She took a steadying breath, feeling her insecurities rising higher, despite every effort to push them back.
“Then why did you marry my son, if not for his fortune?” Josephine demanded.
Emma didn’t quite know how to answer that. But she sensed that full honesty was best, despite how bad it sounded. She took a breath and steeled herself. It didn’t truly matter what the dowager thought, but she did want the woman to know that they were on the same side.
“At first, I told Lord Dunmeath I wasn’t going to marry him. I didn’t think he wanted a wife like me. I thought he should have one of those lovely heiresses you seem to think I am.”
Josephine didn’t respond, so Emma continued. “But he was persistent and kept asking.” An ache caught her heart as she thought of it.
“Why did he chooseyoufor a wife?” Her tone remained harsh, and she added, “Surely everyone knew of his title, and he has a fair face.”
The invisible barb stung, but Emma answered, “Because I was the only one who said yes.”
“Idiots,” Josephine remarked.
“They were,” she agreed. “But he never told them of his fortune or the castle. He asked young ladies to marry him within a few minutes of meeting them. No one took him seriously.” It was strange to remember Cormac’s easy, blithe demeanor in London before his illness had stolen the smile from his face.
“And you? Did he ask you to wed after meeting you for the first time?”
Emma shook her head. “I was a wallflower, too afraid to speak to anyone. Lord Dunmeath was curious and came to my side.”
Lady Dunmeath paused a moment before she remarked, “You don’t have a title of your own, do you?”
“No.” She could almost sense the calculating tone in her words, along with the disapproval. Emma straightened. “My stepmother has friends who invited us to balls and gatherings. But I was only Miss Bartholomew, never Lady Emma.” A memory caught her unexpectedly. “After we first met, Lord Dunmeath could never quite remember my name.”
“So, Cormac picked the only young lady in London who would marry him,” Lady Dunmeath remarked. “And you never suspected he was a man of wealth?”
“Not until later when he paid off my father’s debts,” she corrected. “I knew nothing of his fortune. Just as I never knew he was ill until a few weeks ago.”
Josephine muttered what sounded like a curse in Irish, her voice was edged with fear. Emma recalled Cormac saying that his mother had sent him away to London because she feared he was being poisoned.
“I thought, if he left, he might... be well again,” Josephine said. Emma heard the bleakness within her voice.
“The only time he felt truly better was when we spent a few days by the sea before we made the crossing to Ireland.” Emma’s voice turned wistful at the memory. Cormac had been healthy and smiling, and their nights had been nothing but pleasure. “I wish I could take him back there.” A surge of emotion caught her throat, but she held back the tears.
“But instead, you returned here, and whoever is poisoning him now has a second chance.” Josephine stood from her chair and began pacing.
“Then we need to stop it from happening,” Emma said. Though she knew it would dredge up terrible memories, she forced herself to ask, “What happened to your husband and older son? Was it the same? Or was anything different?”
“Cormac has lasted longer than either of them. But the sickness was the same.”
The information didn’t tell her anything that she didn’t know already. “Should I take him away from here again?” Emma suggested. “Do you think it would help?”
“I don’t know.” Josephine’s voice hardened. “If he didn’t improve while he was in London, then I fear there’s nothing we can do. And if this is the end, I would rather have Cormac here, to say my goodbyes.”
She sounded as if she were giving up, but Emma wasn’t ready for that yet. There had to be something causing the episodes. If only she could discover what it was.
“I want to hear what a physician has to say.” She stood from her own chair. “But regardless, I’ll do everything I can to help him get well.”
Josephine walked to the door first and turned slightly. “A shame, it is, that I don’t believe you.”
*
It was threemiserable days before Cormac started to feel like himself again. He despised his own weakness, but Emma had remained at his side, giving him food and tea. Exhaustion lined her face, and he hated that her life had become this.
Abruptly, his bedroom door burst open, and his sisters came inside. Their voices collided in a cacophony of exclamations.
“Cormac! I’ve missed you so much.”
