Chemistry of Magic: Unexpected Magic Book Five (Unexpected Magic #5)(60)
“You made good time,” Bridey exclaimed.
“You’re only a day’s ride away, and I was eager to escape the women and their nesting. Even Ashford is shouting for brighter paints and papers, demanding windows be installed where no windows should be. A summer day’s ride is pure pleasure in comparison.” Erran bowed to Emilia. “Lady Dare, my congratulations. Your husband has the respect and admiration of many.”
Since the Ives men had barely acknowledged her existence until now, Emilia credited Dare with this new recognition. She curtseyed but let the men lead the conversation.
“Once Dare has approval from his consortium, we can draw up the property deeds,” Erran said after Pascoe explained their agreement. “That’s of no moment. But I’d like to talk with the men who believe they already own your properties, if indeed, that is the case.”
Emilia listened intently. It wasn’t Dare she had to fear but someone else?
“If there are forgeries, I need to see the signatures,” Erran continued. “Everyone is trying to rush railroads into production before parliament can draw up restrictions, so they may just be bluffing and hoping they can obtain signatures. But a lawsuit needs to be constructed on evidence.”
“We’ll go into Harrogate tomorrow and work our way around town,” Pascoe said. “Tell Emilia what you’ll need from Dare, and he can have it prepared when we come by on the morrow.”
Erran turned to the desk where Tess worked. “May I borrow pen and paper, please? I’ll make a list.”
Wide-eyed, the secretary pushed clean paper in his direction and sharpened a pen.
“Might I ask you about ways of publishing my pharmacopeia?” Emilia asked as he worked on his list.
He glanced up at her. “Don’t strike the messenger, but you’d do best to have an accredited physician’s name on the cover. But perhaps if you had letters from physicians who approve of the contents, you could use your initials, and I could talk to a few printers. I don’t suppose you write articles for medical journals and your name might be recognized?”
“Sommersville,” Bridey immediately said. “The duke would be the perfect reference. He writes articles all the time, and everyone knows him.”
Emilia brightened. “Could you introduce me? I could show him the copy we keep here. Perhaps if we put his name on the cover—would he allow that?”
“If it would put a good pharmacopeia into the hands of apothecaries, I can’t see why not. You could make your fortune!” Bridey said enthusiastically.
“Making a little money instead of spending it would be a pleasant change, but mostly, I want the information disseminated far and wide. We have so much to learn, that it’s a shame physicians have only the old methods to fall back on. We need to keep adding to our knowledge!”
Bolstered by the sensation that she’d finally found friends who understood her, Emilia gathered up her belongings and prepared to leave.
She was excited and eager to go home, to see what Dare had accomplished, to see Dare. . . He’d listened to her and understood about her land and hadn’t sold it!
For the first time in her life, she feared her heart was as engaged as her brain.
Feeling more energetic than he had in a long time, Dare contemplated the two horses in the paddock and wondered if he ought to ride into the village. It wasn’t as if the nags were meant for galloping across field and stream, but he missed riding, and he hated being treated like an invalid. The village was less than a mile away. Once upon a time, he could have walked the distance.
He tried breathing deep. Was it really possible that Emilia could heal damaged tissues simply by touching him? He coughed and cursed when he drew too much air into his lungs. She was at least correct that she couldn’t cure him.
Hearing the creak of the garden gate, willing to be distracted from his frustration, he turned and watched the old gnome totter out. The gardener was never around when Emilia was, but Dare had seen him puttering about occasionally. He still didn’t know where the man lived.
To his surprise, Mr. Arthur toddled over to the paddock carrying a handful of greens.
“Dinbernt,” he said between his missing teeth. “Give it to da miss.”
Dinbernt? What the devil was dinbernt? “Shouldn’t you give it to the cook?” Dare asked, studying the weeds he took in bewilderment.
The garden gnome doddered off, ignoring him.
Apparently being a viscount and lord of all he surveyed earned little respect from gardeners. In a vague way, he understood. The old gnome could produce food from dirt, whereas Dare could produce nothing particularly useful except money. In the gardener’s eyes, he needed to earn respect.
Out of curiosity, Dare took the greens into the workshop and stuck them in water. He had a vague notion that greens, like flowers, might last longer in water. After a bit of study, he realized there were two types in this bunch, one straggly looking stalk that really did look like a weed, and a healthy bunch of thick leaves. He took one of each and carried them inside and upstairs to Emilia’s secretary/maid. Bessie looked up from her work with surprise, then rose hesitantly.
Dare waved her back to her seat and presented her with the leaves. “Arthur handed these to me, said something that sounded liked dinbernt, and ordered me to give them to Emilia. What am I supposed to do with them?”