My Favorite Countess by Vanessa Kelly

worse.”
    Frustration and nerves bundled into a hard knot in the center of her chest.
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous, Matthew. Dr. Blackmore is an immensely irritating man. Besides,” she said pettishly, “he’s not nearly rich enough. And, he’s also a physician. He must have to work all the time.”
    Matthew shook his head. “Blackmore’s not just a selfmade man. His family is good. Landed gentry somewhere up . . . now, where did Miss Elliott say he was from?”
    â€œKeswick,” she replied, unable to stop herself.
    â€œRight. His family is quite wealthy, too. Own a very tidy estate, so Miss Elliott says. Unfortunately, Blackmore is a younger son, so he won’t inherit. But he must get some income from his family and I know he has a thriving practice in Mayfair. With a little luck, he could be as successful as Dr. Knighton, or at least that’s what—”
    â€œMiss Elliott says.” She finished his sentence in a waspish tone.
    â€œI’m just saying you should keep him in mind,” Matthew replied in an injured voice. “Everyone in the room saw he was very interested in you.”
    She scowled, annoyed by how much that pleased the foolish girl within. “Dr. Blackmore is the kind of man who flirts with any passably good-looking woman.”
    He began to splutter in protest but she held up her hand.
    â€œNo more. We’re in deep trouble, Matthew, and Dr. Blackmore is certainly not the answer. Our finances require a great deal more than he could provide. I’ll return to London tomorrow, and I’m sure I can find myself a rich husband before the Season starts in October. The ground is rather thin in town these days, but I’ll manage.”
    He eyed her doubtfully but held his tongue.
    â€œI don’t even like Dr. Blackmore,” she snapped, unable to keep her mouth shut. “He can keep his pulse-taking and his advice to himself.”
    Matthew’s eyebrows shot up. She clamped her teeth shut, furious that she had revealed so much. Even with the blasted fellow miles away, Blackmore could make her blurt out the most foolish things.
    Fortunately, the carriage had already turned into the long drive leading up to the manor and was now coming to a gentle halt by the south front door. Matthew helped her alight and she swept past him and into the hallway.
    Sewell, the butler, gave a deep bow. “My lady.”
    She continued past him, heading to the stairs. If she didn’t take something for this migraine immediately, her head would explode.
    â€œMy lady.” Sewell’s voice held a note of urgency.
    She swallowed a groan and turned around, keeping one hand on the banister.
    â€œYes, Sewell?”
    â€œAn express came for you this evening, madam. From Thirsk.”
    Alarm shot along her already jangling nerves. Her sister resided in Thirsk, with the Wilsons. They would never send an express unless something was very wrong.
    She stood paralyzed on the bottom step, overwhelmed with dread, unable to face yet another addition to her enormous mountain of problems.
    Matthew took the missive from Sewell and came to her side.
    â€œCome, my dear.” He gently steered her into the library. “We’ll read it together.”
    She dropped wearily into the old leather armchair, praying that time would slow down—even reverse itself—as he brought her a large brandy.
    â€œDo you want me to read it?” he asked.
    She nodded, taking a gulp from the crystal tumbler. The liquor poured a welcome heat into her stomach and through her cold limbs.
    Matthew scanned the short note, his brows drawing together in a heavy frown. Bathsheba’s heart took a sickening dive to her feet.
    â€œRachel is ill,” he said. “Very ill. A putrid infection of the lungs that came on quickly.” He looked up, his droopy eyes full of sympathy. “The doctor is doing all he can, but . . .”
    â€œOh, God,” she