Anne, who had been so quiet, tensed at Colin’s side. “I know what it is, Honoria. Andrew calls it bicarbonate of soda. Your cook probably has some in the kitchen. Andrew always sends some with the spices.”
Even Ashton’s eyes widened. “Yes. That’s exactly it, Miss Weatherby. I mean, Lady Manning.”
Anne met Colin’s gaze, and he couldn’t ignore the pleading in her eyes. “Please let me fetch it.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
After jotting something down, Ashton tore a page from the notebook. “Have the cook prepare one-half teaspoon in half a glass of warm water.” He pressed the note into Anne’s hand. “So you don’t forget.”
As Colin watched her disappear from the room, he said, “She won’t forget.”
CHAPTER 22
Grateful to remove herself from the room where Lord Stratford lay groaning in pain, Anne tore through the house toward the kitchen as if the hounds of hell gave chase. In truth, she wished she were far, far away. Witnessing her new father-in-law in such agony was too much to bear. And she didn’t even really like the man! She prayed the concoction of bicarbonate of soda would help as it did when Andrew had eaten too much.
Her hand shook as she handed the note to the cook and instructed her to prepare the drink per Harry’s instructions. When the woman pulled out a much larger spoon to measure the soda, unease propelled Anne to speak up.
“Stop. That’s too big. Here, allow me.”
The cook raised an eyebrow but stepped out of the way. “Do you even know your way around a kitchen, miss?”
“It’s Lady Manning.” Anne pushed aside the large soup spoon and rummaged through the drawer for a smaller spoon.Where are the teaspoons?
“Right in front of you, my lady.” The cook pointed to the side of the drawer.
Anne didn’t care that she’d said that aloud; she grabbed aspoon, then gave the cook a glare that Colin would be proud of. “The water! Warm, not hot. Hurry.”
The cook scurried to the stove where a kettle sat on a burner.
“Half a glass,” Anne said. “Then bring the bicarbonate of soda. It’s the white powdery stuff.”
“I know what it is,” the cook grumbled as she poured the water into a glass.
While the cook retrieved the soda, Anne tested the temperature of the water with the tip of her finger. A little too warm, but it would cool as she took it upstairs to Lord Stratford. She stirred in the soda and, without a word of thanks to the cook, raced back upstairs.
At first she had been too frozen with fear at the sight of Lord Stratford to dwell on the cause of his discomfort, but as she hurried back upstairs, an uncomfortable thought flashed into her mind. What if in her eagerness to win over her father-in-law, she’d inadvertently caused his illness? Would Colin blame her? Would her blunder doom their marriage before it had barely begun?
Too painful to ponder, she pushed it from her mind, vowing to make it right.
Hushed voices greeted her when she reentered the room. Lord Stratford looked as bad as when she’d left minutes before, but at least he was alive. She handed him the glass.
“Did the cook follow instructions, Anne?” Ashton asked.
“She tried to use a soup spoon, and would have used too much, so I made it myself. I had to guess using a teaspoon, but I believe I got it right.”
Stratford raised a wiry gray eyebrow. “Trying to poison me, girl? Are you that eager to become marchioness?”
The false accusation slammed into her. Her knees grew weak, and she stumbled back.
A strong hand wrapped around her waist and held her upright. “Father. That was uncalled for. Anne is trying to help you.”
Lord Stratford shoved the glass toward her. “Thenyou drink first.”
Colin stepped forward and, removing the glass from his father’s hand, took a sip. “There. Satisfied?”
Anne breathed a sigh of relief that Colin didn’t make a face when tasting the bitter, salty mixture. He turned his attention toward Ashton. “Is there still enough to be effective?”
Ashton took the glass and examined the remaining liquid. “There should be.” He handed it to Lord Stratford. “Drink it all. It should settle your stomach.”
