Chapter One
August 1815
Brighton, England
Adelaide Devereaux proppedopen her umbrella, stepped from the carriage, and scurried through the deluge toward the tiny chemist’s shop she favored in the Lanes. Yesterday upon her perusal of the other chemist shops in this maze of little establishments, she’d discovered this charming proprietor who knew his trade better than that hum-drum chap around the corner. Cousin Cass affirmed Addy’s conclusion this morning when that lovely lady who was her and her two sisters’ chaperone rose from her reclining couch and declared how Mister Alworth’s Fine Headache Syrup was really the best she’d ever used.
Addy knew why that was so. The addition of her own special ingredients was the reason. Mister Alworth’s description of his own concoction mirrored her own requirements for excellence, save for her two little improvements. Small they might be, but it had taken her two years to perfect it. She prided herself on the success of her headache formula, as well as the other two she’d concocted in Dublin. Those two were to cure cough and loose stools. The latter was not a condition many spoke of, but one that must be corrected if one were to live serenely in polite society, eh? She often fantasized that she might one day make them remedies she could sell to the world. Of course, that would have to be after she married a man who might allow her to be so free with her knowledge and her time.
She sighed. Where would she find such a creature?
“Hurry, Fifi!” Addy dashed under the apothecary’s awning as she urged Cass’s French maid out of the rain.
“Oui, Mademoiselle!!I come!” Fifi was a cool bit of frosting, whom Cass had brought down from London two days ago when the triplets moved to Brighton to begin their debuts. The servant was forty, if a day, and took pains, or so Addy thought, to act surly. Or was the woman simply arrogantly French?
Addy pushed open the shop door and paused as Fifi scurried up behind her. The bell above the lintel ting-a-linged as both women fought to close their umbrellas, and the summer rain deluged the entry of the shop floor.
“Quelle damage,” Fifi complained, brushing fat raindrops from her gray pelisse and skirts.
“This is nothing, Fifi. In Ireland, it rains sheep and piglets. Here, just cats and dogs!” She chuckled at her own humor.
In reply, Fifi gave her a Gallichunf.
Another good one lost on the maid. She suffered interminably from too much anxiety. Of course, Addy admitted she would, too, if she had escapedMadame Guillotinewhen she was twenty, Napoleon’s Chief of Police when she was twenty-two, and a lover who had attempted to lock her in his dungeon when she was twenty-four.
“Good morning, Miss! Miss…” The shopkeeper put a finger to his temple in thought. “Adelaide Devereaux! That’s it, isn’t it?”
“Right you are, sir! A very good morning to you, too.” Addy had no problems with men remembering her name, when they’d met or how.
“Did your cousin fare well with our headache syrup? Ah, let me recall… Don’t tell me! Lady Downs, is that correct?”
Addy smiled at the man who’d been so good as to call his preparation “our” remedy. He really was a light-hearted fellow, short, portly, bald with a cute rimless pince-nez perched atop a bulbous nose. “Indeed, you have the right of it, Mister Alworth. Our guardian and cousin, Lady Downs, found the potion to be her saving grace. With the addition I recommended, of course.”
“A wonderful suggestion. For one so young, you know your elixirs.”
I’ve got the best solutions for neuritis, lung ailments, and especially for megrims, real or imagined.She shivered, satisfied with herself. “My cousin has completely recovered this morning and sends me to you with an order for another vial and her many thanks.”
“Most kind of Lady Downs. Most kind.” He rubbed his chubby palms together as he beamed at her. “But I am grateful to you, Miss, because it was you who had me add a drop of peppermint to my mix.”
“And two of licorice, sir. Do not forget.”
He leaned over his counter to focus more fully on her eyes.
Addy was used to such scrutiny of her person and did not blush but smiled graciously like the unique young creature God had seen fit to make her.
“Of course, Miss. How could I? I have often questioned if my compound was complete. One must constantly test, is that not true? So many are afflicted by these so-called lightning headaches. So hard, so very hard to cure, you know.”
“I do, sir. My grandfather suffered from them, too.”Though his episodes occurred most often after a night indulging in too much good Irish whiskey.“I had to experiment for many years to get the formula correct.”
The door crashed open, and the bell rang as if it hung on a crazed cow. A roar—a wild long cry of an injured animal, tore the air and had Addy spinning toward…
The most luscious vision of a man she’d ever seen.
He was tall with a square jaw, broad brow, and a bright shock of auburn hair falling over his eyes. Handsome as any hero of Greek tragedy, he was also in distress.
One arm windmilled as he held the handle of the shop door as if it were his last sane grip on the world gone rocking. Meanwhile his long muscular legs danced under him as he fought for purchase.
“Sir!” Addy dropped her reticule and umbrella and ran to grab his arm. She hoisted him up. Righted him. And noted by the power of his arm, he was delightfully sturdy. “Lean on me!”
