“It couldn’t hurt, could it?” Honoria asked. “It’s not likely to irritate his skin if it’s something that can be swallowed. And if it can do something to dull the pain . . .”

“I have it right here,” Mrs. Wetherby said, holding up the small brown bottle.

Honoria took it and pulled out the cork. “Mother?”

“Just a little,” Lady Winstead replied, not looking at all sure of her decision.

Honoria splashed a little laudanum on Marcus’s leg, and he instantly howled with pain.

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Wetherby moaned. “I’m so sorry. It was my idea.”

“No, no,” Honoria said. “That’s the sherry. It’s how they make it.” Why she knew this she had no idea, but she was fairly certain that the ominously labeled bottle (it said POISON in much bigger letters than LAUDANUM) also contained cinnamon and saffron. She dabbed her finger in and took a little taste.

“Honoria!” her mother exclaimed.

“Oh, my God, it’s hideous,” Honoria said, rubbing her tongue against the roof of her mouth in a fruitless attempt to rid herself of the taste. “But there is definitely sherry in it.”

“I can’t believe you took some of that,” Lady Winstead said. “It’s dangerous.”

“I was just curious. He made such a face when we gave it to him. And it was clearly painful when we poured it on. Besides, it was only a drop.”

Her mother sighed, looking very much aggrieved. “I wish the doctor would arrive.”

“It will still be some time,” Mrs. Wetherby said. “At least an hour, I should think. And that is if he is at home to receive the summons. If he’s out . . .” Her words trailed off.

For several moments no one spoke. The only sound was Marcus’s breathing, strangely shallow and labored. Finally, Honoria was unable to take the silence any longer, and she asked, “What do we do now?” She looked down at Marcus’s leg. It looked raw and open, still bleeding slightly in places. “Should we put a bandage on it?”

“I don’t think so,” her mother said. “We’ll only have to take it off when the doctor arrives.”

“Are you hungry?” Mrs. Wetherby asked.

“No,” Honoria said, except she was. Ravenous. She just didn’t think she could eat.

“Lady Winstead?” Mrs. Wetherby said quietly.

“Perhaps something small,” she murmured, not taking her worried eyes off Marcus.

“A sandwich, perhaps?” Mrs. Wetherby suggested, “or my goodness, breakfast. Neither one of you has had breakfast. I could ask Cook to prepare eggs and bacon.”

“Whatever is easiest,” Lady Winstead replied. “And please, something for Honoria, too.” She looked at her daughter. “You should try to eat.”

“I know. I just . . .” She didn’t finish. She was sure her mother knew exactly what she was feeling.

A hand settled gently on her shoulder. “You should sit, too.”

Honoria sat.

And waited.

It was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

Chapter Eleven