Maeve let herself quietly back into the parlor in time to observe the assertive stance of the dragon, er, nurse, as said nurse addressed Lorelei. Lady Kimpton.
The nurse pulled her broad shoulders back and her stout form up. “Lady Kimpton, to reiterate, I feel it my duty to question your decision in Lord Harlowe being tended to in this manner. In all my years of assisting the ill and infirmed at hospital, never have I witnessed such thrashing about with no fever present. It is my recommendation that your brother be institutionalized if he is to recover without injuring himself.”
Every word the woman uttered, Lorelei’s jaw tightened.
Maeve stood near the door somewhat awkwardly—should she leave? Or move into the room?
Lorelei’s eyes flashed with suppressed fury.
Lorelei inclined her head at the older woman. “Thank you for your… opinion, Mrs. Bark. I shall take your recommendation under advisement. In the meantime, you are hereby relieved of your duties.”
Mrs. Bark’s flaccid jaw jiggled with outrage. “Well, I never,” she sputtered.
Lorelei stepped over to the mantel and tugged on the bell cord. “Do not worry yourself, ma’am.” Her smile turned feral, a shocking sight to anyone who was privileged to know the usually cool and reserved Lady Kimpton.
Oswald appeared at the door. “You rang, milady?”
“I did. Please have Mrs. Woods accompany Mrs. Bark to her chamber to assist her with her packing. She is in a great hurry to leave, Oswald.”
“Certainly, milady.” Oswald turned his cadaverously thin frame to Mrs. Bark. “This way, ma’am.”
The room fairly vibrated with Lorelei’s anger after the parlor door closed. She paced over to the table that held a full tea service.
“Breathe, Lorelei. You’re liable to faint,” Maeve told her. She went over and drew her friend from the hearth to the settee, planted a hand on her shoulder, and pushed her to sit on the settee. Maeve poured out a cup of tea, added sugar and a dash of milk, and handed it to Lorelei, because it was a certainty she could not manage even the simplest of tasks. “Shall we include a dollop of brandy?” The question was rhetorical, and Maeve proceeded to add a medicinal amount of bracing liquor.
“I have never been so furious in my life.”
“I can well believe it,” Maeve murmured while her mind scrambled for a way to put her own situation before her friend. Maeve fixed herself a cup and settled in the chair across from her. “If it’s any consolation, you were right to sack her. I took care of my late husband in his dotage. I am a firm believer in fresh air, fresh water, and clean linens. Cleanliness all around, in fact.”
Lorelei gazed down at the contents of her cup, frowning. “The problem is, I shall need a caregiver. Something of which I am certainly not qualified.”
Maeve slowly straightened. She would be a dolt to pass up the opportunity presented as she quickly weighed the advantages to the disadvantages of the idea spiraling through her.
Of course, anything that saved her from Mother’s incessant nagging to find another husband constituted a possibility one should not pass up.
Maeve did have experience with taking care of an infirmed. Her husband, the late Lord Alymer, had seemed more than grateful for her attentiveness. One drawback? Her mother might perish of apoplexy.
Then again, perhaps that was an—oh, shewasan ungracious daughter. Shaking her head at the uncharitable thought, Maeve considered her other options: stay in her mother’s home and suffer the constant barrage of inept noblemen her mother pushed on her at every turn, or do something useful without the constant criticism for her efforts…
Maeve spoke slowly, testing the words as they came out of her mouth. “Suppose I offeredmyservices.”
Lorelei’s cup paused at chin level. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Well, you more than anyone, know I could use the reprieve from my mother.” Now she sounded defensive. “That, in and of itself, would be worth me paying you for assisting with your… brother…” she finished weakly.
Lorelei’s mouth fell open.
Heat rushed Maeve’s face. “That sounded odd, I suppose.”
A small smile touched Lorelei’s lips. “A little.”
“All I’m saying is that I took care of my late husband in his dotage.”
“But, Maeve, Harlowe thrashes about in the night. I fear Mrs. Bark may be right when it comes to him injuring himself.”
Maeve shrugged. “Suppose you hire a couple of men who sat with him? I could oversee his total care. Make certain no one is feeding him too much” —if any, in her opinion— “laudanum. I would need to stay here though,” she said on a rush.
“But your mother,” she gasped.
