Chapter 4

Curses and Cures

"Damn it!" Nigel cursed and sucked at the fresh blood on his finger.

He was in the study at Maxton House, his London abode, trying to research curses and cures. There must be something — how can we be in this modern age and have so little knowledge.

In the week since his rather disastrous adventure at Emberly castle, Nigel had thrown himself into studying curses and cures for common (and uncommon) ailments. From the very obscure to the great medical texts of the time, he had requested any and every book he could think of.

The book he had been reading was a tiresome one on the importance of humours, and Nigel, having read much on the subject, had decided to skim through the information. In his haste and frustration, he had managed to slice the tip of his finger along the edges of one of the pages.

A knock at the door brought him back to the present.

"Enter." Nigel called, still sucking on his finger and noticing the blood he had managed to get on the page.

"Your Grace, I heard a shout. Are you well?" A moment later the familiar, thin, severe face of Nigel's steward appeared. "Do you require assistance?"

Mr. Amos was nearly 3 decades Nigel's senior and had practically raised Nigel after his father had died. He looked at Nigel's hand in concern.

"It is nothing, Mr. Amos. I was just frustrated, and I'm afraid I've managed to get blood on the page." Nigel gestured to the book in front of him, trying to affect a demeanour of nonchalance. "Truly, it was just an overreaction."

"I may be able to clean the blood from the page —" Mr. Amos began, but Nigel waved his hands in dismissal.

"You are welcome to try, but I do not think it is worth your bother." Nigel sighed and slumped into his chair. "It talks of humours and balancing the spirits. Of finding a vicar to exorcize the curse. As if these have not already been tried."

Mr. Amos nodded sympathetically. "Perhaps there might be better answers in some of the more recent medical journals."

"Have you tried reading any of those?" Nigel sighed. "Mr. Amos, if one wanted to punish a man for his sins, he need look no further than the articles in a medical journal. They are all so dull.

"And when they are not dull, they are contradictory. One doctor claims he has found a panacea, the other calls him a fraud. One says that a tablespoon of cod liver oil will cure any imbalance of the humours, another says that the same thing will cause an imbalance of humours."

Nigel threw a disgusted look at the pile of books before him. "I have spent days reading everything I can think of, anything that might help me, and so far, it has come to nought."

"My cousin did speak of a most learned medium though I remember you had little luck with the last one that you saw." Mr. Amos frowned.

"I fear there is little I can do to avoid my fate, Mr. Amos. I must focus on the task at hand. I must secure the Maxton legacy. I need an heir which means I need a wife." Nigel absentmindedly twirled the glass of whiskey in his hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something like sadness pass across his steward's face, but it was so fleeting, he wasn't sure it was real. "To that end, Your Grace, I have prepared the list you asked for."

"Excellent. Thank you, Mr. Amos." Nigel took the list the man offered him and scanned his eyes down it.

"The women are all from respectable families, who would bring much honour to your line and —"

"Why is Olivia Rokesby on this list?" Nigel asked, narrowing his eyes at the entry.

The thought of Olivia reminded him of waking up in her bed. Her look of anger and confusion as she'd leapt up. Then her fury when he had tried to explain that nothing had happened between them and that nothing ever would.

If I had not felt like several bottles of wine masquerading in human form, I might have been better with my words. He did not regret making it clear that nothing could happen between them, not really, but he found that things between him and Olivia felt… unfinished.

It is because you have not apologised. You may not want to marry her, but you did not mean to hurt her feelings. He had drafted half a dozen letters and ended up throwing every single one of them in the fire. Every word he had written felt wrong.

He noticed that Mr. Amos was staring at him, and he gave himself a shake, forcing him to return to the matter at hand. "My apologies, dear Mr. Amos, but I am rather surprised that Lady Olivia is on this list."

"You asked for a list of women of marrying age, specifically of childbearing age —" Mr. Amos carefully avoided Nigel's eyes as he said this.

Nigel felt his cheeks redden. "Yes, but there are plenty of women who fit that description, so why have you chosen the sister of one of my dearest friends? You know what future awaits my wife."

"We do not know for certain, Your Grace. There may yet be hope." Mr. Amos' voice was full of a hope Nigel found equal parts endearing and frustrating. "Lady Rokesby is of marrying age. Her family is well connected to your own. I thought her the natural choice." Mr. Amos sounded offended. "In your interactions, you always seem rather cordial, and I am sure she would be a very agreeable wife."

"No. I could not cause her or Alexander that pain." Nigel hoped his voice was kind but firm. "I do appreciate your efforts, my dear Mr. Amos. I truly do, but Lady Olivia should never have been included on this list."

"As you wish, Your Grace." Mr. Amos nodded though Nigel could sense a stiffness in the man's movements.

Nigel knew that Mr. Amos had meant well by including Olivia. The man refused to accept that Nigel was doomed and as such had said that Nigel should marry a suitable wife, not just a mother. Many other men would not have tolerated such insubordination, but Nigel found it oddly comforting.

He glanced down at the list of names. There were easily twenty women on it. What does it matter if she is on this list or not? It is my decision, and I have no wish to court her.

The image of her angry face floated into his mind, and he could not help but smile. Agreeable indeed, I am not sure either myself or Mr. Amos would survive that — wait, why am I thinking of this?

"Your Grace, there is another matter we must discuss." Mr. Amos' voice broke into Nigel's thoughts.

"Oh?" It must be the guilt — that is why I keep thinking of Olivia. I must make things right. Or maybe it is better if I leave it. Nigel shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts from his mind. "What matter is that?"

"Your wardrobe. Your Grace, if you are to find a wife this season, we must ensure that you look your best." Mr. Amos looked as though he were preparing for a battle.

"Surely, we do not need any more than we have already arranged? I have at least five new coats on order, three pairs of britches, two pairs of boots, several shirts, waistcoats. What more can be left?" Nigel shook his head.

"You need a hat," Mr. Amos said flatly.

"I have a hat." Nigel frowned. I am quite fond of my hat — surely the fashions cannot have changed so much that I need a new hat. Good God!

"You had a hat." Mr. Amos directed a dark look at the door.

"What do you mean I had a hat?" Nigel was perplexed.

Mr. Amos produced what had once been a beaver fur felt top hat with a rim of buckram — all that was left was slightly smoking fur and the merest shred of buckram.

Nigel's jaw dropped. He picked up the remains of his hat and looked in astonishment at his steward. "What on Earth happened? It looks as though it was thrown into the very bowels of hell!"

"That fool of a footman, Mr. Berkley! I don't know what is wrong with him." Mr. Amos let out a disgusted sound. "He has somehow managed to ruin two of your new coats — do not worry, I have sent word to the tailor to have them replaced."

"Good." Nigel did not relish the thought of yet more shopping. This wardrobe is already proving quite tiresome.

"The boy has a knack for attracting disaster."

Mr. Amos shook his head. "Your hat… Well, apparently, he was trying to brush it by the fire and somehow managed to throw the entire thing in it. Lord knows how he managed it, but he did. Completely ruined."

Nigel let out a whistle. "I'm rather impressed. Perhaps we should elevate him and see what kind of chaos he could really cause."

Mr. Amos looked horrified. "Your Grace, please. I have been patient with the boy. Very, very patient. I have tried to teach him, to aid him. I cannot. He is as utterly hopeless."

Mr. Amos managed to pull himself into a neutral dignity as he said, "It was Your Grace who bade me give the boy a fifth chance. But I cannot, I simply cannot give him a sixth. The first footman and the valet will revolt. I fear that if we keep him, he shall burn the entire house to the ground with his incompetence." Mr. Amos sighed. "Such a pity, Mrs. Berkley spoke so highly of his skill."

"She is his mother. Of course, she would." Nigel shook his head glancing sadly at the remains of his hat.

"Even so, it is rather staggering that someone so competent birthed such a buffoon." Mr. Amos shook his head before continuing, "The Lord works in mysterious ways. I shall give the boy his notice and his severance pay this evening.

"Though I cannot bring myself to give him a good reference — I fear what it would do to the reputation of your house." Mr. Amos wrung his hands. "I do hope we are able to find a suitable replacement in time for the season. I should hate to be without a second footman."

"I am sure you will manage admirably." Nigel glanced through the window and then at the clock.

Mr. Amos followed his gaze and said, "There is still plenty of time for Your Grace to get to the hatters, and I'm sure Mr. Lock would be most willing to assist you."

Nigel scowled. "You know how I feel about shopping. You assured me that our last sojourn was in fact the final such outing for the season."

Mr. Amos said in a neutral voice, "And it very well would have been if that boy, Berkley, had not been given yet another chance, Your Grace."

"Very well." Nigel glanced out of the window and saw ominous grey clouds forming. "Have them ready the coach. It looks like rain, and if I must do this detestable task, I would at the very least remain dry."

"Very good, Your Grace." Mr. Amos bowed. "I shall make the arrangements at once. I will look forward to hearing of your successful purchase."

Nigel scowled but said nothing. As the door closed behind Mr. Amos, he turned back to the list of names the man had brought with him. He gave them a cursory glance but found that his eyes kept being drawn back to Olivia's name. I really must apologise to her.

He glanced at the blank sheets of paper on his desk then back at the name on Mr. Amos's list. He thought of his numerous attempts, little more than kindling, and then he thought of having to purchase a new hat.

For a moment, he was genuinely torn. Would I rather try to apologise for the umpteenth time or shop for a new hat? On the one hand, his attempts at such letters had proved to be quite the exercise in frustration. One the other hand, the purchasing of a hat was one of the most tedious and dull tasks known to man.

Could he not have broken a bottle of whiskey? Nigel detested all forms of shopping, save that which was required for the procurement of good drink or of a good horse. A hat, however, was neither of those things.

Nigel scowled at the remains of his old hat as though it personally had insulted him. "This is the thanks I get for trying to help a man make something of himself. A ruined hat, an irate steward and staff, and now, a dratted shopping trip."

He would have to buy the hat, and then he would sit down and make a proper go of making amends to Olivia. A shopping trip and an apology letter. This day couldn't possibly get worse. He comforted himself with this fact as he clambered into the carriage and made the journey into town.