Harry made an attempt to push his spectacles up, noticed his hand was trembling with fatigue, and lowered it again. “Couldn’t leave the poor little lad. Doctor said he almost bought it. Said we came damn close to losing him. Plum was beside herself.”
Temple signaled to a footman to bring a decanter and glass to the hall table next to where Harry was sitting. “Surely she didn’t blame herself for the incident? I thought the Doctor Trewitt said McTavish had ingested something poisonous, like toxic berries or a bit of plant?”
Harry leaned his head back against the oak paneling, and closed his eyes. There was so much for him to do, so much he needed to see to, but the last few days had drained him of all energy or desire to do anything but sleep for a week. “Plum had some foolish idea that it was the upset at dinner the other night that made him ill.”
“That is foolish. McTavish is made of sterner stuff.”
“Mmm.” Harry tried to focus his mind on the things he needed to do, but they kept slipping from his mental grasp, as if they were made of quicksilver. “Now that McTavish is out of danger, I must attend to those tasks that are awaiting my attention, tasks like unearthing the information Lord Briceland requested. And then there is putting the estate to rights — Plum can’t do it all herself.”
Harry was so still that Temple thought for a moment that he had fallen asleep, but the groan Harry uttered informed him otherwise. His words, however, were noticeably slurred, spoken slowly as if the mere act of speaking was almost beyond him. “I’ve been blessed, Temple, twice in my life. The first was when I wed Beatrice, the second was when I found Plum. I’d have lost Tavvy without her ceaseless care. She wouldn’t let him go, she just wouldn’t let him…”
“Go,” finished Temple. He set down the glass he was about to offer his employer, and went to fetch a footman to help carry the sleeping marquis upstairs. They laid him down next to Plum, who was sound asleep on her bed, fully dressed, her boots still on. Temple removed Plum’s boots, and Harry’s shoes and spectacles, loosened the latter’s rumpled neckcloth, and spread a blanket over them both, quietly leaving them to their much needed rest.
Ten hours later Harry awoke with a desperate need to use the pot, a raging thirst, and a vague, nagging sense of something important that he needed to do.
“McTavish!” he roared two minutes later, and having achieved one goal, slammed down the lid to the close stool, tucked himself back into his breeches, and raced out of the bedroom for the upper floor.
He burst into the nursery prepared to find his youngest child gravely ill — or worse — but what he found was an exuberant McTavish crawling around on his bed, giggling and laughing as he played with a gray-and-white striped kitten, just as if he had not been near death a few hours before.
“Good evening, Harry. Did you sleep well?” Plum, sitting in the same chair next to the bed where she’d spent the last three days while they tended McTavish, looked as fresh as a spring daffodil — a somewhat faded and worn daffodil, he thought to himself, taking in her soft yellow gown. He made a mental note to have Temple bring a modiste to Ashleigh Court to fit Plum out with a new wardrobe. “I looked in on you twice, but both times you were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you. You look well rested.”
“I am,” Harry answered, then strolled forward to ruffle his son’s hair. “How are you feeling, old man?”
McTavish looked up from where the kitten was pouncing on a piece of string he was trailing across the bed. “I’m hungry. Mama says I can’t have anything but broth and toast until tomorrow. I don’t like toast and broth. I want mashed potatoes!”
Plum’s velvety brown eyes were soft and warm as she smiled at him. “I melt every time he calls me that.”
“What, Mama?” She nodded. Harry glanced around the empty nursery, a wry twist to his lips. “I have a suspicion it won’t be very long before you’re taking to hiding from them as they bellow ‘Mama!’ down the hallways in search of you. And as for you, young man, you do as your mother tells you.”
McTavish made a face, and turned his attention back to playing with the kitten. Plum rose and spoke to one of the nursery maids, turning back to him to smile as she brushed a lock of hair off his brow.
“I’ve ordered you a bath, husband. You look as if you could use a little freshening after the last four days. I’ll have dinner held back an hour.”
“Ever the dutiful wife?”
Her smiled turned cheeky. “Something like that.”
“Plum—” Harry caught her to him, mindless of the fact that McTavish was behind them playing on the bed. The warm glow of happiness her touch brought him was spreading, changing to something more elemental, more earthy. He kissed the tip of her delightful nose. “I didn’t have a chance to thank you before, but I want to now.”
“Thank me?” Her brow scrunched up, pulling those two straight brows together. “What do you have to thank me for?”
“For helping with McTavish. For saving his life.”
Plum stared at him for a moment in open-mouthed astonishment, then struggled from his hold, her eyes all but spitting indignation at him. “Thank me? You want to thank me? As if I was a servant or a doctor?”
It was Harry’s turn to stare in astonishment. What had he said that she took so badly? “Not as a servant, no, but you didn’t have to attend McTavish. I told you I would do it.”
“You would do it because he’s your child,” Plum snarled, her hands fisted at her side.
Harry was at a loss why she was so angry. “Yes, because he’s my child.”
“Whereas he isn’t mine.”
“No, he isn’t. Since you didn’t know about the children until after we were married, I realized that it might be expecting too much for you to tend one of them when he was ill.”
Plum’s cheeks flared red. Harry was about to ask her what he had said to make her so angry when she slapped him, hard, then spun on her heel and stormed out of the room. He stood for a minute in confusion, rubbing his face as he wondered if lack of sleep had unhinged her mind.
Gertie stood in the doorway to the girls’ room. “Ye’ve insulted yer lady.”
He raised his eyebrows at her.
“Ye’ve insulted her by tellin’ her she’s not Tavvy’s rightful Mama.”
“She’s not.”
“She’s his stepmama, and to her that’s the same.”
Harry shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose to forestall the headache he felt blossom in the back of his head. “She didn’t even know about the children until after we were married. I didn’t expect her to plunge into motherhood so quickly. I wanted to ease her into it, so the children wouldn’t overwhelm her.”
Gertie waved away his explanations. “Ye daft man, can’t ye see she’s achin’ to mother them? She needs them as much as they need her. By treatin’ her like she was doin’ ye a favor in takin’ care of Tavvy, yer tellin’ her she’s not part of the family. No mother would leave her sick child’s care to someone else. Ye insulted her in the worst way ye could by thankin’ her.”
Harry groaned and rubbed his neck. The headache was getting worse. “I didn’t mean to insult her. I just wanted to show her my appreciation for all the assistance—”
Gertie tsked, and shooed him toward the door. “Go and take yer bath. Ye look half dead. And when yer alone with yer lady, don’t thank her — tell her how lucky the children are to have her as their mama.”
Harry allowed himself to be pushed from the nursery without defending himself further, despite the urge to shout from the highest mountain his recognition of just how lucky they all were to have Plum. Instead he bathed, shaved, and donned fresh clothing, ignoring both the dull rumble in his belly and the thick throb at the back of his head as he went downstairs to make amends with his wife.