arms. Vanessa twisted and pulled against his grip, still screaming like a banshee.
Ethan hooked a foot behind her ankle, pulling her off balance. When her legs buckled, he guided her to the floor and pinned her by the shoulders. “Nessa, stop!” he cried, panic rising in his throat. Even in her worst states, she’d always calmed for him before.
The sitting room door flew open. The housekeeper took one look at the scene and gasped.
“Get her laudanum,” Ethan ordered. The housekeeper nodded and hurried away.
A crowd of servants gathered at the door, watching their mistress come unhinged. Ethan heard the words “lunatic” and “asylum” more than once.
“Get out!” he yelled. “All of you!” The servants stepped back, but only a few dispersed.
Vanessa managed to yank one of her arms loose. She landed a slap on his cheek; her nails raked painfully across the skin. “I hate you,” she snarled. “Get away from me. Get away, get away, get awaaaay!”
Ethan redoubled his efforts at restraining her.
Where in the blazing, bloody hell was that laudanum?
Beneath his shirt, sweat poured down his sides and back. Frustration and despair gnawed at him. “I hate you, too!” he bellowed at her infirmity.
At last, the housekeeper arrived with the medicine. Ethan laid on top of Vanessa while the servant pried her mouth open and poured in some of the liquid.
Finally, she calmed in her struggles. Ethan carried her to bed.
When he left her house, he considered whether it would be bad form to stop in at the Bachmans’ house. He wondered what Lily would be doing right now — something witty and refined, he imagined. Or perhaps something to do with her school. There wouldn’t be any madness there, at least, or the poverty of his own empty abode. Maybe if he asked nicely, she would allow him to just sit in a quiet corner and breathe in the normalcy.
No, he thought with a weary sigh. It was growing late. She’d be preparing for the evening’s entertainment by now. He would be an unwelcome intrusion in her plans. Besides, he didn’t even know her direction.
He started to trudge toward home, but couldn’t bear the thought of his cold, silent house. Instead, his feet carried him to one place he knew he could forget himself.
An hour later, he owed Ficken a hundred pounds.
Chapter Eight
Lily lifted a lump of … something … from a display shelf in the shop of Strombold and Jones, purveyors of exotic imports and curiosities of every description.
At first glance, the object in her hands appeared to be a polished slice of rock, but it was unlike any stone she’d ever seen. She glanced up at Naomi, who was running a gloved finger down the length an intricately carved elephant tusk. “What do you suppose this is?”
Behind her veil of netting, Naomi furrowed her brow at Lily’s mystery object. She took it and turned it in her hands, examining first the rough black-brown exterior and then the smooth, polished interior. “Petrified wood.” She handed it back to Lily and exhaled a bored sigh.
“How do you know?” Lily frowned at the thing she still thought was a rock.
“See here?” Naomi pointed to faint lines in the dark surface. “Those are growth rings.”
Lily arched a brow, impressed at her friend’s knowledge. She glanced toward Aunt Janine, who stood at the counter talking to the shopkeeper. “Runs in the family, does it?”
Naomi pursed her lips. “If by ‘it’ you mean Auntie’s bluestocking tendencies, they most certainly do not. When one has a botanist for a brother, one cannot help but absorb some trivial information about plants.” She stuck her tongue out, then blushed and looked around quickly.
Smiling, Lily returned the piece of rock-wood to its place on the shelf. “How much longer do you suppose she’ll be?” She nodded toward Aunt Janine.
“There’s no telling. If Auntie’s taken it into her mind to hunt down some arcane bit of bric-a-brac, we could be here all day.”
Lily
Ethan hooked a foot behind her ankle, pulling her off balance. When her legs buckled, he guided her to the floor and pinned her by the shoulders. “Nessa, stop!” he cried, panic rising in his throat. Even in her worst states, she’d always calmed for him before.
The sitting room door flew open. The housekeeper took one look at the scene and gasped.
“Get her laudanum,” Ethan ordered. The housekeeper nodded and hurried away.
A crowd of servants gathered at the door, watching their mistress come unhinged. Ethan heard the words “lunatic” and “asylum” more than once.
“Get out!” he yelled. “All of you!” The servants stepped back, but only a few dispersed.
Vanessa managed to yank one of her arms loose. She landed a slap on his cheek; her nails raked painfully across the skin. “I hate you,” she snarled. “Get away from me. Get away, get away, get awaaaay!”
Ethan redoubled his efforts at restraining her.
Where in the blazing, bloody hell was that laudanum?
Beneath his shirt, sweat poured down his sides and back. Frustration and despair gnawed at him. “I hate you, too!” he bellowed at her infirmity.
At last, the housekeeper arrived with the medicine. Ethan laid on top of Vanessa while the servant pried her mouth open and poured in some of the liquid.
Finally, she calmed in her struggles. Ethan carried her to bed.
When he left her house, he considered whether it would be bad form to stop in at the Bachmans’ house. He wondered what Lily would be doing right now — something witty and refined, he imagined. Or perhaps something to do with her school. There wouldn’t be any madness there, at least, or the poverty of his own empty abode. Maybe if he asked nicely, she would allow him to just sit in a quiet corner and breathe in the normalcy.
No, he thought with a weary sigh. It was growing late. She’d be preparing for the evening’s entertainment by now. He would be an unwelcome intrusion in her plans. Besides, he didn’t even know her direction.
He started to trudge toward home, but couldn’t bear the thought of his cold, silent house. Instead, his feet carried him to one place he knew he could forget himself.
An hour later, he owed Ficken a hundred pounds.
Chapter Eight
Lily lifted a lump of … something … from a display shelf in the shop of Strombold and Jones, purveyors of exotic imports and curiosities of every description.
At first glance, the object in her hands appeared to be a polished slice of rock, but it was unlike any stone she’d ever seen. She glanced up at Naomi, who was running a gloved finger down the length an intricately carved elephant tusk. “What do you suppose this is?”
Behind her veil of netting, Naomi furrowed her brow at Lily’s mystery object. She took it and turned it in her hands, examining first the rough black-brown exterior and then the smooth, polished interior. “Petrified wood.” She handed it back to Lily and exhaled a bored sigh.
“How do you know?” Lily frowned at the thing she still thought was a rock.
“See here?” Naomi pointed to faint lines in the dark surface. “Those are growth rings.”
Lily arched a brow, impressed at her friend’s knowledge. She glanced toward Aunt Janine, who stood at the counter talking to the shopkeeper. “Runs in the family, does it?”
Naomi pursed her lips. “If by ‘it’ you mean Auntie’s bluestocking tendencies, they most certainly do not. When one has a botanist for a brother, one cannot help but absorb some trivial information about plants.” She stuck her tongue out, then blushed and looked around quickly.
Smiling, Lily returned the piece of rock-wood to its place on the shelf. “How much longer do you suppose she’ll be?” She nodded toward Aunt Janine.
“There’s no telling. If Auntie’s taken it into her mind to hunt down some arcane bit of bric-a-brac, we could be here all day.”
Lily
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