Page 7 of A Duke Under Her Spell
Surprised, Marybeth nodded in agreement and turned her attention back to the Dowager Duchess. She examined her thoroughly, just as her grandmother had taught her to do, asking questions as she worked. As they talked, Marybeth was not at all certain what had befallen the noble lady, but her healer’s heart felt great sympathy for the Duchess’s plight. Determined to help the Dowager Duchess, Marybeth began mixing a concoction of herbs that she thought might help.
“I am not certain what it is that ails you, Your Grace, but I have seen something similar to this before when I was a child. My grandmother spent a great deal of time and effort in helping the woodsman recover. He went from being on death’s doorstep to the robust man he had once been, but it took months of diligent care.
“And what is that awful smelling potion you are mixing?” The Duke wrinkled his nose in displeasure as he came around to peer over her shoulder.
Marybeth smiled at the comical expression on his face. It was clear that he had never spent very much time in a kitchen. “’Tis a mixture of garlic cloves, oregano, valerian, and wormwood. When I am done with this, I will make a tea of honey, ginger, and white willow bark. ‘Tis the remedy that my grandmother used on the woodsman. I believe it to be the best way to begin.”
“And you think that this assortment of spices and vegetation will cure my mother?” Felix asked, doubt tinging his voice.
“Yes, I do.”
“Why, then, do not all the doctors in London know of this remedy?”
“Because they believe such methods to be that of witchcraft, Your Grace.”
“Is it?”
“No, Your Grace, it is not. God provides us with great bounty; we only need to open our eyes and minds to see the earth’s intended potential.”
“You claim to know God’s intentions? A bold claim indeed, Miss…”
“Wright, Miss Marybeth Wright,” Marybeth bowed quickly in introduction. “And no, I do not claim to know any such thing. I can only share what I myself have observed.”
“A bold young woman indeed,” the Duke noted examining her face in thought. Marybeth feared she might still yet be denied and that the poor ailing Dowager Duchess would be the one to suffer for it. Nodding, the Duke continued. “You may proceed,” he waved his hand in permission. “Perhaps you will succeed where all others have failed.” He moved back to the other side of the bed and observed as Marybeth administered the treatment.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Marybeth spooned the garlic mixture into the Dowager Duchess’s mouth, causing her face to pinch in disgust. “It is a bit unpalatable, I will admit, but it will help you, Your Grace.” She spooned the rest of the dose into her mouth and then moved to make the tea. She removed the kettle of water from over the fireplace and poured it over the ground ginger and white willow bark mixture, then stirred in the honey.
The Dowager Duchess sipped the tea and closed her eyes in pleasure. “That is much better,” she complimented.
“Yes, it is,” Marybeth smiled. “You will need to do this several times a day for as many months. I will need to get you more of every item so that you will not run out. I will teach you the proper dosage so that you can mix it for your mother when I am gone, Your Grace.”
“Gone?”
“Yes, when I return home.”
“Nonsense. You will stay here with us.”
Marybeth was surprised by his invitation. “I cannot simply abandon my home or my birds for months on end, Your Grace.”
“Birds?” the Duke questioned.
“Pigeons, Your Grace. They were my grandmother’s. She adopted the birds of Blackleigh Castle.”
“The pigeons in the medieval dovecot belong to someone? I always thought that they were feral.”
“They may come and go as they please. They simply choose to stay because she fed them, and now the task has fallen upon me.”
“So, they can care for themselves if need be?”
“Well, yes, I suppose that they can,” she admitted hesitantly. “But what of my croft?”
“I can arrange for a groom to take you there each week, if that is your wish. I do not wish to disrupt your life, Miss Wright, but I fear you will not be able to fully aid my mother if you are not present during her worst episodes. You are the first to offer any kind of a solution and to be frank, Miss Wright, you are our last hope.”
The sincerity she found in his eyes caused her to give pause. She considered his words carefully. He was right in that the pigeons were capable of caring for themselves, and did so most of the time. Feeding them was more of a pleasantry for her than it was an actual requirement. They were able to come and go from the dovecot at will, the forest and nearby stream providing them with all the food and water they could possibly hope for.
I could still visit them to feed them their wheat each week.
“I would wish to ride out to my croft each week to ensure that all was well and to replenish my supply of herbs.”
