My Lord Wicked (Historical Regency Romance) by Cheryl Bolen
Authors: Cheryl Bolen
Tags: Regency Romance
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no concern of yours," Stacks snapped. "What is your concern is the girl's prospects of recovery." Stacks' eyes softened. "How serious is it, Edgekirth?"
The doctor shrugged. "It could go either way. I've bled her. What do you know of her constitution?"
"She has always enjoyed good health. In fact, she was used to being around sick people as she assisted her father with his surgery since she was nine years old. Even the fever that took his life spared her."
Edgekirth nodded and spoke more to himself than to the man he abhorred. "That is in her favor." He moved away. "Have someone with her at all times. Try to keep her hydrated." He handed a Stacks a bottle of elixir. "See that she takes this twice a day. I fear her lungs may be inflamed. Expect me again in the morning."
Freddie's delirium and fever raged all through the day. Her fine dresses and bonnets arrived from York. This was the day he had planned to tell her she was going back down south, he thought morosely. Stacks' eyes moistened when he remembered of how sweet she would have looked in the fine dresses. Swallowing hard, he hoped she would recover to wear them.
Having sat all night with her mistress, Maggie's step was weary, her voice haggard. When evening came, Stacks told the young servant he would stay the night with Freddie.
He pulled up a chair beside her bed and watched her sleep fitfully. How very thin she looked now. He longed to see the green flash in her eyes, not the dark, sunken circles beneath her pallid lids. At times she lay as still as the dead, her labored breathing the only sign of life. After a few hours of troubled sleep, she began to flail about violently, her hair and bedclothes damp and hot, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. She rambled incoherently, her eyes not seeing, her words unintelligible.
Remembering Edgekirth's orders about keeping her hydrated, Stacks would place a gentle arm around her to lift her as he forced cool water through her parched lips. Several times during the night, he thought of calling for Edgekirth, her condition seemed so dangerous. But he knew there was nothing more Edgekirth could do. He would wait until morning. Throughout the long night, Stacks found himself saying a silent prayer for Freddie's recovery.
Not long past dawn, Edgekirth arrived to check on his patient. Casting an angry glance at Stacks, the doctor ordered the baron out of the room while he performed an examination. When he was finished, he met the worried Stacks in the windy corridor outside her room and reported no change. "I will return late in the afternoon. Let us hope the girl shows improvement by then."
But there was no improvement.
Days passed, and her fever persisted. In his heart, Stacks feared Freddie was going to die. But he fought it. He doggedly went about his affairs as if Freddie were going to get well. Since the poor girl would not be able to travel, he had determined to keep her at Marshbanks Abbey. Therefore, he would have to hire a companion for the maiden. He wrote to his solicitor in London and asked him to procure the services of a woman of good birth.
A heavy lump in his throat, Stacks sealed the letter. He desperately hoped the woman's presence would be needed.
By day, he found himself furiously tending his garden, by night he sat at Freddie's bedside, a single taper allowing him to watch her now-peaceful face. How young and utterly helpless she looked. So very childlike. Then in a fit of labored breathing, she would throw off the covers to reveal her drenched shift, and he could see her nipples clinging to the wet linen. Then he would jarringly be reminded Freddie was not a girl but a young woman.
If only she would recognize him. He craved any semblance of her former self.
Stacks had to admire Edgekirth's professionalism. He came every morning and evening to check on Freddie. Even if it was at Marshbanks Abbey. Though the two men were bitter enemies, they forged a bond over the helpless orphan girl.
One
The doctor shrugged. "It could go either way. I've bled her. What do you know of her constitution?"
"She has always enjoyed good health. In fact, she was used to being around sick people as she assisted her father with his surgery since she was nine years old. Even the fever that took his life spared her."
Edgekirth nodded and spoke more to himself than to the man he abhorred. "That is in her favor." He moved away. "Have someone with her at all times. Try to keep her hydrated." He handed a Stacks a bottle of elixir. "See that she takes this twice a day. I fear her lungs may be inflamed. Expect me again in the morning."
Freddie's delirium and fever raged all through the day. Her fine dresses and bonnets arrived from York. This was the day he had planned to tell her she was going back down south, he thought morosely. Stacks' eyes moistened when he remembered of how sweet she would have looked in the fine dresses. Swallowing hard, he hoped she would recover to wear them.
Having sat all night with her mistress, Maggie's step was weary, her voice haggard. When evening came, Stacks told the young servant he would stay the night with Freddie.
He pulled up a chair beside her bed and watched her sleep fitfully. How very thin she looked now. He longed to see the green flash in her eyes, not the dark, sunken circles beneath her pallid lids. At times she lay as still as the dead, her labored breathing the only sign of life. After a few hours of troubled sleep, she began to flail about violently, her hair and bedclothes damp and hot, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. She rambled incoherently, her eyes not seeing, her words unintelligible.
Remembering Edgekirth's orders about keeping her hydrated, Stacks would place a gentle arm around her to lift her as he forced cool water through her parched lips. Several times during the night, he thought of calling for Edgekirth, her condition seemed so dangerous. But he knew there was nothing more Edgekirth could do. He would wait until morning. Throughout the long night, Stacks found himself saying a silent prayer for Freddie's recovery.
Not long past dawn, Edgekirth arrived to check on his patient. Casting an angry glance at Stacks, the doctor ordered the baron out of the room while he performed an examination. When he was finished, he met the worried Stacks in the windy corridor outside her room and reported no change. "I will return late in the afternoon. Let us hope the girl shows improvement by then."
But there was no improvement.
Days passed, and her fever persisted. In his heart, Stacks feared Freddie was going to die. But he fought it. He doggedly went about his affairs as if Freddie were going to get well. Since the poor girl would not be able to travel, he had determined to keep her at Marshbanks Abbey. Therefore, he would have to hire a companion for the maiden. He wrote to his solicitor in London and asked him to procure the services of a woman of good birth.
A heavy lump in his throat, Stacks sealed the letter. He desperately hoped the woman's presence would be needed.
By day, he found himself furiously tending his garden, by night he sat at Freddie's bedside, a single taper allowing him to watch her now-peaceful face. How young and utterly helpless she looked. So very childlike. Then in a fit of labored breathing, she would throw off the covers to reveal her drenched shift, and he could see her nipples clinging to the wet linen. Then he would jarringly be reminded Freddie was not a girl but a young woman.
If only she would recognize him. He craved any semblance of her former self.
Stacks had to admire Edgekirth's professionalism. He came every morning and evening to check on Freddie. Even if it was at Marshbanks Abbey. Though the two men were bitter enemies, they forged a bond over the helpless orphan girl.
One
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