Page 89 of The Duchess Audition

She remembered how Anthony’s face had looked when she told him of her uncle being unwell. No concern, no warmth, no sympathy, just… nothing. A flicker of anger, maybe, but nothing comforting.

“Is my uncle resting?” she said thickly, eager to change the subject.

“He is.”

“Any new symptoms from the tea or tincture?”

“He is perspiring rather a lot.”

Marina nodded. “The book said that might happen. It is something to do with the illness leaving the body.” She quickly retrieved her quill and added the symptom to the list anyway. “Did you put the extra blankets on him?”

“I did, though I fear he may roast,” the doctor said, a note of humor in his voice. “Will you let me see this book of yours yet?”

She shook her head. “Not until I have deciphered it fully. A lot of it remains a mystery of scribbles, but I am getting there.”

Indeed, she had even gone so far as to write it out and send the pages to her broker in London. As a merchant of exotic, foreign plants and herbs and spices, he had some knowledge of a few Chinese languages, to better converse with his suppliers when he traveled, and it was her hope that he could continue to clarify a few things.

Thus far, he had helped her to properly prepare some of the herbs, a task that was far more complex than anything she was used to.

“Would you like me to speak to Anthony for you?” Stanforth offered. “I hate to think you are struggling. More than you already are, I mean. I’m sure it can be remedied… and I am a physician, after all.”

She laughed at that, probably more heartily than she should. But if she did not laugh, she would cry, and she did not want to embarrass the doctor by weeping in front of him. She was already at risk of that throughout most of her days, sitting at her uncle’s bedside.

Turning, and feeling just a little bit lighter, she was about to make a joke about him not being an apothecary, when she saw a figure in the hallway behind him. A figure that got closer with every step, so familiar and yet so out of place that she could not quite trust her eyes.

Am I seeing things again?

She rubbed her eyes to be sure.

The figure kept walking toward her, coming to a halt at the study doorway as if he dared not cross the threshold.

“Anthony?” she whispered.

Doctor Stanforth nodded, visibly confused. “Yes. Anthony. I can talk to him and straighten everything out, if that is what you want?”

Laughter had brought Anthony to the door of his wife’s study, having been welcomed with some surprise by the housekeeper of Stadley Manor.

He had missed the sound of that laughter, but it boiled him up inside to hear it coaxed out of her by another man. The same man, presumably, that Anthony had seen her with in London. The man who threatened the marriage that Anthony had come here to fight for.

They were close together, Marina sitting at her desk, turned to face the gentleman, while the man stood near to her chair with his back to the door. Comfortable enough to be alone together, for there was no chaperone to be seen. Comfortable enough to laugh together.

I can talk to him and straighten everything out… Is that so?

Marina looked shocked to see her husband standing there, witnessing such a tender moment.

“I hoped I might find you alone,” Anthony said, his voice harsh. “Yet, it is no surprise to find that you are not.”

At that, the mysterious gentleman turned around, his expression just as shocked as Marina’s. But neither of them could match the astonishment that made Anthony’s eyes fly wide, his mouth dropping open.

“Leonard?” he rasped.

The doctor immediately broke into a smile. “Well, I suppose that saves me a journey. I was just asking Her Grace if she wanted me to talk to you.”

“Yes, I heard,” Anthony replied, unable to fathom what he was seeing. “Did you cut your hair?”

The style was shorter than it had been the last time he had met with Leonard Stanforth in London.

“I did,” Leonard said brightly. “It was tickling the back of my neck, so I decided I needed to be shorn. It is good of you to notice.”