Now, instead of riding by The Garland, as had been his custom, he made a point of taking a different route the next morning and every day after. He didn’t want to see Gemma. He knew when their paths did cross, they would be cordial and undeniably distant. He wasn’t eager for that moment to come.
A few days after the kiss he ran into Agnes Woodman driving her dog cart down the road.
Mrs. Woodman suffered headaches and complained about them constantly. Ned had advised that quiet and sitting in a dark room with a warm compress against her brow would give her some relief. She’d informed him briskly that when a woman had nine children, sitting was not an option. He could not argue.
Actually, what he suspected was that she used her “headaches” to keep her husband away from her, especially at night. Daniel Woodman had bent Ned’s ear more than once complaining about how her headaches stopped him from enjoying his marital sport. “She used to be as ready as I was,” he’d complained. “Now she goes to bed early and refuses to even look at me.”
The truth was, little could be done for headaches. Many people had them; often those people were women. It was an unsatisfactory answer to both husband and wife. Ned had given her powders. She swore none of them worked.
However, today Mrs. Woodman greeted him gaily. “Good morning to you, Mr. Thurlowe.”
He tipped his hat. “Good morning to you. I see you are looking well.”
She pulled over. “Aye, that I am.” She adjusted her shawl around her shoulders. “I have not had a headache in over a week.”
“Excellent. You are taking my advice?”
“No, I went to see Gemma,” the woman proudly informed him. “She gave me a powder she concocted and I haven’t had an incident since. And I’ll tell you, my husband is happy with the change.”
He tamped down the sting to his professional pride. Kate’s reminder went through his mind that sometimes women would not confide intimate details to a male, even a professional like himself. Had he missed something? A clue that could have unlocked the secret to her pain? One that Gemma, being female, had understood?
“What was in the powder?” he asked.
“I don’t know but it works like a miracle far better than the ones you gave me. In fact, if it keeps working, there will be a tenth baby in the Woodman household.” She laughed as she bragged. He’d never seen her so carefree.
“That is good news.” And then he had to ask, “How does the powder present itself? What does it taste like?” What did Gemma know that he didn’t?
Mrs. Woodman made a face. “It’s a foul taste. The powder is dusty black and finely ground. I only use a pinch in some mayweed tea. She gives me that, as well. Then I’m to follow up the tea with a half a glass of rum. I’m to take the cure several times a day as I need. And there you have it. No headache.”
Clever, clever Gemma. He was certain the powder was charcoal and had little effect on headaches. He knew nothing of mayweed tea but presumed it was fine. However, he suspected the rum was adding to Mrs. Woodman’s new attitude about life.
And Gemma claimed she didn’t use spirits.
Actually, he should have thought of this solution himself. Daniel Woodman was not an easy man on his best days and nine children, with the oldest being fifteen, would certainly be enough to make Ned need to drink.
“I’m happy it is working for you,” he said.
She nodded, almost giddily, and took off down the road.
An hour later Ned was sharing this story with Balfour and Kate.
“It’s genius, actually,” he admitted. “All this time I was taking Mrs. Woodman’s complaints as a medical issue when actually, she was just overwhelmed.”
“Well, a tenth child won’t help,” Balfour observed.
“I can’t even imagine living through a pregnancy ten times,” Kate murmured. She appeared tired today. She stretched as if her back ached.
Ned wondered if she had been eating properly. He had given her the lecture, that she had to force herself toward nourishment, whether she had an appetite or not. “You don’t have much longer. It will soon be over,” he assured her.
Her response had been a weak smile.
Looking at her now, he sensed something bothered her. He could only hope she went into labor soon. Once this was behind her and she held her baby in her arms, she would recover whatever strength she lost.
At that moment they were interrupted by the arrival of none other than the Earl of Marsden.
Mars charged into the room, a force of nature. His eyes were clear, his skin healthy, his energy intact. The opium was once again behind him.
His gaze went straight to Ned. “I knew you’d be here.” Without waiting for an invitation and with the familiarity of longtime friendship, he threw himself into a chair close to Ned and leaned forward. “What is this I hear about you giving Winderton a drubbing?”
“What?” Balfour sat up. Even Kate grew alive.
“You haven’t heard?” Mars said to them. “I feared I was the last one. Why is it, Thurlowe, that your closest friends do not know you used fisticuffs on our young duke?” His eyes danced with anticipation of the story.
“I don’t know why you haven’t heard. Everyone else in the parish seemed to know minutes after it happened.”
“Did you give him a blow in the middle of his arrogant face?” Balfour asked. “Please say you did.”
“Brandon,” Kate said in surprise and then started laughing, a sound neither Ned nor her husband had heard for some time.
Balfour’s eyes met Ned’s. He was pleased. As if he wanted to encourage the topic if it made her happy, Balfour declared, “I’ve wanted to land a facer on him many times when I served as his guardian. And when he had his eye on you.” He sat on the chair next to the upholstered one where Kate was. “Let me say that when he showed up in the area recently, he was smart to not come calling on us.”
“No, apparently, he was busy making Thurlowe’s life difficult,” Mars chimed in. “So what is the story, Doctor? And did it really involve chickens?”
“Chickens?” Kate repeated, and Ned had to oblige with a telling. He started with the attempt to steal Gemma’s papers. He didn’t tell about her being attacked. Fitz had become one of Gemma’s most ardent admirers, and Ned didn’t see a purpose to bringing up the matter other than to mention that, “Winderton had instigated some other nasty pranks to pester Gemma. The locals would do whatever he suggested.”
“Which must please him,” Balfour murmured.
“Pleased, in the past tense,” Mars said. “Winderton has left the area.”
“Where did he go?” Ned asked. “And why did we not know this?”
Balfour answered, “Because we don’t have time for gossip.”
That was true. Especially since Ned had been keeping to himself.
“Where did he go?” Mars shrugged. “Wherever dukes who need to grow up go. Probably London.”
“Poor Mrs. Estep,” Kate observed.
“To be honest, and I mean this as no criticism of you, Kate, but since you broke his young, unruly heart, Winderton has been at loose ends,” Mars said. “He was cutting quite a path in London when he was there . . . for a time. The rumor was he was not making the right friends. Or honoring his obligations.” He referred to gambling debts.