Chapter Eight
Madame Rousseau’s words lingered with Thea that day and the next. Whenever she tried to guess what kind of costume the other was designing for her, she felt a charge of excitement and hope. Whatever form the creation took, she vowed that she would do it justice. For the modiste’s words had resonated with a truth she hadn’t considered before.
It wasn’t enough to want others to believe that she was strong—shehad to believe it too. Her first task, then, was to prove the depth of her resolve to herself… and there was no better place than at the Blackwood masquerade.
Tomorrow night, she wouldn’t sit on the fringes of the ballroom like a frail invalid or dejected spinster. She wouldn’t just watch the world go by as the old Thea used to do. No, her new self would dance and flirt and make new acquaintances. She would behave like any woman in search of a spouse. She would work toward finding the love she wanted.
Her plans for the ball took a backseat, however, when Freddy developed a megrim that afternoon. As worried as she was for the boy, she was also surprised and touched when he asked for her personally. She kept him company, placing cool towels on his forehead and distracting him with Captain Gulliver’s exciting adventures with the Lilliputians until Dr. Abernathy arrived. During the physician’s examination, Freddy’s small hand clung to hers, and she didn’t let go until after the laudanum had taken effect and he drifted into sleep.
“How is my son, Dr. Abernathy?”
Tremont had remained at the foot of the bed while the doctor treated Freddy. Despite his stoic demeanor, Thea saw his tight grip on the bedpost. The wags of thetonoft made note of his lack of emotion, but Thea suspected there was a surfeit, rather than lack, where he was concerned. From her observations, he was a man who guarded his feelings and secrets tightly.
His feelings are none of your business. You’ve moved on, remember?
Right. Her gaze returned to Freddy’s face, and afrissonof anxiety coursed through her. His freckles stood out in stark relief against the pallor of his cheeks. She brushed a damp lock of hair off his forehead.
“The willow bark will help with the pain,” Dr. Abernathy said. “Let’s leave him to his rest and talk outside.”
The three of them removed to the sitting room. Thea and Dr. Abernathy sat near the hearth while Tremont remained standing, his arm propped on the mantel next to a vase filled with damask roses. With any other gentleman, the posture would be indolent. Yet Thea noted the taut ridges of muscle straining against his tailored waistcoat and trousers. The morning light cast a metallic sheen over his hair and illuminated the sculpted angles of his face.
If Tremont was an angel, it certainly wasn’t the cherubic sort that lounged about on clouds. Or the ones whose voices lifted in heavenly song. No, he was kind that carried a sword and avenged trespasses.
“Well?” His tone held polite menace.
“Your son has suffered a mild aftershock,” the physician said without preamble. “His complaint of a headache is not uncommon after a prolonged spell such as the one he suffered at the gardens. Has he complained of such symptoms before?”
“No.”
“The situation was extraordinary, so I’m not surprised it overset his nerves. I wouldn’t worry about it. He should be right as rain by the morrow.”
While Tremont remained still, Thea sensed some of the tension leaving him.
Dr. Abernathy stroked his sideburns. “If I may, I’d like to get a further history of your son’s ailment. How old was he when the spells began?”
“Less than a year old,” Tremont said curtly.
A clamp closed around Thea’s heart.Poor little fellow.
“And what is the frequency of the seizures?”
“It waxes and wanes. Four to twelve episodes a month.”
“Have you tried any treatments?” the physician asked.
Tremont’s laugh held no humor. “We have tried all the treatments, sir. My late wife had great faith in your profession. Freddy has been thoroughly poked and prodded and has tried every herb, root, and snake oil concoction under the sun. When one quack proposed to drill a hole in his skull to release the unnatural forces, I put my foot down.”
Thea’s fingernails bit into her palm. With her own ailment, she knew that sometimes the so-called cure could be worse than the cause, and it pained her to think of Freddy undergoing so much and since such a tender age. The lump in her throat grew, as did her admiration for the lad: how strong he was to survive such ordeals.
“As a man of science, I can offer no excuse for such ignorance,” Dr. Abernathy said, his burr deepening with disgust. “There are charlatans in every profession, and unfortunately mine is no different. One must not throw the baby out with bathwater, however. There are newer, scientific treatments being studied that may—”
“My wife consulted the most prominent physicians in London. They were unanimous in prescribing bed rest and a quiet environment to calm Frederick’s nerves.”
“I don’t wish to disagree with my learned colleagues, my lord, yet in my own practice I have seen that cloistering a patient can have adverse effects. Especially for children.” Dr. Abernathy leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, expression earnest. “As such, I have been researching experimental treatments including—”
“My son’s health is not an experiment.” Tremont’s words hovered over the room as ominously as thunderclouds. “Had I not taken Freddy on this trip, none of this would have happened. As soon as he has recovered, I will return him to my estate and see that he suffers no further disturbances.”
I’d give anything to be like other boys.Freddy’s forlorn voice wound like a vine around Thea’s heart, squeezing.To be… normal.
