Puritan Bride. Anne O'Brien

voice was weary in the extreme, but she recognised the jealousy that afflicted her companion and understood it even as she would have condemned it ‘—I appreciate your concern—and your motives—but some days I would accept a remedy from the devil himself if I thought there was only the smallest chance of success.’

      ‘I never thought to hear such blasphemy from you, dearest cousin!’

      ‘It is not blasphemy.’ Elizabeth remained calm, although her eyes snapped with temper. ‘It is desperation. Nothing else has any effect. Perhaps Viola is an answer to our prayers.’

      ‘As to that, I know not. But I will use the skill I have. Do you have a still-room?’ Viola enquired, rising to her feet. ‘And I presume there is a herb garden.’

      ‘Yes. Sadly unkempt, but I make you free of it.’ Lady Elizabeth looked at her hands with swollen joints and ugly reddened knuckles, and clenched them in her skirts to hide them from view, even from herself. ‘If you could take away only a little of the pain I would be everlastingly grateful. And vanity would hope that you could improve this unsightliness.’ Her smile was a little twisted. ‘I used to have fine hands once.’

      Some time later, Viscount Marlbrooke followed directions from his mother to find Viola ensconced in the dust-shrouded still-room, her slight figure with its fashionable gown wrapped in one of Mrs Neale’s large white aprons to protect the delicate material. The streaked glass in the small window was pushed wide to allow in as much light as possible and a fire burned on the hearth. Various pots, spoons and dishes, borrowed from the kitchen, littered the bench and a pot bubbled over the fire. Viola wielded a pestle and mortar clumsily with her bound wrist, the small dish clasped by her arm against her body, but none the less effectively.

      He stood in the open doorway to watch her concentration and neat movements. She was unaware of his presence, but hummed softly, almost under her breath. It made a pleasant domestic scene if it were not for the disfiguring bruise. His memory of his first knowledge of her swept back, surprising him with its intensity. He remembered her fragility, her total vulnerability, aware of the tightening of the muscles in his gut and thighs in response. And yet here she was, wielding pestle and mortar, unconcerned with the painful sprain, in his still-room. His mouth curled a little in admiration of her, content to stand and watch.

      He knew the moment she became aware of him. She stiffened slightly, halted in her ministrations and turned her head to glance nervously in his direction. The flash of tension in her face vanished almost immediately when she recognised him.

      ‘I’m sorry, my lord. I was only—’

      ‘Why should you apologise? I had not intended to distress you.’ He strolled forward into the room.

      ‘No. I had thought there was someone behind me. On a few occasions I have felt … But perhaps it is simply the close confines of the room. That is why I had left the door ajar.’

      ‘Perhaps.’ He picked up a bunch of herbs from the bench and sniffed the pungent aroma. ‘Do you realise that you are giving my mother hope for the first time in months—years, even? Will it work?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘It would be a relief, for her and for myself.’ He frowned unseeingly at the empty dust-covered shelves before him. ‘She believes that she is a burden to me, you see. And I cannot make her accept otherwise. If she were free from pain, could rest well at night and take up her previous interests, she would regain her old spirits. Nor does she enjoy being dependent on Felicity.’

      ‘I can assure you the relief from pain will be effective.’ Viola smiled a little nervously, flustered by his close proximity in the small room. But Marlbrooke did not appear to be aware, for which she was grateful.

      ‘You are very confident. What is it?’

      ‘Willow bark. It was easy to collect from the grounds—Mistress Neale sent one of the lads from the stables. If you make an infusion with boiling water, strain it and drink … but I doubt you want to know all the details,’ she finished as she caught the guarded expression on his face. She laughed. He was instantly transfixed by the sparkle in her violet eyes and the faint flush the heat in the still-room had brought to her fair skin. And a lightening of mood from the fact that, for a short time, she had forgotten the weight of uncertainty surrounding her existence in this house. He would have liked to touch her short hair where it curled on to her cheek in front of her ear.

      He pushed his hands firmly into his pockets.

      ‘There. This is done.’ She lifted the pot from the flames with a cloth in her good hand. ‘Would you like to take it to her, my lord? If she would drink a little now, it will begin to give relief.’

      ‘Yes. With pleasure. What are you doing now?’

      ‘Making a liniment to rub into sore joints. I cannot make the most effective—it is not the season for many of the best plants, such as angelica or meadowsweet—but thyme is an excellent remedy, readily obtainable. Your herb garden is in a dreadful state and much overgrown, but it contains all the most useful and sweet-scented herbs.’