The Irish Duke by Virginia Henley Page B

some sticks, Lu.”
    She joined in the fun, delighted to see her brother enjoying himself. Though he was twenty-one, she realized happily that he was still a boy at heart. She watched as he threw himself wholeheartedly into the game, chasing the dogs and letting them chase him.
    Jack’s face turned red with exertion and he began to perspire. “They’ve caught a scent! There they go, off through the woods. We won’t see them again until they run it to ground.”
    “That’s good.” She threw him a worried glance. “It will give you a chance to catch your breath.”
    Jack turned around in a slow circle, as if he were disoriented. Then he fell to the ground.
    Lu rushed to his side and knelt down. She knew immediately that he was having one of his fits. “Jack! Jack!” With her heart in her mouth, she moved a sharp stone from beneath his head. She heard someone coming through the trees. When she saw that it was James Hamilton, she jumped up instantly, her heart pounding. “It’s my brother . . . please leave us . . . he won’t want you to see him like this.”
    Abercorn took hold of her elbow. Her eyes were pleading for him to leave. “It’s all right, Louisa. I’ve seen him have a fit before at school.”
    Hamilton grabbed a stick and put it between Jack’s teeth so he wouldn’t swallow his tongue.
    Louisa watched helplessly as her brother’s heels drummed on the ground, then heaved a sigh of relief as his feet stilled and he lay quietly. Hamilton lifted Jack to a sitting position and her brother opened his eyes. He took the stick from his mouth and said sheepishly, “Sorry about that.”
    “How do you feel?” Abercorn asked.
    “Foolish.”
    James helped him to his feet. “No need to be self-conscious with me, Jack.”
    Lu took her brother’s arm. She was mortified that Jack’s failing had been exposed to Abercorn, but she politely offered her gratitude. “Thank you for helping him.”
    “Have you ever taken betony for your condition, Jack?”
    “No, I usually have a stiff drink afterward.”
    “Is betony supposed to help?” Louisa asked. “How do you know that?”
    “One of our gamekeepers in Ireland suffers from the same complaint, but regular doses of the herb keep it under control.”
    She knew Jack would feel embarrassed if she fussed over him. “The Greys and the Hollands are here. I should go and visit with them. Good luck in getting the hounds back in the kennel.” Louisa intended to look up the properties of betony in her father’s collection of botany books rather than visit with their guests.
    She made her way to the library and climbed the spiral ladder to the upper level where the prized books were shelved. She perused many of the tomes and became absorbed in the colorful illustrations of the magical herbs and plants. She came across an antique copy of Culpeper’s Complete Herbal. Louisa marveled at the wealth of information that Culpeper had compiled more than two hundred years before. She sat down on the floor and searched the pages for betony. She examined the illustration with its purple flowers and read through the long, detailed description. She smiled at the quaint language:
    Place—It groweth frequently in woods, and delighteth in shady places.
    Time—It flowereth in May, after which the seed is quickly ripe, yet in its prime in July.
    Louisa ran her finger down the page that listed wood betony’s government and virtues. Here it is: Either the herb or root or flowers taken in ale helpeth the falling sickness or convulsions. It is also good to take away bruises from the fall. The root is bitter, but the leaves and flowers are sweet and spicy and pleasing to the taste.
    Louisa was about to rise and take the book with her, when she heard voices. She recognized that it was her father, and he had James Hamilton with him. She sat still as a mouse and listened to what was said.
    “We have some things in common, James. I, too, lost my father before I was three and my