Page 52 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess
“I don’t mind,” Patrina confessed. “If my mother-in-law does not object to your guest, then neither do I. May I meet them?”
“Certainly. Agatha, come along!”
A woman just as tall as Lady Ashworth broke away from a gathering crowd near the refreshments table and strode along towards them. She seemed to be about ten years younger than Lady Ashworth, with dark hair not quite touched by grey, with a slimmer frame. Her dress was decidedly of lower quality and cut simply, marking her out as a poorer relation. Patrina could already sense Lord and Lady Evans drawing themselves up in outrage.
“Lady Morendale, may I introduce my cousin, Miss Agatha Simms,” Lady Ashworth said, and Miss Simms made a lopsided curtsey.
“It’s a pleasure,” she said, her voice surprisingly deep. “I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome at such a fine event.”
“You are most welcome, Miss Simms.” Patrina assured her.
The woman smiled a little more sincerely. “Call me Agatha, please.”
“MissSimms?” Lady Evans said frostily. “Not married, then? What a shame. I suppose it’s too late for you, now.”
Miss Simms – Agatha – shot a disdainful glance at the woman. “Why should I need to marry? I can support myself.”
Lady Evans clutched at her husband’s shoulder. “Oh, heavens. How vulgar.”
“Lady Evans, please don’t speak to my guests in that way,” Patrina heard herself say. Lord and Lady Evans shot her outraged glances, and Lady Ashworth bit back a smile. “Tell me, Agatha, what work do you do?”
“I’m a midwife, mostly,” Agatha said, smiling, “but I’m also studying medicine. At least, I amtryingto study medicine. I’m not permitted to attend any of the colleges, of course. I suppose I could call myself a healer, of sorts.”
Lady Evans gave a faint moan. It did seem as though she were on the cusp of fainting.
“If you’re feeling ill, Lady Evans,” Lady Ashworth said, with a sweetness that did not suit her very well, “you can always go and sit down, don’t you think? There are chairs around the edges of the room, I believe.”
Lady Evans pursed her lips and cast one last disdainful look at Agatha. She pinched her husband’s arm, and strode off, dragging the smaller man behind, without another word.
“Good riddance,” Lady Ashworth murmured, then glanced apologetically at Patrina. “I apologise, Lady Morendale. I should not be so rude to your guests.”
“It’s quite all right, I scarcely knew them. And they were rude to Miss Simms – Agatha – first.”
“I’m used to it,” Agatha conceded. “Men can be esteemed physicians, but women – certainly not. Even midwives are being forced out of their professions. It’s most infuriating.”
“Tell me more about your work, then. You called yourself a… a healer, was that right?”
“Yes, more or less. I do have some training – I worked as a medical attendant for many years, and then…” Agatha launchedinto an explanation of her work, and Patrina found herself listening in interest.
An idea was forming. She asked Agatha about the drops and herbal tinctures Neil took, and the woman professed that she’d never seen or heard of them being used in such a case.
“Of course,” Agatha admitted, “My experience is not universal. I would have to know exactly what made up the drops and tinctures, and then do some research. I would ask some colleagues for their advice, too. It’s possible that Mr. Blackburn came up with a concoction of his own to treat the condition.”
Patrina frowned. “And is that… normal?”
Agatha glanced briefly at Lady Ashworth, as if for support. The older woman simply raised her eyebrows and said nothing.
“N-No,” Agatha conceded. “But again, I simply don’t have all the facts. Does the treatment seem to alleviate the symptoms?”
Swallowing hard, Patrina glanced around. The ballroom was filling up, and she knew that she had already spent too long talking to Lady Ashworth and Agatha. She was expected to mingle tonight, and especially since Neil would spend most of the evening sitting down. She was the hostess, Lady Morendale herself, and the slightest misstep could give offence tonight. Everybody would be looking at her, judging her, assessing her behaviour.
They would not be kind in the case of mistakes.
“Not that I can tell,” she admitted at last. “He treated the previous Lord Morendale, too.”
Agatha glanced at her cousin. “And the previous Lord Morendale is…?”
“Dead,” Lady Ashworth answered shortly. “I can give you more details on the sickness later, Agatha.”
