Page 18 of Her Beautiful Bastard
That decided, he knocked upon the door, waiting to be allowed admittance. A travesty, that he’d been made to feel like an intruder on the threshold of his own wife’s bedchamber; yet, here he stood, waiting to be allowed inside.
The door opened a few inches, and he was confronted by Alice, Drucilla’s lady’s maid.
“Have they finished?” he asked, casting a glance past the woman. He caught sight of Drucilla perched on the edge of her bed, righting her clothing while Doctor Tunstall went about replacing his instruments in his leather bag.
“Yes, Mr. Clayton,” the maid replied, stepping back and opening the door wider to admit him. “The doctor was just about to send for you.”
“Very good,” he declared, sweeping into the room. “You may go, Alice. Her Ladyship will ring for you if she has a need.”
Alice inclined her head at him, giving a swift curtsy. They always did that—bow or curtsy to him, even though he was not a man of rank. He often wondered if it had anything to do with their salaries, which were more than others in their position might earn in other households. Or, perhaps it was his way of treating them as family that gave them such respect for him. Whatever the case, he never wanted to take that for granted.
He gave Alice a little smile. “Thank you.”
She smiled back, then turned to quit the bedroom, quietly slipping out as Sinclair moved farther into the chamber, approaching the bed.
“Doctor,” he said, as the physician closed his bag and straightened, turning to face him. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. When I returned to Buckton and noticed Lady Clayton’s cough, I became concerned it might be pneumonia again.”
Drucilla allowed Sinclair to help her into bed, lying back against the pillows while he pulled the bedclothes up to cover her. She only allowed it because the eyes of the physician watched them. As always, she portrayed the perfect picture of a demure wife, submitting to his attentions. Quite a skilled actress, his wife, her performances fooling everyone into thinking her devoted to him. Only Sinclair and the servants of Buckton Manor knew better.
“It is not pneumonia this time,” Doctor Tunstall declared, coming forward to meet him near Drucilla’s bed. “However, she is showing signs of croup, which I find to be just as concerning. I have instructed Her Ladyship to remain abed until the prolonged coughing fits have passed. She is not to exert herself unnecessarily.”
Sinclair cast a glance at his wife, the pity he used to feel whenever she became ill distinctly absent. All he could conjure now was annoyance, knowing that he’d been right to insist upon calling the doctor while she argued she suffered from a simple cold. It was almost as if shelikedbeing ill, reveling in the attention that it earned her.
“I will see to it that she is kept abed,” he told the doctor. “Am I to assume her diet should be the same as last time? Broth and tea?”
Tunstall nodded. “She might try bread as she gets stronger … if her stomach will allow it. As well, I’ve left another bottle of the draught I provided during her last bout with croup. It should help ease the cough a bit. Keep her bedroom shuttered, warm and dry. I predict she will be on the mend within a fortnight.”
Sinclair looked at the glass bottle resting on Drucilla’s bedside table. She claimed to hate the taste of the potion, but he always noticed a marked improvement in her cough if she ingested it often enough.
“Thank you, Doctor,” he replied. “We’ve been through this before, so I believe we shall get along just fine. See Mr. Welby on your way out, and he will ensure you receive a little something for your trouble.”
Tunstall’s eyes glittered at the prospect, despite already commanding a fair salary to be at the beck and call of many well-to-do families in Hertfordshire. Still, Sinclair did not mind parting with a bottle of his best Burgundy or a few choice cigars to keep the man amenable. With how often Drucilla fell ill, he was forced to call upon Tunstall more than any other family in the county.
“I pray you recover quickly, my lady,” Tunstall said, giving a little bow to Drucilla before going to gather his bag. “I will return to look in on you soon.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Drucilla replied, her voice light and sweet, a perfect imitation of the young girl Sinclair had fallen in love with when he’d been but a boy.
God, had it been so long? Long enough for everything to change, he realized as he rounded the bed to retrieve the coughing draught. As the door closed behind Tunstall, he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, close enough that his hip fit against the curve of her waist.
She stiffened, her breath going still and quiet as she narrowed suspicious eyes on him. Sinclair pretended not to notice, unstopping the bottle and pouring a healthy amount of the draught onto a spoon that had been left resting on the bedside table.
“Come, Dru,” he urged. “You heard Doctor Tunstall.”
Scowling, she turned her head, lips pinched at the corners. “I hate that foul-tasting poison.”
He sighed, in no mood for her petulant behavior. “Thispoisonwill ease your cough so that you can sleep. If you are not coughing all night, I do not have to hear you hacking through the door, andImight get a decent night’s sleep, as well.”
Sitting upright, she parted her lips, allowing him to spoon the bitter-smelling liquid into her mouth. She grunted as she swallowed, a cringe of distaste hardly robbing her of her ethereal beauty. Sinclair remained where he sat, studying her pensively while he stopped the bottle and set it, along with the spoon, back on her bedside table.
The first time he’d ever laid eyes on Lady Drucilla Stratton, he had only been four and ten years of age. She’d been the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, even then, the first blush of womanhood already overtaking the girlishness of her perfect features. He’d thought her an angel, some untouchable thing that could never be his. But then, she’d begun casting sidelong glances in his direction whenever he’d come to Buckton Manor with her elder brother. She’d looked at him with interest and desire, and Sinclair had hoped with the madness of youth that she could become his. He’d fought for her, earned her with blood, sweat, and tears over the course of several years. He had thought that winning her would be the end of his hardship, a prize rightfully earned.
How naive he had been. Marriage to Drucilla had only been the beginning of a life filled with emptiness and regret. It had, quite possibly, been the gravest mistake of his life.
“You may go now,” she snapped when he did not speak for a long moment. “No one is here, so you do not need to pretend you care whether I live or die.”
In the past, her venomous words might have gotten a rise out of him. Now, he could only roll his eyes over her dramatics.
“Are you certain you wish me to leave?” he countered. “Without me, you have no audience whose pity you might play upon. You will be without your visitors for a fortnight … one would think you would revel in my presence.”
