Chemistry of Magic: Unexpected Magic Book Five (Unexpected Magic #5)(39)

“Those bugs died in your foul solution.” She pointed at the mouse on the floor, which seemed to be staggering to its feet. “That mouse probably drank it.”

“We don’t know that. You are jumping to conclusions. The bugs could have just drowned.” But intrigued, he removed a grain scoop hung from the wall to slide under the staggering mouse and looked for a safe place to deposit it. “And why would my medicine be pouring through the roof anyway?”

She snickered a little but offered him a large planting pot and a saucer for lid. “Raining Fowler’s? We might all die. I was experimenting.”

“You were experimenting with my medicine?” He didn’t know whether to be outraged or curious. Since he really wanted another glorious night in her bed, he chose to be curious. He still thought he needed to end the mouse’s misery.

“Give it some cheese. That sometimes negates the effect of mild poisons,” she suggested, ignoring his question.

“You want me to carry a mouse into the kitchen and ask for cheese?” He handed the pot to her. “You do it. I’ll watch.”

The laughter gurgling from her luscious lips restored some of his humor.

“Put that way. . . I don’t suppose the grooms have apples for the horses? Oh, perhaps there are potatoes in the garden!” She lifted her skirt and hurried into the growing twilight, leaving him with a potted mouse.

Life with Emilia at least wouldn’t be boring. Dare bent over to sniff the puddle. It did smell like his medicine. What if he looked at the bugs under a microscope? Could he tell how they died? He doubted it, but now that he understood she wasn’t jesting, he was shaken. His medicine killed bugs?

He was studying the bottle in his pocket when she hurried back in.

“The bottle you took this morning is not Fowlers,” she told him. “It’s a few mild anti-congestives and digestives mixed in your mineral water. I doubt it will kill bugs, although you can try.”

She used a knife from her worktable to slice thin bits of a withered old potato. She winced when she looked at the mouse, then dropped the potato in. Dare leaned over her to watch the vermin sniff the vegetable.

“He’ll need water,” he reminded her. “Or do we feed him my medicine to see what happens?”

“I cannot bear to deliberately poison a living creature.” She actually sounded mournful. “It is a pity. Dissection might reveal what happened.”

“I doubt it, but I can try on the cockroaches. I assume you don’t mind killing them?”

Her mouth fell open as she looked up at him, but nothing came out. Dare spent the moment admiring the way her violet eyes darkened to midnight purple. She might not be beautiful in the common way, but she was so striking that his mind blurred when she was around.

“I’ve not given thought to killing bugs,” she finally said in dismay.

“Then don’t give it thought. I’ll come out and clean up later. Let us go in now and prepare for dinner and I’ll tell you all about my successful haggling and your new horse.”

She smiled in relief and took his arm. “Yes, please. Are they fine horses?”

“They won’t win any races, but they’ll go for hours without dropping, so I think they’re very fine.”

They chattered about normal, mundane household matters, but Dare knew his wife’s versatile mind was pondering medicine and croaked cockroaches just as his was.

He had been drinking poison?



Dinner was another glorious meal of tasty light fare, although Mrs. Peacock added a nice cut of lamb to the menu this time. Emilia approved of the addition of salad greens and promised herself that on the morrow, she’d venture to the kitchen garden. Her brief foray for the potato told her someone had taken the garden in hand, but she needed to see it in daylight. And then, she really needed to look into the more extensive herb gardens.

But for right now, her husband’s health took precedence. She’d never believed she could save a dying man. Now. . .

Consumption wasn’t curable. The medicine might have been making Dare sicker than he needed to be, but nothing would kill the tubercles growing in his lungs. But if she could slow their growth. . .

It crushed her to watch him consume everything on his plate like the healthy man he should be and to know that a year from now, he could be confined to bed, living on broth, and coughing up his lungs. She didn’t often cry, but she wept inside at this horrid waste of a courageous man who had done all within his power to pay his father’s debts and save his family from humiliation.

Now that he wasn’t taking the Fowler’s, could she persuade him to take healthier drinks—if she could create some?

She really needed to set up her own workshop. She couldn’t ride over to the abbey every time she needed to mix a solution. The servants had stored her equipment in the glass house until it could be transported to the abbey. Perhaps she should unpack a few things. . .

She glanced at Dare, who was frowning at his plate—or in thought. She was beginning to see two sides to her husband: the charming Devil Dare he presented to the world, and the studious scholar who blew up glass in his efforts to harness the earth’s elements. She admired both of them, but right now, they were an obstacle to her studies.

How could she politely excuse herself from his presence after dinner and escape to her workshop? As much as she enjoyed their bed play—and admittedly, if she thought about it too long, she would forget work—she couldn’t spend half her day in bed.