Page 54 of Secrets of the Marriage Bed
After Grindle left she walked to the window and looked out, plucking up her courage to admit her lie by omission. Beyond the glass, little could be seen of the magnificent vista this morning, the rain obscuring all but the closest objects.
She straightened her shoulders. There really was nothing to fear, but given his suspicions, his talk of cuckoos, would he think this was another attempt to deceive him?
Thank goodness he hadn’t changed his mind about visiting Beauworth. She felt the need to get out of doors, to see other people. Hopefully this rain would be over by tomorrow. If not, they would be forced to go by carriage—or postpone the outing. She glanced up at the sky. Naturally it looked as if it might rain for days.
She sighed and prepared herself to spend a few days drinking tea and plying her needle. Perhaps she’d work on a set of cushions for this room. Something bright and cheery.
The tray arrived with a message that His Grace would take his tea in his office, though the kitchen had included a second cup on the tray. Disappointed, she tucked her embroidery away and poured herself a cup. The steam brought with it the distinctive scent of Oolong and something else. Dash it all. Had they added a small amount to the pot for flavour or had they brought her the wrong tray? She poured herself a cup and added milk and sugar. When she lifted the brew to her nose and breathed in the scent her stomach rebelled. Oolong, certainly, but it was that other underlying sickly smell that turned her stomach. She sniffed again. Deeply. And the smell hit the back of her throat in a way that was familiar.
Laudanum.
Of course. It was what she had been tasting and smelling all along.
In her tea? Why? In disgust she poured what was in her cup back in the pot and put the lid on, to keep the smell enclosed.
Her chest constricted. This was the reason for her illness these past many days. Certainly not what Alistair had accused her of. What she had barely dared hope. Laudanum must have been what she had been tasting in her morning chocolate, too. She shuddered. A dose of the poppy had made her violently ill as a child and the doctor had told her parents she should never take it again.
Why would anyone do such a thing?Whowould?
No one else knew of her intolerance. There had been no reason to discuss it. She simply never used it, not for a headache or her monthly pains. So if it was not being given to make her ill...
She pressed her fingers to her temple, trying to reason it out. As far as she knew, laudanum made people sleepy. Took away pain. Some people also gained a penchant for daily usage. Cold fingers crawled down her spine. Could that be it?
But why?
Trembling, she covered her mouth with a hand, trying to stem her rapid breathing, the panic. Should she say something to Alistair?
This was his house, his servants, his everything. He could arrange for such a thing. Could he have done so? To what end? To make her compliant to his every wish?
Or because he regretted marrying her and wanted rid of her one way or another? And now he knew she couldn’t give him children would it make him all the more determined to see her gone? Her conversation with his stepmother had revealed a man who was ruthless in obtaining his own ends. A man who seemed to care for no one but himself.
If he discovered the laudanum did not work, what next should she expect?
Blinded by dread, she wrapped her arms around her waist.
