“No.”
“It sounded like you were talking to them.”
“I wasn’t.”
“No problem if you were.”
“But I wasn’t.”
He resolutely ignored her and focused on the orchids. She didn’t go away.
“Congratulations on your marriage,” Martha finally said. “Very unexpected.”
“Any news?” Rafe countered.
He glanced up to see Martha’s face break into a grin
“Great news,” she said. “The blacksmith’s mother-in-law came to live with him and she suffers terribly from rheumatism. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Forgive me if I do not share your enthusiasm over others’ suffering.”
“I mean, it’s wonderful that she agreed to try my new ganja medicine, and it eases her pain and stiffness considerably. Unfortunately, it also makes her sing, which sets the dogs howling.”
“Eh. Every medicine has a side effect.”
“And the blacksmith said the new Malay liniment relieves the tightness in his scars, so you must try it on yours too.” Martha pinched off the tip of an orchid leaf, crushed it between her fingers, sniffed it, and tentatively tasted it. “How fortuitous that I have two of you to experiment on.”
“And how fortuitous we both suffered for your convenience.”
She flicked the crushed leaf into the nearest pot and sampled another one. “What are your new wife’s medical ailments? It would be marvelous if she suffers great pain during menses!”
“Would it.”
“Not marvelous for her, claro, but marvelous for me. No importa. She can test the bhang anyway.”
“No.”
“I’ve changed the recipe. It’s still mostly ganja, with a bit of opium, but I added—”
“Not for the countess.”
“It’s perfectly safe, although I cannot remove the intoxicating effects. Sally and I tried it. I need more people for testing.”
“I’d rather she didn’t know what we do.”
The last thing Rafe needed was Thea spreading more muddled stories about his and Martha’s medicine-making activities, which would only exacerbate the outlandish rumors. When it came time to sell the medicines, they would use only Martha’s name; it would be better to hide Rafe’s involvement—a difficult ask, given people’s insufferable interest in an earl’s affairs.
“I’ll test it again,” he said.
“Not you.” Martha sampled another leaf. “It is not good for your little problem.”
“What little problem?”
“I can suggest a herb for that problem.”
“What blasted problem?”
“The problem that makes you put your bride’s bedroom far from your own.”
Rafe shot Martha a quelling look. “That is not a medical problem.”
“If you’re having trouble.”
“No trouble.”
“Most men at some stage—”
“Not me.”
Trouble? Him? With Thea? The only trouble he had was remembering that he couldn’t touch her because she was not his wife and never would be.
“Bueno.” Martha reached for another leaf. “But you should be happy with your pretty bride.”
“And will you stop eating my orchids?” Rafe swooped the pot away from her. “They aren’t for you to make medicine from.”
“Ah, that’s what they are. Orchids. Pretty but useless.” She followed Rafe as he positioned the transplanted orchids in those parts of the greenhouse where they were most likely to survive. “They say orchids get good prices in America,” Martha continued. “Sell them, get money so we can finally start our business.”
“I’m not selling them to yet another bumblehead who’ll kill them with ignorance.”
Rafe turned to head back to the work area, but Martha blocked the way, hands on hips.
“I came with you from Peru to this cold, damp country to find a safe home and make new medicines, but still you say we have not enough capital to make bigger my laboratory and start a business, and every day I get nothing but more gray hairs. You go away with promises, and return with only pretty but useless plants and a pretty but useless wife.”
“She’s not useless.”
“I cannot use her for my experiments. Entonces, she is useless.”
“That marriage got me ten thousand pounds.”
“Ten thousand pounds of what? Oh. Ten thousand pounds.” Martha cocked her head. “That’s a lot of money, sí?”
“Sí.” This time, she let him past, and he returned to the work area to wash. “Plan your new laboratory, Martha. As big as you want, with several assistants and whatever equipment you need. Those plants you wanted will arrive in Bristol soon, and more are on the way, and before long, your medicines will follow.”
He dried his hands and studied the rows of plants, most chosen for their medicinal properties, their value derived from Martha’s willingness to provide her knowledge. To think: All those years Rafe had passed in foreign lands, studying plants most Englishmen would never see and facing dangers most could never imagine, and he had ended up right where he began, the place that had never felt like home. He breathed through the familiar medley of guilt and grief. What a jumbled, muddled world it was, that he was the one still alive and here. Even though Rafe’s father had never understood him, he had indulged him by hiring tutors in botany and horticulture; if only Father were here, to see what he had achieved.
“Maybe I can make some good from it,” he muttered, as he thrust his arms into his coat sleeves.
“Not if she dismisses Sally,” Martha said.
“Hmm?”
“We will get no good if your marriage brings you money, but then your wife sends Sally away.”
Rafe stared at Martha, baffled. “Why the hell would she dismiss Sally?”
“Because…” Martha hesitated and frowned. “Sally says your countess will change things.”
“She won’t change anything or dismiss anyone. She isn’t even…” She wasn’t even truly married to him and would soon leave, he could say, but it was safer for Martha and Sally to remain ignorant of his fraud. “Look, the countess is friendly and full of life, and she’s remarkably resilient and…”
“And what?”
“And…I don’t know.”
Confusing, that was what she was.
“You do like her,” Martha said. “Entonces, why not sleep with her?”
“Bloody hell.” Rafe strode back through the rows of plants toward the door. “I am going for a swim and then I shall eat dinner and I swear, if one person says one more word to me today, I’m going to kick the whole blasted lot of you out.”
Chapter 11
When Thea awoke on her first morning at Brinkley End, her mood was quite restored. After dressing and breaking her fast, she headed out into the sunshine to explore the estate.
“Brinkley End is a terrible disappointment,” she wrote to Arabella later that afternoon.
No matter how I look at it, it refuses to be sinister. But the earl was kind enough to forbid me from entering the woods under pain of death, and that cheered me up immensely.