Page 22 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
Rosamund trailed after him as he strode across the hall and up the stairs.
Her mother was no sylph. For a man of his age, the duke was surprisingly strong.
While Pom Pomlay prone on the bed, his stubby legs splayed in all directions, Rosamund picked over the events which had brought on her mother’s attack of nerves.
Had it all been an act?
Madame Florian was clearly fixing on the duke for herself, and was making best use of her position in "speaking for" the late duchess. The French woman was unscrupulous; Rosamund would lay a dollar any day of the week on that!
But what explanation could there be for predicting doom upon one of them at the table. Little wonder that her mother had taken a turn! The whole experience had been unsettling.
Fortunately, Rosamund wasn’t so easily spooked.
Even were the abbey rammed to the uppermost towers with the ghosts of the departed, she hardly thought it likely they’d be interested in telling fortunes.
Far easier to believe that Madame Florian had planned the charade with mischief in mind.
Bessie arrived with breakfast,though the fare didn’t appeal greatly to Rosamund’s appetite: black pudding with an oily egg on top. She hadn’t realized what the pudding was made of until Bessie explained. She nibbled a small piece before deciding it wasn’t for her. Pom Pom had no such compunction.
Having dressed, Rosamund checked in on her mother, with Pom Pom trotting at her heels.
Bessie waited at the foot of the bed with a tray.
“Ma?” Rosamund shook her gently. “It’s morning. Time to wake up.”
Mrs. Burnell frowned and snuffled.
The tincture administered by the duke into her mother's hot milk the night before sat upon the nightstand.
Laudenum.
It contained opium; that much Rosamund knew.
She squeezed a drop, reddish-brown, onto the back of her hand, dipping her tongue to taste it, then recoiled at the bitterness.
“So tired.” Mrs. Burnell turned her head on the pillow, away from the faint light filtering through the curtains.
“You needed your rest. It’s been a trying time, and that horrible séance made you overwrought.”
“Stay in bed a bit longer.” Her mother yawned. “Warm here.”
“Of course, but let’s sit you up for a bit. Take a cup of tea and a few bites of something.” Together with Bessie, Rosamund plumped the cushions and managed to get Mrs. Burnell upright.
“What time is it, sweet-pea?” Sleepily, her mother dragged her hand across her eyes.
“Almost ten; far later than usual.” Rosamund nodded for Bessie to open the curtains.
“I’ve an invitation to tour the abbey, and mustn’t keep the duke waiting.” Rosamund scooped some marmalade, spreading it across a triangle of thinly sliced toast, and was pleased that her mother accepted it without arguing.
“Bessie’ll sit with you for a while, then bring up some hot water. You’ll feel much better after a wash.” Rosamund hoped it was true.
Her mother had been under a deal of strain—what with Ethan having been taken from them; not to mention the worry of how they’d secure a future for themselves that didn’t end in poverty.
She rested the back of her hand against her mother’s forehead. It was rather hot, and her pupils were dilated more than usual.
Was she sickening?
“I’ll look in on you again before luncheon, Ma. Meantime, Pom Pom will keep you company.” Reaching down, Rosamund lifted the puppy onto the bed.
