To Tempt a Scandalous Lord by Liana De la Rosa

Chapter Fifteen

“An urgent note has arrived for you, your ladyship.”

Alicia quickly slid a sheet of paper over the essay she was drafting and looked up. “Who is it from, Stewart?”

“The Duchess of Ashwood, my lady.”

The seal on the back of the letter was her sister-in-law’s, and she felt a pang of concern as she opened it. Niall had not come home the previous night. She’d guessed he’d stayed away due to their argument, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Alicia had kept an ear trained to the door connecting their chambers, and she had not heard movement in there at any point during the night. After she had risen for the day, Jane had confirmed that the marquess had not returned to Campbell House the night before. Her maid also had mentioned Niall’s valet had seemed anxious, but the man would not disclose what had him distressed.

Plucking the seal free, Alicia quickly took in Juliana’s hasty script before the import of the woman’s message slammed into her like a runaway horse.

“Stewart, have the carriage brought around as quickly as possible.”

Jumping to her feet, Alicia raced to her chambers and tore into her dressing room, on the hunt for a serviceable gown.

“I thought you liked that day gown,” Jane said from behind her. “The jonquil color is flattering against your complexion.”

“Because you have a great eye for such details, dear Jane. And I love this dress, but I can’t wear it to the foundling home,” she murmured, pushing aside ensembles much more suited to a drawing room than a sick room.

Jane cleared her throat. Rather noisily. “I thought you told me his lordship asked you not to visit Little Windmill House anymore?”

Alicia paused for a heartbeat, an ache throbbing in her chest. “He did, but that was before there was an outbreak of sickness sweeping through the home.”

“What do you mean?”

“Juliana’s note indicated that Niall has fallen ill, along with several of the youngsters.” She glanced over her shoulder at her friend. “I have to see if I can help.”

“Well, of course you do,” the maid huffed, nudging Alicia aside. Striding to a clothing rack on the other side of the room, she quickly grabbed a rust-colored muslin gown Alicia used to wear while gardening. “This should do.”

“It will do perfectly.” She immediately spun about so Jane could help her out of her pretty day dress.

Ten minutes later, Alicia raced down the stairs, a nondescript cloak about her shoulders and a serviceable apron tucked under her arm. Her maid followed closely on her steps.

“Are you sure I cannot go? I’d like to help,” Jane said.

“Until I see for myself what the status of the situation is, I’d prefer for you to stay here.” Alicia enfolded the other woman’s hand into her own. “It might be dangerous, and I want you to remain safe.”

“What about you, my lady?” Jane squeezed her fingers. “Who will make sure you’re safe?”

A shiver ran through her body, and Alicia clenched her jaw against it. “If this is what I suspect it might be, I should be able to keep myself safe and hopefully help those who are ill.”

As she settled onto the carriage seat and watched Campbell House disappear down the street, she hoped she was right.

When the carriage stopped in front of Little Windmill House, Alicia flew out of the conveyance and up the front steps before the footman had a chance to assist her.

A worn-looking gentleman answered the door. “We are not accepting guests at this time, ma’am. I’d be happy to schedule an appointment for you to tour the premises on a future date.”

“I do not need an appointment,” she declared, pushing past him into the foyer. “I am here to see my husband.”

The man’s eyes were owlish. “Your husband?”

With his rumpled coat, messy hair, and cravat askew, it was obvious the man was exhausted. Alicia felt for him, but she had a task to see to. Storming away, Alicia called over her shoulder, “Where is Lord Inverray?”

A gasp chased her, immediately followed by rapid footsteps. “I apologize for my rudeness, your ladyship.”

“You were not rude in the least, Mr…?” She frowned at him as he came to walk by her side. Alicia could not place him, but then she was aware she had not met all the teachers yet.

“Bowers. I teach history here.”

“How are the children? Her Grace of Ashwood indicated several had taken ill with some unknown ague.”

“They are—” Mr. Bowers hesitated, and she could feel the concern wafting off of him in waves. “There are several who are nearing death’s door. The physician does not know what ails them.”

Alicia clenched her eyes shut and attempted to corral her fears behind gates made of resoluteness. If the physician was unable to determine the ailment, perhaps she had been mistaken in her suspicions. “If you would be so kind as to tell where I might find his lordship, I will see how I can be of service.”

Mr. Bowers stumbled to a halt, but it took several steps for Alicia to realize he no longer walked at her side. Pivoting, she frowned when she spied him staring at her, his expression ashen.

“If I may be so bold to say, it might be best for you to leave, your ladyship. Death waits inside, and I’m certain the marquess would not want his new wife subjected to his touch.”

“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Bowers.” Alicia managed a weak smile. “But my wedding vows said I would take Inverray in sickness and in health, and I am prepared for the unpleasantness I may encounter.”

The man worried his lip for a moment and finally nodded. “Very well. His lordship is in a chamber on the third floor. His room is separate from the sick children, but very near it, so the nurses can administer aid to all those afflicted.”

“Thank you.” She pressed her lips together as she calmed her fears. “Now please ask Cook to have several pots of water boiling and lots of soap on hand. We’re desperately going to need them.”

Steeling her spine, Alicia made her way up the stairs to the third floor.

Several maids bustled to and fro down the hall, disappearing into one room and reappearing with heaps of bedding and other cloths piled high in their hands. They offered Alicia quick, polite curtseys and then hurried away.

She cautiously approached the first door and peered in. The house manager, Mrs. Simpson, sat between two small cots, her gray hair pulled up in a haphazard knot and a soiled apron covering her form. Her shirtsleeves were rolled past her elbows as she coaxed little Edith MacLean to drink some water. The poor child could barely lift her head, so Mrs. Simpson assisted her.

The older woman started when Alicia halted by her side. “Your ladyship, whatever are you doing here?”

“I am here to help, of course.” Alicia touched the woman on the shoulder. “When is the last time you slept?”

“Ummm…” Mrs. Simpson’s brows drew together. “I can’t recall.”

“That’s what I thought.” Alicia slipped her own apron over her shoulders and tied the sash around her waist. “Now that I’m here, I want you to give your sullied clothes to the maids and instruct them to wash the items, as well as all the soiled bedding, in the hottest water they can stand. Then, I want you to clean your hands with plenty of soap and hot water. This illness is passed through bodily fluid, and if we don’t want it to spread beyond those currently afflicted, everyone needs to be mindful of heeding these precautions.”

“Do you know what ails them? The physician believed it a stomach malady.”

Alicia bit her lip. “If I am not mistaken, it’s cholera.”

The woman’s gasp made the MacLean sisters stir in their beds. Mrs. Simpson pressed a hand to her chest and when the girls finally settled again, she turned wide eyes on Alicia. “Cholera? But are you sure?”

Alicia recited a list of symptoms, and the older woman confirmed the patients had suffered some or all of them. The confirmation both relieved and frightened her. And although she was afraid to ask, Alicia forced the question from her lips.

“Am I to assume the marquess is stricken as well?”

The older woman’s shoulders drooped. “He began to experience symptoms last night. He did not want you to know.”

The revelation still hurt. “Well, I’m here now, and we’ll do what we can to get him and these children healthy and hale once again.”

“Do you think it’s possible? I’ve been preparing myself for what seemed like the inevitable,” Mrs. Simpson choked out, her watery gaze trained on the two frail forms within the beds.

“If we can keep them hydrated, of course we can,” Alicia declared with more confidence than she felt.

“But, my lady, I haven’t been able to rouse them enough to drink any water.” Mrs. Simpson’s voice pitched high in panic.

“Then I will give it a try while you rest.” Alicia looped her arm around the woman and escorted her to the door. “Now wash up, thoroughly, and get some rest. I will do my best to care for the children and my quarrelsome husband.”

A small smile curved Mrs. Simpson’s lips. “I told him to leave before he grew ill, but he refused. He tended to the sisters personally, until he couldn’t any longer.”

Her stubborn and foolhardy husband had a heart of gold, especially when it came to the children. Imagine what he would do to protect their offspring, whenever they came.

Alicia bit the inside of her cheek. It would do no good to break down now when there was so much to do. She also wanted Mrs. Simpson to feel confident enough in the care she would provide that she would be able to rest.

“His lordship is going to be livid you’re here,” the older woman continued, unaware of her thoughts.

“Oh he will, so perhaps it is a good thing he does not possess the strength to argue with me at the moment,” Alicia declared. She reached out to squeeze the woman’s arm. “I suppose I should introduce the marquess to his new nurse.”

After ensuring Mrs. Simpson heeded her words and went to rest, Alicia washed her hands in a basin a maid had promptly delivered. Next, she took time to encourage the MacLean sisters to drink some water, and then stubbornly managed to get them to eat several small bites of bread. Satisfied they were resting comfortably, Alicia bathed her hands again.

Eventually, she stood outside Niall’s door.

As she tucked stray strands of hair back into her bun, her hands shook. Niall would be upset she was here, of that she had no doubt. But would he demand she leave again? Another rejection from him would cut to the quick, but this was not the time to be thinking about personal feelings. Sick children were counting on her, on them both. If her husband had any objections, she would not acknowledge them.

Setting her jaw, she peered around the doorframe.

Niall lay on his side in a narrow cot, his back to the door. With his dark hair loose about him, she guessed he was asleep. However, in the next moment, he stiffened and leaned over to retch into a pan on the floor.

Alicia moved to his side in an instant, smoothing lank, dark hair from his pallid face and murmuring low, sympathetic sounds. He finally fell back on the pillow, panting with exertion, and his eyes clenched shut. Was he in pain? Seeing him so spent, so weak, made the back of her eyes burn.

She reached for a wet cloth and trailed it gently across his brow. “Would you like some water?”

Niall’s eyes flew open, and it took him a moment to focus on her. Crimson swept across his cheekbones as his pupils dilated. “Mo chreach, why in the hell are you here?” he rasped.

“Because you’re ill, of course.” She snorted, continuing to cleanse his face. “I’m your wife, and the least I can do is see you through this.”

He moaned, trying to pull the sheet over his head. “But you’ll become ill, too. I ordered all the patronesses to stay away to help contain the disease, but I should have known you’d require a direct order.”

“How silly you are to think I would follow a direct order from you. You’re no general,” Alicia replied smartly. “As it is, I’m here now and I intend to stay.”

“Stubborn woman,” Niall growled, but the effect was lost when he leaned over and retched again.

When he was done, Alicia assisted him in finding a comfortable position and tucked the blankets tight around his form. “Be thankful I’m a stubborn woman, for my stubbornness will ensure you recover to argue with me another day.”

A hint of a smile fell on his pale lips before he grimaced. “Have you checked on the children? How are Eunice and little Edith? And Hannah?”

She patted his hand, even as she chose her words with extra care. “The children are weak, but I’m hopeful their youth will pull them through.”

Niall threw an arm over his eyes. “Christ, I hope so. I’m four times their age, and this blasted disease has knocked me completely off my feet.”

“That it has. How very lucky you are that, besides your every attempt to avoid me, I’m still here to help you back on them.” Alicia held out a water glass to him. “Drink some of this, if you please.”

“I don’t want to drink anything,” he grumbled. “Everything I have tried to drink or eat has been expelled.”

“Which is precisely why you must keep trying. We cannot allow you to become dehydrated. That is the key to recovery.”

“How do you know that?” Niall pulled his arm aside and glared at her with sunken gray eyes. “Even the blasted physician didn’t know what we suffered from.”

“It’s cholera, and I know because I survived it when I was a child.”

Her revelation seemed to steal the argument from him, for he took the glass after a long pause and promptly drank a gulp of water. Dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, Niall licked his lips. “Will you tell me the story?”

Dropping her gaze, Alicia fidgeted with his bedclothes and smoothed a hand over his rumpled shirt, thinking she could magically erase the wrinkles. As if wrinkles mattered in a time such as this. “If you sincerely wish to hear about it, I will tell you. But not now.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw him nod. “Who told you I was ill?”

“Juliana.”

“Of course she did. She tells you everything, it seems.” He raked a hand through his snarled hair, then dropped his arm, breathing heavily. “I had hoped you wouldn’t see me this way.”

“See you as mortal?” When he snorted, Alicia dared to stroke her knuckles across his jaw as her tone turned serious. “Why did you stay? You didn’t have to. When the children first fell ill, you could have left their care to Mrs. Simpson and her staff. You have so many things demanding your time, and no one would have faulted you for walking away.”

“I would have faulted myself.” Niall held her gaze. “These are my children. I could not leave their care to anyone else but myself, my committee responsibilities and campaign be damned.”

This dear man. Just when Alicia wanted to write him off, curse him for binding her in a union when he intended to ignore her, Niall uttered heart-stealing things like this. Surely a man devoted to the care of orphans would one day come to give her more than just his name.

Alicia jumped to her feet. Niall raised his brows at her abrupt movements but she ignored him. She needed space. She might have thought to nurse him through this ailment, but she did not want to soften her regard toward him. So many things had occurred to cause her to doubt his view of her, and the pretty but unexpected words he now shared did not erase them.

“I’ll return shortly with a tray of food,” she murmured. When he huffed, his mouth a mutinous line, Alicia added, “I’ll bring you toast and nothing more. Surely you can handle that.”

“I suppose we’ll see,” he grumbled, although he reached for his water glass again and took a sip.

That spark of impudence cheered her, because although he called her stubborn, Alicia knew his tenaciousness was more than a match for hers. Such perseverance would be needed if he desired to recover.

…

Niall bit back a moan as he attempted to sit up.

His limbs were as wobbly as a newborn colt’s, and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with sawdust. Still, he struggled until his feet hit the cold wood floor. For several seconds his head swam as he adjusted to the new position. How long had he been here, lying in this narrow cot with all the strength of a fragile babe? Weeks? Months? The constant isolation grated by now, and only one person could soothe him…

Alicia’s fiery brown eyes and teasing smile flashed through his mind.

She had been a steady presence by his side over the last week, plying him with water and food, and keeping his bedding clean and tidy. Although he hadn’t been well enough to leave his bed to inquire after the MacLean sisters and the other children who had fallen ill, his wife had brought him regular updates on their prognosis. Little Edith had given them a great scare when she had experienced several seizures, but had managed to recover thanks to the vitality of youth.

Although Alicia had not said it, Niall suspected he was the last patient to leave his bed. His cheeks heated at the thought. Yet try as he might, his body rebelled against his repeated attempts to rise.

Niall suddenly felt awkward. Nervous for her to see him in such a vulnerable state. Even with the dark circles under her eyes and the pinched lines about her mouth from the too-long days tending to everyone, she was infinitely lovely. In comparison, he was unwashed, unshaven, and weak. But none of that had altered the eager sweep of her gaze as she inspected him on every visit.

She had given so much of herself to help him recover, and had worked tirelessly to pull the children through their illness. His past treatment of her, his indifferent attitude, made his tender stomach ache in shame.

Panting from exertion, Niall closed his eyes as he focused on staying upright. What did he do now? Despite his efforts to keep her at arm’s length, Alicia had scaled each barrier with the force of her clever words and fierce gaze. Even the threat of cholera had not chased her from his side. The fact he could even sit here now, weak but very much alive, was because of her faithful efforts. Could he really go back to ignoring her?

He barked a chuckle.

What he could no longer ignore was what he felt for his wife…

As if pulled by an invisible string, the subject of his thoughts appeared in the doorway.

Clad in a nondescript brown muslin dress with an apron more suited for a butcher than a marchioness, her blond curls tucked into a neat bun, Alicia looked the part of an efficient nurse at a convalescent ward. When her expression darkened into a frown, Niall had the prudence to brace himself.

“Surely you aren’t ready to leave your bed quite yet.” She bustled to his side, holding a palm to his forehead. “You need your rest.”

“I need to bathe.” Niall curled his lip. “I offend myself.”

The spark of amusement that appeared in her eyes roused his spirits. “A bath would do wonders for your spirit, I’m sure. When you’re done, I’d like for you to return to your bed.”

“And I’d like to return to Campbell House. Surely I’m well enough to finally go home to bathe and rest.”

Alicia studied him, her lips pursed.

“Please,” he pleaded, grasping her hand and stroking a finger over her knuckles. “Don’t you ever just long for your own bed?”

Her nod was curt.

Niall was encouraged. “I’m well aware that I’m still weak and require additional time to recuperate. Even if such a delay sinks my campaign, I would like to do it in the privacy of my own home.” He tried for a cajoling smile. “I promise to be the most cooperative of patients.”

Her brow slowly rose to her hairline at that claim, and Niall was certain he had done it up brown. His surprise quickly turned to relief when she whispered, “Very well.”

She turned to quit the room, and he called after her, “Where are you going?”

“I intend to send a note to Campbell House. We need the carriage and a change of clothes. If you’re seen by the public leaving here or arriving at our home, I want you to appear hale. News of your illness has spread, and the sight of you on the mend will aid your public persona.”

Niall jerked his head back. “How is it known I’ve been ill?”

“An anonymous source tipped off the papers.” Alicia raised a shoulder. “Numerous articles have been written about the marquess who refused to leave his young orphaned charges when they fell ill with cholera, until he succumbed himself.”

“You told them about the outbreak here?” Shock and a spark of outrage threatened to burn through his reason.

“Did I?” She linked her hands together at her waist, a picture of piety. “All I know is that the home has been praised for recognizing the symptoms of cholera and quarantining the sick before they could spread the disease. Your and Mrs. Simpson’s quick measures ensured every child survived the dreadful affliction.”

Any ire he felt seeped from his body. His wife, his quick-witted, tactic-minded wife, had taken what could have been a disastrous situation and produced a harvest. An overwhelming wave of humbleness, of gratitude, crashed over him, the wave leaving his soul wrecked just as cholera had wrecked his body.

All he could manage to say in return was, “Thank you.”

She nodded her acknowledgement, and then departed. Niall experienced a pang in his chest at her loss, and if the last few days had taught him anything, it was not to shy away from the sensation.