kate possessed many fine traits, Edmund had been impressed with how quickly she won over his niece.

But 'twas a long three days Edmund spent without Kate. He escorted his aunt to Lady Mason's primero parties and attended Parliament. He played a game of tennis with Christopher and billiards with Robin, losing at both. The worst of it was responding to daily messages directed to Kate from the kind old duke and lecherous James Moore. Before now, Edmund hadn't realized how persistent or dangerous his barrister could be.

And the duke! 'Twas not right for a man his age to be dangling after so young a woman as Kate. Doneval renewed Edmund's fears of what might happen to Kate in service of a noble home.

He missed her as well. He missed her bright smile and the swish of her skirts, her laughter and companionship. Stamford House had become the quiet, dull place it had been before Kate and Aunt Cordelia came to London.

But in the garden there was a sign of the magic Kate wrought. The first rose had bloomed.

At last the message that he impatiently awaited arrived. Frances had passed the first agonizing days of her illness without a sign of complications. Kate was ready to return to Stamford House.

Despite the excitement stewing in his belly, Edmund felt weary and a bit out of sorts when his coach pulled up at his sister's town house. He blamed his woebegone state on Kate's absence. But when she came into view, she looked worse than he felt.

She slanted him a wan smile. Slashes of deep purple smudges settled in pockets beneath her eyes. Strands of Kate's silky flaxen hair fell limply askew. Her shoulders sloped and her gait had lost its bounce.

Even so, the sight of her warmed Edmund's heart, his body, his soul. He helped her into the coach and they were away at once. "Kate! How do you fare?"

"Weary, my lord, and grateful that you arrived promptly."

"Along with the rest of my family, you have made too much in the past of my tardiness," he said, peeved. "Do you think I like to keep people waiting?"

"By your leave?"

Edmund groaned. Why had he snapped at Kate when, ever since she'd been away from Stamford House, he'd looked forward to being with her again? "Forgive me."

"Methinks someone rose on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"Kate, my thanks for having saved my precious niece."

"Frances is a strong child. I did not save her, only nursed her."

"My sister looks upon you in a different light."

"Jane was good to me during Frances's illness," Kate acknowledged, and then yawned.

Although Edmund could not fathom how even the most weary of travelers could fall asleep in the rocking, jarring coach, Kate did. The moment he fell silent, she was asleep. Her head slumped forward. She would end with a stiff neck if he did nothing.

Wrapping one arm about her, Edmund drew her close until her head rested on his shoulder. His heart, or something near to it, swelled, pressed against his chest. The tightness forced him to take shallow breaths. All the way home.

Unaware of Edmund's strange physical state, Kate rested against him like a sleeping doll. In the circle of his arm, she felt light as gossamer, appeared as vulnerable as a child. Indeed, she was but a country girl, a gardener's daughter. Gone were the spit and fire of her spirit, lost to sleep and dreams. As he gazed at her dark eyelashes curling against her cheek, the ribbon of sunlight caressing her moist, barely parted lips, Edmund experienced an epiphany. Kate was a woman to be protected and pampered.

But not by him, of course. She was forbidden to him.

He woke her just before they reached Stamford House. "I believe you should retire immediately and rest."

"I believe I shall."

And he would as well.

* * * *

Edmund did something he never did in the afternoon. He took to his bed. What's more, he was asleep before his man had closed the drapes. The next awareness he had was the sound of his bedchamber door opening. He looked up to see Kate standing in the threshold. A vision. She held a candle and wore only a linen shift of fine white lawn. Golden wheat curls tumbled past her creamy shoulders in breathtaking abandon. There was only one explanation. He'd died and passed to heaven.

But the vision spoke. "Are you well, Edmund?"

"Aye." He meant to sound strong and firm. Instead, he croaked.

"I was about to retire for the evening when... when I had a feeling you might need me."

Need her? He wanted Kate so badly he'd become ill with desire. " 'Twas it a feeling, or the stars that guided you to my bedchamber?"

"A feeling. You did not join Lady Cordelia and me for dinner."

"Am I so grounded in my habits, then?"

"Aye."

"Why would I need you, Kate?"

"As... as nurse."

"Nay. I do not require a nurse this eve."

She inclined her head. "Are you certain that you are not ill?"

"I shall be fine, if left alone to rest."

"Why is it I do not quite believe you?" She marched toward his bed.

Edmund's feverish body stiffened.

"Go away, Kate. Have you no shame? You are a maiden woman," he railed at her in mounting panic. "You cannot march into a man's bedchamber with no fare-thee-well."

"The nuns at the convent nursed men all the time, and no one thought the worst of them."

"You are not a nun." If she were, Edmund knew for certain he would be struck down dead for his wild thoughts.

"I know that well." She grinned mischievously.

A deeper heat struck his feverish body.

'Twas the fever that made him want her more than life itself. But his pride prevailed over all else. Edmund did not want Kate to see him in this weakened, sickly condition.

She placed a cool, soft hand on his brow.

"Go away," he murmured.

The hazy outline of Kate's magnificent breasts and trim waist showed through the thin fabric of her gown.

Sweet fragrance of roses filled his senses. Why was she torturing him?

"Prithee, go away," he moaned.

The last thing he remembered was Kate's sympathetic smile; the last thing he felt was the gentle touch of her lips upon his brow.

* * * *

When he awoke the next morning, she sat beneath a window embroidering.

"Ouch! Oh, fie!"

Edmund chuckled. "Tsk, tsk. 'Tis not the language of a lady who sticks herself with the needle."

"Edmund!" Kate jumped up and dashed to his side. After placing her hand on his brow, her eyes danced with joy. " 'Tis over. The fever is broken."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, raising to brace himself on his elbows.

"Take care," she cautioned. "You will be weak for several days more."

"Days?"

"You have the measles, Lord Stamford. You have been in and out of delirium for almost five days."

"The devil you say!"

She raised her brows. "Tsk, tsk. 'Tis not the language a lord should utter before an innocent girl."

"Have you been my nurse?" Edmund asked, with a sickening dread.

"Nay. 'Twould not be proper. Aunt Cordelia and a hired nurse have been at your side."

"Aunt Cordelia?"

"Your illness has kept her well occupied."

He felt his face, felt small bumps. "I must see my reflection at once."

"I do not recommend it."

"At once, Kate!"

She brought him the polished metal he used to shave. Edmund viewed a pale man with a face dotted with fierce red spots. The bottom fell from his somersaulting stomach. He resembled a spotted owl! Even a mother could not love such an apparition.

"Your rash will disappear soon," Kate said softly.

"Leave me." God's breath, she had seen him like this for days. The humiliation was too much to bear.

Once more, Kate attempted to console him. "The spots are fading, soon you will not see them at all.”

"I shall recover at Rose Hall," Edmund barked. "We shall return to the country at once."

Chapter Twelve

Saturn in the sixth house brings trust and tranquility

Kate watched over her shoulder for Edmund's bloodhound at all times, fearing the dreadful creature would pounce on her, as he was wont to do. Despite the constant threat of Percy's exuberance, Kate had many reasons to be happy being back in the country. The bullish man could no longer follow her, for one.

She paid her first visit to the stargazer on foot.

"Jutta, nothing has gone according to your predictions. Something is amiss in the heavens." For the first time in Kate's memory, her faith in astrology severely wavered.