A tall hat hid his mop of blond curls, but there was no mistaking his broad shoulders. Her chest tightened, like her individual ribs were binding together.
“She’s notthatkind of sick,” Bea was saying, far louder than was necessary, “no sense fetching the doctor.”
Oh, lord.She fumbled with the buttons of her quilted dressing gown, fastening them all the way to her neck before she stumbled down the stairs, leaning on the rail to compensate for the shaking in her knees.
Bea stood at the door, still wide open in the sticky heat, fluttering her lashes indiscriminately.
“Mrs. Addington,” Marigold said, interrupting the flirtation, “I’ll see Mr. Grant now.”
Bea pouted, then made a show of standing aside to let him in. “A tea tray, milady? I can make a right proper one now with those tiny sandwiches.”
“No more tea,” Marigold said as a wave of nausea forced spots to appear in her vision.
Archie must have seen the illness in her expression, because he guided her to the closest seat in the parlor. “Forgive me for saying it, but you look horrid. Do you need a doctor?”
She huffed. “No, no d-doctors. They can’t help me.”
“What’s happening?” His brows furrowed, his hands fisted as if he were restraining himself from touching her and assessing her health for himself. “What can I do?”
Her cheeks heated. “Nothing. This is a, um, a female malady.”
His lips flattened in understanding. “I’m so sorry, Marigold. Have you tried any remedies? Morphine or styptic balsam?”
“I won’t t-take take them. I know it’s common, b-b-but they leave me…” Nausea pricked her gut as she recalled the hazy, anesthetized sensation, the temporary relief that dulled her reality and left her a helpless doll in her bed. A thought chased those memories away—how did he know of such treatments?
“Understood.” He pushed to his feet, swiped his hands down his thighs. “I’ll be back shortly. Is there something in particular you’re craving?”
Marigold recoiled. “I b-beg your p-pardon?”
He seemed not to hear her. “I’m guessing you haven’t eaten much.” His brow furrowed. “Right. If you think of anything…” He trailed off, already hurrying towards the door.
“Archie—”
“Trust me,” he said, and the knots in her ribcage released one by one as he darted out of sight.
Nearly two hours passed, enough time that she wondered if he’d forgotten about her, and Marigold had long since retreated to her bedroom when a knock sounded again on the bedroom door.
The door opened haltingly at her response, and Archie peered through the gap. “May I come in?”
She sat up on her pillows with a start and pressed her hand to her forehead as black spots danced before her eyes. “Why—how…”
“Your housekeeper let me in.” The mattress shifted beneath his weight. “Lean back, you’re dizzy.”
She obeyed, and her vision cleared. Archie sat at the foot of the bed, his eyes sweeping over her prone form as though assessing for injuries. “Why are you here?”
He shrugged, reached over to lift a massive basket to her side. “Because you needed help.” One by one he started unloading the contents, and she recognized a handful of them as packages from her favorite chocolatier on the Shambles. “Your housekeeper—Bea?” Marigold nodded and Archie raised his brow. “Appropriate name for your household. She’s heating some water and should bring up the tea now.”
“I can’t drink any more tea.”
“You will, because you need something for the pain. Willow bark, nothing that can impair your judgment,” he said when she opened her mouth to object.
“Do you help all your clients like this?”
He paused in his sorting. “Few clients have shared this specific problem with me. But yes, I’ve helped my clients beyond matters of the law.”
“How?” She slid one truffle from the box, unable to hold back the gasp of pleasure when she bit into the soft, rich chocolate.
He grinned. “I got you caramels, too.” He paused, mouth twisted in thought. “I’ve handled a lot of estate cases, and often people are mourning as well as arguing, so I’ll step in. Listen to stories about their loved ones, maybe move some furniture. Have I told you about the haunted grandfather clock?”
