The Wish (The Blooms of Norfolk Book 3) Page 3

  When he finished his meal, he decided to walk in the rose garden before meeting with his land steward.

  He breathed deeply of the fresh air, again wishing he was on the back of a horse instead of walking for exercise. The sky was clear although clouds threatened from a distance. The rose garden was the largest garden to walk. The roses wouldn’t bloom for two more months but the garden was walled and afforded him some privacy.

  He was glad his sisters were in London. He’d kept his diagnosis from them. If they had seen him the last few days they would have questions he didn’t want to answer.

  The exercise helped to lift his spirits. His pocket watch showed nearly eleven of the o’clock, the time his agent had requested for a meeting.

  The man had drawn up plans for a new stable block. Despite the possibility of his not living to see the project completed, Ambrose thought it would be best to go ahead with the construction.

  Marcourt Hall was built in the 1730’s for Ambrose’s great-grandfather, the first marquess of Norfolk. It was constructed of fine-grained, silver-white stone with domes at each corner. The hall had a rectangular main block with basement at ground level, a floor of receiving rooms, a bedroom floor and attics. There were two flanking wings joined to the main block by colonnades. The detached quadrangular stable block needed extensive updating. It made better sense to build a new one.

  Ambrose had been raised to run an estate. To add more to the family’s coffers if possible. In the short time since he’d inherited Marcourt Hall he believed he had done his best.

  His land steward knew his employer was ill; he’d never told the man his actual diagnosis. His solicitor was the only person he’d apprised of his imminent death.

  “I am sorrier than I can tell you, my lord,” Mr. Finch said when he heard the news. “I am proud to have served both you and your father. It is my hope that your prognosis is not as dire as you fear.”

  If Ambrose died without issue the title and the estate would pass to a cousin. His sisters would have small settlements, a dowry was already set aside for Rose and Lottie.

  Ambrose reentered the house by the family entrance near the stable block. His land steward could very well already be waiting for him in the study. Despite his ill health, time would march on. He would go forward with the plans for the stables.

  * * * * *

  “Come along with me to Marcourt,” her uncle said when Camellia called into his establishment the next day after her ride with Rutley. “I will depart tomorrow morning. Your company would be most welcome.”

  She gave the idea some thought. What excuse could she give her sister for doing so? “Helena will ask why I should go.”

  Her uncle pursed his lips. They were alone in the front of the shop. Mr. Dobson was out making deliveries.

  “I will join you for dinner this evening. By that time, I should have thought of a plausible excuse for you to come with me to Marcourt.”

  She sat on one of two stools behind the counter. The apothecary shop intrigued her. It was beautiful really. So many drawers and glass cases full of herbs and medicines. Most of the ingredients were labelled. Her uncle patiently explained what the items he stocked might be used for whenever she asked.

  “How is Helena?” Her uncle stood next to her and looked up from the ledger he was writing in. “She needs to be careful with her health.”

  “Helena is well.” Camellia asked, “How long have you known about the pregnancy?”

  “I guessed a few weeks ago. Helena requested I not tell you. She wanted to tell you herself.” He looked at her intently. “Your sister misses you.”

  Camellia was kept so busy with her mother’s needs that she rarely had time to miss Helena. Perhaps when her mind wandered of an evening in the drawing room when mother droned on about some complaint while her father snored in his stuffed chair nearby.

  Before she could think of a reply to her uncle’s statement, the bell over the door rang. Dobson had returned.

  “It is time to be on my way.” She leaned over and kissed her uncle on his cheek and then got up from her stool. “Until this evening.”

  She said goodbye to the apprentice and exited the shop. Her maid was waiting outside and followed her mistress into Rutley’s coach. Today she’d accepted the use of a carriage as the clear sky from that morning had turned dark. Camellia’s thoughts turned from Helena and to the visit tomorrow to Lord Norfolk’s estate.

  At the inn he’d been obviously ill. His skin had glistened with sweat. He’d held himself as still as possible, his jaw clenched. She should have asked her uncle about the sweating. She found herself wanting to know even more about the marquess’s condition.

  When she returned to Rutley House, she was advised Helena had a guest in the parlor. When Camellia entered the room, her sister introduced her to a lady and her niece from a neighboring estate.

  Camellia took an instant liking to Lady Bowles. Despite her exquisite clothing and effortless grace, the lady gave an air of being approachable. The niece, Miss Eliza, appeared to be more reserved.

  “I have heard so much about you, Lady Camellia.” Lady Bowles grasped her hand and pulled Camellia to sit beside her on a settee. “Your sister sings your praises whenever she finds an opportunity.”

  “How embarrassing,” she replied in a low voice.

  Lady Bowles squeezed her hand and released it. “I think it is quite charming of Helena to dote on you so.”

  Helena asked, “How was our uncle?”

  “He was very well,” she replied.

  “Your uncle is an apothecary I believe?” Miss Eliza asked in a sugary tone of voice, her eyes wide, her chin elevated.

  “My uncle is the third son of a viscount,” she replied stiffly. “He is a gentleman.”

  Helena winced at her sister’s words before she said into the tense silence, “My uncle has a very interesting patient at present. A Lord Norfolk. Are you familiar with the gentleman, Lady Bowles?”

  “Indeed I am. I know Lord Norfolk quite well,” Lady Bowles said with a wide smile.

  “One of his sisters married Lord Chastain last year. The catch of the season, he was. What a triumph for the lady.” Miss Eliza looked to be in rapture at the thought.

  “That would be Iris,” Lady Bowles replied. “His other sisters are Lottie and Rose. Lottie is now in her second season.”

  Camellia was disconcerted that Lady Bowles had been intimate enough with the family to know so much about them. On the other hand, it was good to know the marquess had a family to help care for him.

  “I hope Lord Norfolk is not very ill?” Lady Bowles asked with genuine concern in her voice.

  “A minor ailment,” she replied. “My uncle said the marquess is nearly recovered.”

  It was not for Camellia to share private details about her uncle’s patients. It was nice to have some little bit of information that Lady Bowles didn’t. She still liked the woman even if she felt an unreasonable protectiveness over a man Lady Bowles knew far better than Camellia did.

  Chapter Five

  Ambrose ate every four hours while awake and refrained from alcohol. By the evening of the second day he was not only without headache and nausea, but the dizzy spells had gone away. He was not ready to concede his improved health was the result of the diet the apothecary recommended.

  “That will be all,” he said to his valet after his nightly ablutions were complete.

  One of the windows in the room was open to let in the cool air. He liked his bedchamber to be cold while he slept. The vines near his balcony would soon have blooms, adding the scent of flowers to the crisp night air.

  His steward was elated the stable block would be erected. The man would go forth and procure the workers and materials. The structure would be elegant. It would be enormous. Ambrose had some very good horseflesh to shelter, to include the grays he’d wagered last year.

  “Although I won the wager,” Chastain said to him. “It would not be gentlemanly to accept the prize. Your sist
er is worth far more to me than any horses could ever be.”

  If he continued to feel fit, he would journey to London to see his sisters. Lottie was half-heartedly attending the entertainments of the season. With Chastain as her brother-in-law he knew his friend would look after his sisters if something were to happen to him.

  Their parents had married for love. It had been their wish their children would do the same. If he had more time he might be convinced to play matchmaker between Lottie and his friend Lord Peake. Despite their constant sparring he thought there was a spark between the pair.

  And Rose… The girl was so preoccupied with writing novels and plays that he wondered if she knew what went on around her. He wished he had time left to get to know her better. Her best friend Emma lived on the estate next door. The girl had been away but was soon to be home again. An excellent reason to bring Rose home.

  It was time he spoke with Aunt Abigail about her future. A childless widow, his aunt had resided for some time in King’s Lynn with the unmarried sister of her deceased husband. He gathered the women had had a falling out and his aunt was in no hurry to return to King’s Lynn. How could he offer Aunt Abigail a permanent home when he might soon be dead?

  He didn’t want to think about the future right now. It was hard to imagine dying when he felt strong and vigorous.

  Propped up in his four-poster bed, Ambrose opened his copy of Blake’s Jerusalem: The Emanation of the Giant Albion. A gift from Lottie, the illustrated plates in the volume were breathtaking.

  Reading was an activity he’d sorely missed. His headaches had made the pastime unbearable.

  After reading a few minutes, his eyes became heavy and thoughts of the young woman at the inn crept into his head. She had known something was wrong with him. He could see it in her eyes. Her clothing and bearing signified she was someone of means. Good breeding dictated she not address a man she wasn’t formally introduced to. He had no idea of her identity. Just his luck that a woman who intrigued him was one he was destined to never see again. It was something his friends would laugh about if he told them of his angel at the inn. It sounded like one of the fairytales Rose liked to write.

  * * * * *

  Camellia’s uncle was true to his word: He’d thought up a plausible excuse for his niece to accompany him to Marcourt.

  “Dobson is unavailable to go with me,” her uncle said to Helena and Camellia as they stood in the drawing room before dinner. “I should not like to travel so far alone. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  Although their uncle was only in his fifties, he now stood a bit stooped, his hand on the back of a chair as if he needed support. She wondered if his theatrics would deceive Helena.

  “I planned a morning of archery,” Helena replied with a frown, obviously not pleased with the thought of losing her companion.

  “Camellia expressed an interest in seeing more of the county. I do hope you can spare your sister for one morning and perhaps the afternoon.”

  A sigh signaled Helena’s surrender. “Uncle, you must have her back for supper. I should not like you out on the roads after dark if you are indeed becoming infirm.”

  The humor in her tone suggested she was not taken in by his attempt to appear feeble. Helena could have pointed out that their uncle would not be alone as one of Rutley’s grooms was to drive him. Camellia was happy to go with her uncle, so she made no comment. The idea of seeing more of the county other than Downham Market and Rutley House was a welcome thought. She had traveled so little in her life.

  Dinner was lavish and delicious. The gentleman had their brandy and cigars before joining the ladies in the music room.

  Lord Rutley expressed a desire to sing with his wife as she played the pianoforte. The couple were evenly matched with strong, pleasant voices. Camellia played a short piece but declined to sing. Her singing voice had been described by her childhood nurse as being similar to the sound of an animal being strangled.

  Helena suggested a game of cards although she didn’t sound enamored of the idea.

  “I am rather tired this evening,” her uncle said and took his leave.

  Camellia told Helena and Rutley the truth: she would simply like to return to her room and read her novel.

  It was nearly nine of the o’clock, the sky was dark outside the tall mullioned windows in her bedchamber.

  “Did you have a nice evening, my lady?” Anna asked her mistress as she helped Camellia into a cream lawn nightdress.

  “I did, Anna. Tomorrow I will accompany my uncle on his rounds so you will have several hours to yourself. I shouldn’t need you until late afternoon.”

  In her nightclothes, Camellia got into bed. Anna bade her goodnight and exited the room.

  She was looking forward to the journey to Marcourt on the morrow. So much so that she finally gave up reading and turned down her lamp. Would Lord Norfolk remember her? He’d stared at her as if he were in a daze when she’d encountered him at The Lamb Inn.

  “I guess I will find out tomorrow,” she whispered as she burrowed into the warm soft bed, smiling to herself as she thought about the tall marquess with striking brown eyes.

  * * * * *

  The next morning Ambrose was treated to a tray in his room. His breakfast consisted of eggs and ham. He’d been so hungry last evening that the boiled beef and string beans he’d been served tasted like ambrosia.

  Although he longed to get in the saddle, he would merely walk the gardens until the apothecary told him he could do otherwise. Livingston dressed him in blue coat and gray trousers, shaking his head at the loose fit of his employer’s clothing.

  He took a turn in the gardens, noting the marigolds were blooming. Lottie had planted them as they were his favorites. The head gardener was about, and Ambrose chatted with the man for a few minutes. Lottie would find no need for worry when she returned home as the estate gardeners were keeping the flower beds clean and tidy.

  He made his way indoors to his study.

  Doctor Gaines had sent a missive asking when he could call on Ambrose. His reply was to invite the man to Marcourt tomorrow for dinner.

  He would apprise Doctor Gaines of recent events and ask him if he thought his having sugar sickness was a possibility. The doctor would most likely not take kindly to what he would deem ‘interference’ from the apothecary. Doctors were a proud lot, after all.

  Ambrose didn’t realize he’d been seated for so long until a knock came at the door.

  “Come!”

  Mrs. Jennings entered with a tray. He thought the woman should let others bring his meals, but she insisted. He imagined it was a moment for her to look him over and see if there were positive results from the apothecary’s diet.

  “What delicacies do you have for me?” He moved aside his papers so the housekeeper could set the tray down in front of him.

  The woman snorted. “Only the finest for you, my lord. Coarse bread and boiled cabbage.”

  “That sounds appetizing,” he replied to her jest with a wry smile.

  He was relieved to see the dishes on the tray contained roast beef, cheese, buttered bread and tea. He was allowed only one piece of bread a day per the apothecary’s diet.

  His palate didn’t mind the simply prepared food. If the apothecary were to be believed, rich food and drink were not good for his health.

  “I think Mr. Simpson will be pleased with your progress, my lord. You look much better than I’ve seen you in months.”

  Ambrose swallowed a bite of cheese. He was ravenous and had started eating despite the housekeeper’s presence. “I feel very good today, Mrs. Jennings.”

  “I am more than happy to hear it. Now I must get on. I have plenty to do.”

  Alone again, he ate everything on the tray. He’d thought there would be a problem with his not taking the laudanum. Perhaps the apothecary could explain the reason he’d had no ill effects from stopping his use of the medicine after his dependence on it for several months.

  Mr. Simpson wou
ld call on him later that morning. Hopefully the apothecary would approve his going for a daily ride. It was exercise after all.

  Ambrose decided to check on his favorite hunter in the stables. As he exited the house his neighbor Sir Thomas Childs arrived on horseback.

  “How are you? I heard you were unwell,” the baronet said after he dismounted his horse.

  A groom came running from the stables to hold Sir Thomas’s horse.

  “Nothing serious,” Ambrose replied with a shrug. “I feel more myself now.”

  Sir Thomas smiled. “Glad to hear it. I also wanted to hear about the progress of the new stable block. I won’t keep you long. My sister Emma is due home later today.”

  “I’m headed to the stables right now. Walk with me and I will tell you all about my plans.”

  Several minutes later Ambrose and Sir Thomas emerged from the building into bright sunlight, leaving the smell of hay and horses for a breeze that smelled of flowers and damp earth.

  An elegant traveling chariot drew up in the courtyard. One of his grooms hurried from the stable block to assist with the team of horses. The coachman remained on his perch as Mr. Simpson alighted from the conveyance.

  “I will not be long,” the apothecary said to someone inside the carriage. The man looked around and nodded to Ambrose. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Simpson. May I introduce my neighbor, Sir Thomas Childs. Sir Thomas, Mr. Simpson is an apothecary from Downham Market.”

  After the two men acknowledged each other, Ambrose inclined his head toward the carriage. “Did you bring someone with you today?”

  The apothecary nodded. “My niece kept me company on the journey from Downham Market.”

  “Do invite her in.” He smiled briefly. “She can take refreshment while we are otherwise occupied.”

  “That is very good of you, my lord. We had planned on stopping in Braxton on the return trip.”

  “It is the least I can do. You have been very accommodating.” His tone brooked no argument. It took several years to perfect a tone of voice that hinted at his aristocratic authority but did not set the hackles to rise on those who heard it.