Ecstasy Wears Emeralds by Renee Bernard

can’t—” She pulled her hands away, her spine stiffening. “My sisters arrived two days ago, you see, to help, and they are convinced I should . . . be in there! And I’m the worst of mothers because I can’t!”
    â€œYou are the very best of mothers, Mrs. Blythe,” he interrupted her softly, signaling the women behind her for their assistance. “I never fail to see it and I never will, how good you are to Jackson and how much he loves you. Come, let your sisters be with you.”
    The older of the two reached Mrs. Blythe’s elbow and addressed Rowan. “Shouldn’t we all sit with him?”
    Mrs. Blythe moaned, but Rowan answered quickly. “I would prefer to examine Jackson privately, and as he’s asked to speak to me, it would be a courtesy if you’d allow it. For now, if you would take your sister to her own room to recover, and perhaps some tea? I can have my assistant make an infusion for you to help you calm yourself, Mrs. Blythe, if you wish.”
    â€œY-yes. Thank you.” Mrs. Blythe yielded to the hands that directed her, her hands covering her face as if she no longer wished to see where she was going or any of her surroundings. “Tea would be lovely.”
    Mrs. Blythe’s sisters each took one of her elbows, the pair of them like gray geese in their plain gabardine dresses moving in unison to pull her away from the doctor.
    Gayle watched them go, wobbling down the hall, when Mrs. Blythe began to wail. “He was going to be the man of the house! He was going to take care of me when I got old! He was . . .”
    They quieted her, and a closed door muffled the rest of her litany on a lost future.
    Rowan’s steady voice anchored her back to the present, and Gayle was grateful for his instructions. “The kitchens are there. Mattie will show you the way, won’t you?”
    A young, pale-faced maid bobbed a curtsy from the end of the hall.
    Rowan went on, “Make an infusion of valerian and chamomile for Mrs. Blythe, but not too strong.” He opened his bag and handed her two packets of herbs before removing his coat and hat to hang them by the front door. “Wash your hands with soap while you’re there and then come find me.”
    Gayle removed her own coat and scarf and then dutifully followed the maid to the kitchen and used the herbs, boiling down an infusion to add to a cup of tea for the poor lady. Mattie reassured her that a bit of honey would be welcomed, and Gayle was able to knock on the bedroom door and pass along the tea to one of the waiting sisters without too much of a stir.
    Rowan wasn’t too difficult to find; she followed the sound of his voice as the bass of it carried down the stairs. She found the open doorway and the young man they’d come to see.
    â€œWho . . . is . . . that ?” Jackson asked, his eyes bright with fever as they latched onto her face. “She’s . . . beautiful.”
    â€œThis is Miss Gayle Renshaw, my new assistant.” Rowan smiled and in a stage whisper continued, “I brought her because I knew you’d feel better just looking at her.”
    â€œI . . . do.” Jackson’s innocent approval of the plan was crowned by a playful wink in her direction. “Will she . . . hold my . . . hand . . . and say . . . sweet things?”
    â€œShe has a talent for just that, my boy.”
    Her first instinct was to protest, but one look at Jackson robbed his words of insult.
    â€œAt last.” Jackson sighed, closing his eyes for a minute. “I knew . . . dying . . . would have . . . its advantages.”
    Rowan didn’t correct him, and instead checked his pulse. “You’re a natural flirt, Mr. Blythe.” He glanced back at Gayle. “You see? I’ve never been able to make her blush and smile like that.”
    â€œYou . . . are too . . . old. Clearly, she prefers . . . a younger man.”
    Rowan reached under the