Page 43 of Reforming Lord Neil

“What can I do?” Neil closed his hands into fists, though he was helpless to fight an illness. His mind running through tasks he might attempt. “There is no apothecary in Dunwich, though I know there is one in Westfold. I could start on my way there now. On horseback, I could return soon.”

He stopped talking when Mrs. Godwin, who had appeared rather tired at first, started to laugh.

“You are a darling, Mr. Duncan, but that is not necessary. We know precisely the powders and potions an apothecary would advise us to use. We already have everything we need, thanks to Teresa’s herbal garden.”

His shoulders slumped. “Oh. That is…very good news.” He cleared his throat and took a step back, clearing the way for Mrs. Godwin to step around him to the stove. “Mrs. Godwin, are you sure there is not anything I might do?”

“You already do so much for us, Mr. Duncan.” The woman looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes flashing in a manner similar to her daughter’s. Mrs. Godwin apparently found his concern amusing.

Neil went to the table and took his usual chair across from Caroline. The girl sighed.

“I suppose you will milk the cow tonight, Miss Caroline?” he said, bending his head in an effort to catch her eye.

She lifted one shoulder. “Yes.”

“Good. Muse and Cider will be happy to see you.”

Her gaze came up, one corner of her mouth lifting. “I do enjoy playing with them.”

Mrs. Godwin brought two bowls of stew to the table. “Our meal is simple tonight, as I have been looking after Teresa the last few hours. I hope you do not mind, Mr. Duncan.”

“I eat like a king at this table every night, Mrs. Godwin. The food is always delicious and filling. What more does a man need?” Even as the words left his lips, it startled him how much he meant them.

What more did he need? Countless courses had passed before him throughout the years of his life. He had eaten at tables filled with the richest dishes. Stuffed swan, gold-leafed and sugared fruits, puddings, cakes, pastries as light as a feather, with all manner of spices to delight the palate.

But with spoon in hand and the stew before him, consisting of more vegetables than meat and only salt, garlic, and onion to enhance the flavors, he found himself content. The one thing he had missed was tea. Real, dark, soothing tea. The coffee was almost an acceptable replacement, but the ladies drank it on rare occasions.

Mrs. Godwin sat and began asking questions about the roof repair, pulling Neil from his thoughts. They spoke for some time, then he escorted Caroline to the barn to milk Abigail. The little girl’s spirits brightened when she successfully sent an arc of milk into her kitten’s open mouth. Muse did not understand how to take part in the trick and ended up with milk dripping from one ear.

Neil carried the pail for Caroline, while she carried the lantern, back into the house. When he left, he looked up at the windows. He knew Teresa’s room by the worn-out corner of the roof directly above it. There was no light inside. It seemed she had already gone to sleep.

Though Neil had not uttered a prayer since childhood, and seldom turned his thoughts heavenward, he thought a plea that night. A plea that nothing would be seriously wrong with Teresa, and her health would return as strong as ever.

Chapter Eighteen

Teresa woke late, her head pounding less than it had the previous evening. She groaned and rolled over in bed, pulling her quilt up to her chin. The sun already streamed through the window on one side of the house.

A knock on the door reminded her what had woken her. She tried to call out, but had to clear her throat and make a second attempt. “Come in.”

The door opened and Caroline came in, her curls in disarray and a brush in hand. “Good morning, Mama. Are you feeling better? Grandmama sent me upstairs to fetch my school things. She told me to check and see if you were ready for breakfast.” The words flew from her daughter with speed.

Teresa smiled and pushed herself up in her bed. “I am a touch better. Here, let me brush your hair. Then you can bring me breakfast.”

Caroline did not argue. Though she was certainly old enough to brush her own hair, and she usually did, Teresa still enjoyed giving her daughter the attention. It gave them time to sit quietly and talk, without worrying over lessons or chores.

“Did you milk Abigail last night?” Teresa asked as her daughter perched on the edge of the bed, back to her mother.

“I did. And I played with Cider and Muse. Mr. Duncan laughed when I showed him how to squeeze milk into a cat’s mouth. He laughed even more when Muse didn’t know the trick.”

The mention of their gentleman-hireling made Teresa smile more than the story did. “I imagine Mr. Duncan did not know the trick either.”

“He said he had never seen it before.” Caroline fidgeted. Something in the way Caroline spoke made Teresa curious. The girl sounded as though she attempted to speak well of Mr. Duncan for a purpose. “I hadn’t either, before we came here. Mr. Duncan said that I know a lot more about living on a farm than he does. I think he is learning rather quickly.”

She pulled the brush gently through Caroline’s black locks, so like her own. “I agree. He has accomplished more in this last month than I thought he would. He did not seem like a man used to physical labor when we met.”

The girl’s nod was slight, then she shifted just enough to look over her shoulder at Teresa. “He was anxious about your illness. Last night, he even offered to ride to the apothecary in Westfold.” The girl’s eyes were comically wide, her words spoken with an air of innocence. Yes, she was certainly trying to hint at something.

As her mother, Teresa refused to rise to the bait. She kept her own tone disinterested. “Did he? How kind of him.”