Page 22 of How Not to Marry a Duke

“My name is Emma Taylor. My husband is the village blacksmith, and he is ill. Your companion”—her eyes traveled to Hasmik—“was in the village early yesterday morning. I overheard her say that you are a healer.”

Adeline opened the door wide. “Please come in and tell me more about Mr. Taylor’s sickness.”

The cottage’s appearance was much improved. Gone was the shattered vase of buttercups and the scattered basket of herbs. Adeline and Hasmik had tidied up, scrubbed the floorboards, aired the sofa and the pillows, and hung the now clean and fresh-smelling curtains in the parlor. They’d removed their belongings from the baggage cart, and a plush Wilton carpet covered the floorboards. A rocking chair rested by the fireplace, and the parlor now exuded a cozy atmosphere. Much work remained, but it was a good start.

Hasmik brought out a silver tray with a pitcher of lemonade and handed Mrs. Taylor a glass. The tray and glasses had belonged to Adeline’s mother and had arrived on the cart from town. “For me to help, you must describe your husband’s symptoms.”

Mrs. Taylor sipped the lemonade. “My husband suffers from a lingering cough. A traveling physician came to the village after our Doctor Latham passed away, but he did not help, and my husband is still ill.”

“I cannot promise a cure, but I’d like to examine your husband to see if I can help,” Adeline said.

A look of unease crossed the woman’s face, and she lowered her eyes to the glass in her hands before continuing. “You should know Mr. Taylor is a stubborn man. I haven’t told him I’ve come here.”

“You mean because he does not trust a woman healer.” Adeline spoke aloud what Mrs. Taylor was uncomfortable confessing.

Mrs. Taylor’s brown eyes appeared large in her face. “Like I said, he can be stubborn. But I’m worried. He’s been coughing a fit and hasn’t been able to work for days.”

After learning more from Mrs. Taylor about her husband’s sickness, Adeline packed her medicinal bag. “Your husband may protest at first, but let’s see if we can convince him.”

Gratitude flashed across the woman’s face. “I’d be grateful.”

Less than fifteen minutes later, they were in the village. The heart of the village was quaint and lovely, much of the architecture of its square dating back to medieval times. St. Mary’s Church boasted a tower that allowed great views of the surrounding countryside and, on a clear summer day, one could even see Canterbury Cathedral six miles away. Pubs, two tearooms, and several shops, which sold everything from clothing and shoes to flowers and fruits made up the commercial streets. Passersby regarded Adeline and Hasmik, and Adeline was careful to meet their gazes and smile.

Leaving the village square, they took a path and soon a dozen cottages came into view. They were much smaller than Adeline’s with timber frames and thatched roofs. Mrs. Taylor stopped outside one of the cottages, and Adeline could hear coughing from inside.

Adeline gave Mrs. Taylor a sideways glance. “It’s good you came for me.”

Mrs. Taylor took a deep breath, opened the door, and the trio stepped inside. The Taylors’ cottage was less than half the size of Adeline’s. A man lay on a bed in the corner. The room was warm with a coal brazier burning low, but he was still covered from neck to toe with a colorful quilt. As soon as he saw Adeline, he rose on his elbows. “I told you not to fetch her, woman!” he bellowed at his wife, before a fit of coughing forced him to lie back down.

Mrs. Taylor planted her hands on her hips. “You need help, and the traveling doctor made you worse with those leeches.”

“Leeches?” Adeline asked.

Hasmik tsked. “All those so-called fancy doctors can do is suck a man’s blood.”

Hasmik was right. Leeching was used all too frequently for fevers, boils, ailments of the joints, digestive disorders, and much more. Adeline knew leeching had it benefits, but she disagreed with how often English doctors made use of them.

Adeline approached Mr. Taylor’s bedside. She would have to be blind not to notice the wariness in his gaze. But any strenuous protest was cut off by another bout of coughing.

“You have a buildup of phlegm in your chest. I could hear it from outside the door.”

“What would you know?” he asked between coughs.

“I am a healer and I believe I can help you.”

“Ha! I heard talk when you moved into the village. You are the daughter of an earl, not a doctor.”

If she had a shilling for every time someone had made that observation, she’d be able to purchase more medicine. “Yes, I am the old earl’s daughter. That fact has nothing to do with my abilities.”

He scowled as he glanced at Hasmik. “And she’s a…a dark-skinned Arab. A foreigner.”

Adeline’s voice was sharp. “Miss Hasmik has been with me since I was born and is as much a lady as I am.”

“I don’t want her touching me.”

Hasmik raised her chin. “You would rather suffer?”

Mr. Taylor kicked off the quilt and attempted to sit up and holler. He coughed instead.