Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)(63)

“Ashford,” said Richards.

“Far away, is it?” she asked.

“Two hours’ ride,” Richards told her.

“Not bad. Well, you see, I’ve nursed many sick people before. I’d like to help.”

The two men stared at her as if she had two heads.

She might be the new marchioness and a new bride, but she was not without skills or brains. Or persistence. “Could you take me to the cottages? Please?”

Richards was more than skeptical. He scratched his shaggy hair above his ear. “In the rain?”

“You walked here. So can I.”

He shot his bushy brows together. “‘Is lordship may not like it.”

“To give help to his tenants who are ill? Of course, he will like it. Tell me where they are. You needn’t come with me, if you don’t like. I take my own responsibility.”

He pulled a doubting face.

“I do. Always,” she assured him.





Phillip Leland was a handsome frog, what with his overly large green eyes and brilliant hair, the color of old gold. Tall and thin, he had an aristocratic bearing that told her he must have come from a very good family who lived beneath their station. When Julian had told her that the two of them were second cousins through his father’s family, she understood how the two men, so divergent in class and occupation, got on so well together. He was a relative.

He had told her his father had earned a living at writing novels in installments much like Charles Dickens had done. “At first, he wrote novels suited for social commentary. But when he did not become as popular as other authors, he began a series of books for children. He created a character who was a mouse in the house of a duke,” he said as the three of them sat in the purple salon after their dinner.

“The mouse stole cheese from the larder and books from the library,” Julian said with a chuckle.

“And raised his sons to become barristers and his daughters to become physicians,” Leland added.

Overjoyed, she clapped her hands together. “Disregarding class and gender?”

“True revolutionaries,” Leland said with a rueful grin.

“In America, we would applaud that,” she said.

“Here,” he said, “we take our revolutions a bit more slowly.”

“And how did you decide on the law? Was it your father’s stories of his little mouse that inspired you?”

“I confess it’s true. But what I’d really like to do is write a novel. I’ve penned a few shorter stories that a London publisher considers.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said. “I like to see people engaged in what delights them. My cousin Marianne takes comfort in drawing and painting.”

“Is that right?” Julian asked as he took a chair opposite her. “I had no idea she did that.”

“Has she shown her work?” Leland asked.

“She does it only for her own enjoyment, claiming she’d never match a professional’s expertise. But her subjects are unique.” Lily finished her glass of brandy and put it aside. “She paints women and children. Quite charming.”

“Do you also draw and paint?” Leland asked her.

“Oh, no. I’m afraid my talents are totally lacking. I draw lovely little stick men.”

Both men gave a laugh.

“I wish I could contribute something to the world like a novel. But I think my skills are in nursing.”

“Nursing?” Leland was clearly shocked, his bright eyes even bigger than before.

“Yes.” She glanced at her husband whom she’d not seen all afternoon until he’d appeared in his dressing room to change for dinner. “Now is a good time to tell you, Julian, that I went to the tenants’ cottages today to check on those who are ill. I fear three have bronchitis. I saw a few children. Two have croup. Those blankets you ordered sent down to them are useful to make steamer tents for bronchitis kettles. But they have only two in the whole village.”

“Steamer tents?” Leland asked her. “What do you mean?”

“Breathing in warm moist air is very useful to keep the lungs clear. The best way to do that is to make a tent, then force in air with kettles specifically made for the purpose. They have a wide base so they don’t tip over and a very long spout.”

“I’m glad you went,” said Julian, his brown eyes heavy with concern, “but you may also now fall ill.”

“You mustn’t worry,” she told him. “I’ve been near people who have much worse maladies and never been sick a day in my life.”

“Still—”

“It gives me great joy to be of real use to someone.” I can’t spend my life ordering about servants and then not care for them when they are in need. “I’d like to purchase more equipment. Help them regularly.”

“I wouldn’t dream of refusing you joy, my dear. But that could endanger your health. Though I am sad to say it, the farmers do not have benefit of the best food and warm fires. I’d like to improve that, but struggle with the means. This rain doesn’t help. The crops will be spare…” He narrowed his gaze on his glass, disturbed.

She tipped her head, aware she must not shame her husband in front of his friend. “If by small favors, I can improve their health, I want to. In fact, I’d like to buy more copper kettles for them. Nelson inhalers, too. A special type, you see. But I’d need the name of the local doctor.”