Song From the Sea by Katherine Kingsley

replied equally impatiently. “I am hoping that she believes everything to be contracted already, and if she doesn't, I shall lead her in that direction should she show any signs of balking—
which
she should not,
if
you do your job properly.”
    “Yes, Mama,” Harold said, wishing his mother would stop kicking up such a dust. He knew exactly what he had to do, although the very thought of having to court an ill-behaved nobody from the back of beyond exhausted him. At least the girl would be so grateful that he was gracious enough to overlook her advanced age and lack of manners that she wouldn't put up any resistance to his suit.
    “Just you keep that in mind. After you're married you can do whatever you please.” She sniffed. “I am the one who will be saddled with her, but I have never shirked my duty.”
    “No, Mama,” Harold said, wondering if it was coming up to teatime. He fancied crumpets and cream and some of those nice seed cakes.
    “Look at all those years I raised your ungrateful cousin and never complained, not even when it was your father who should have had the marquessate. If Adam had died at birth as the doctor said he was supposed to, my life would have been entirely different—and yours. You would have been the marquess these last four months. It's all Adam's fault.”
    “Yes, Mama,” Harold said, for once agreeing with her. He might not agree with her on many things, but when it came to Adam, they were of like mind. They both loathed the ground he walked on. Adam Carlyle had been nothing but a thorn in his side for as long as he could remember.
    “I suppose it's still not too late,” his mother said, perching on the edge of a delicate Louis Quinze chair and fanning her scrawny bosom. “Adam might meet with some misfortune. Bad luck runs in that family: first Anna died giving life to the brat, then Leon succumbed to influenza only nine years later, and just look what happened to Adam's wife and son, if that doesn't prove me right.”
    “Too bad Adam wasn't in the woods that day,” Harold said with a sneer. “He might have met with the same unfortunate fate.”
    “He might also have prevented it, Harold,” Mildred pointed out. “At least Ian's death put us back in direct line of succession. I cannot tell you how perturbed I was when Adam married that ridiculous woman and produced a son, of all annoying things to do. Had I known Ian wouldn't live to see his fifth birthday, I could have spared myself a great deal of unhappiness. Well. It just goes to show that one never knows when disaster will strike. Perhaps Adam won't reach his thirty-fourth.”
    “One never knows,” Henry said, not wanting to discuss the subject any further. Talking about Adam always gave him indigestion, and he didn't want to unsettle his stomach before his tea.
     

5

    W hat I'd like to know, Dr. Hadley, is how long you anticipate Miss Magnus will be incapacitated by these headaches?” Adam almost hoped that the doctor would tell him weeks, not because he wished a splitting headache on anyone, Calliope Magnus included, but because he was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of her story and he knew he was going to need time.
    “I regret that I cannot say with any certainty, Lord Vale. Cases like these can be most unpredictable. It has been my experience, however, that with severe head injuries these episodes can continue for some time. The best one can do is to protect the patient from stressful situations, as those seem to bring on an attack.”
    “Stressful situations,” Adam said. “You mean anything that might cause emotional upset?” He stood and walked over to the window, his back to the study, trying to suppress a stab of guilt.
    “Yes. Emotional upset of any kind is most detrimental. Peace and quiet, fresh air, good, wholesome food, and moderate exercise are my recommendations for Miss Magnus's well-being.”
    “I see …” Adam said, thinking that the good doctor might as well be tying