Mark took a bite of his dessert to prepare his answer. “He’s doing much better,” he lied. News of Matthew’s injuries flew through the ton like the juiciest gossip. What his family had been able to keep secret—at least for now—was that Matthew would likely be bed-bound for the rest of his life. He certainly couldn’t have children. “His poor valet was doing most of thenursing and heavy lifting when we discovered the village woman my mother employed was drinking on the job.”
Several gasped.
“That’s just like the lower orders, though.” The magistrate’s wife nodded with conviction. “You can’t ever trust them to do good work.”
“Your mother should hire a Nightingale,” the woman beside him suggested. “The women are trained by Florence Nightingale herself and are highly reliable. My cousin went to her training school.”
Mark turned to her in surprise. “That’s a capital idea. Thank you, madam.”
“The baroness has already hired a Nightingale nurse,” Ellen said abruptly, never looking up from her dessert. “The young woman should be arriving at Cottesloe in a day or so, if not already there.”
Mark looked at his wife in surprise. “She did? She is?”
Ellen bestowed upon him a glacial smile. “Your mother and I correspond regularly. She asked for my help in finding proper medical support for your brother.”
Ellen writes to my mother?The thought discomfited him, as though two worlds were colliding.What do they say about me? And why would my mother seek Ellen’s advice?
From the corner of his eye he caught Mrs. Hanson give a warning glance to her daughter, as if she disapproved of Ellen’s comments about nurses. But before he could puzzle through that exchange, Mrs. Hanson gracefully rose from the foot of the table and smiled down at her guests. “It is time to let the men have their cigars and port.” The women stood, as did their husbands. The ladies, in a flurry of colorful gowns, headed toward the dining room exit.
Ellen stayed near the end, allowing guests to go first. As she reached the doorway, a footman standing nearby gave a small gesture. Ellen paused and sidled closer to the man in livery.
Mark, curiosity aroused, strained to hear what the man wastelling Ellen. The young man passed Ellen a small note, which she immediately opened and read. Her lips pursed, she looked back at the footman and asked a question. He shrugged and resumed his alert post against the wall.
“Ellen,” Mrs. Hanson warned in low tones. “Not tonight.”
Mark watched avidly as Ellen faced her mother, standing in the hall. “Mother.”
“I refuse to tolerate this,” Mrs. Hanson said, then looked around and dropped her voice to a whisper. After a brief exchange, they parted ways—Mrs. Hanson to the drawing room where the ladies waited, and Ellen for the back of the house.
Now he absolutelyhadto know what was going on. Mark rose quietly and slipped out the door. He caught a flicker of sky blue out of the corner of his eye and went in pursuit.
Mark followed the flutter of her silk dress down the foyer, through a plain service door painted the same color as the walls to disguise it, down the plain, unpainted stairs, and into the servants’ quarters. Her footsteps stopped at the bottom of the stairs around a corner, and he paused halfway, out of sight.
“Laura, what’s wrong?” Ellen's voice, stripped of the girlish affectations he remembered, sounded strong and calm.
“Oh, madam!” Laura, out of sight, hiccupped through a sob. Mark strained to catch her words. “She’s in labor already.”
“What? Already?” Ellen sounded surprised but not shocked. “I was going to visit her tomorrow, but I suppose babies do not wait upon our schedules.”
Laura sniffled. “Will she be all right? It’s so early.”
“How long has she been in labor?”
Laura made a muffled reply.
“Of course I’ll come.” Ellen’s voice took a placating tone. “I need to make my excuses to the dinner party and change, then I’ll hurry to your sister. I’ll be out the back door in five minutes.” Her shoes scuffed against the cement floor, and Mark quickly backed up the stairs. He ducked out the servants’ door and behind a large potted plant when she emerged.
Baffled by the strong, competent woman, Mark stared at her back as she strode up the foyer and to the drawing room doors, large bustle swaying behind her.
“My apologies, ladies, I’m feeling unwell.” He could make out her figure, slumped against the door frame, through the fronds of the fern. “Thank you for coming.” A pause. “No, Mother, I’ll just rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” She turned and went to the dark cherry staircase near Mark. He held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t catch him spying.
Ellen must’ve had too much on her mind, for she didn’t notice her husband behind the potted fern as she raced upstairs.
Mark hesitated behind the pot. He didn’t have much time to decide.Is she going out past dark? That isn’t safe!He had half a mind to go tell her father what she was up to. Then he remembered.Ellen is my wife. I can tell her to stay.He hesitated again. She was already furious with him. Yet it still wasn’t safe for a woman to go out by herself.
Decision made, Mark lurched forward and raced to the guest room where his afternoon clothes lay, freshly pressed, on the bed. Years in the Navy helped him as he quickly undressed, buttoned, and dressed again. He threw on his shoes and thundered down the stairs.
Meeks, the butler, paused in the foyer and looked up at him, one eyebrow cocked.