Birchwood tensed beside him. “I can’t lose her. I won’t survive that. Now that our sons are gone, she’s all I have.” He faced Constantine while nodding toward the bed, toward Nora. “You brought her here.”

Constantine sighed and nodded. “I did.” A fact he was coming to regret.

“She has to heal her. She must.”

“I know she will try.”

The old man seized his hand in a surprisingly strong, crushing grip. “Not good enough, lad. You see it done.” His eyes were red with emotion. “See. It. Done.”

Nora left the duchess’s bedside only once and that was to collect her bag and all the ingredients she needed to prepare remedies for the afflicted lady. She had the maids erect a work table for her in the duchess’s chamber. Nora was prepared to try anything that might work. She had several options in mind.

None, however, seemed to work.

That was her conclusion the following day when the duchess still moaned and writhed in agony in her bed, no relief achieved.

Oh, Nora’s lavender rosemary ointment and salt lemon tincture gave some ease, but only for a short time. She knew her remedies treated the symptoms. She still did not know what afflicted the duchess, only that her aches seemed to go bone deep. The older woman was able to indicate that her shoulders and arms bore the brunt of her pain. Without properly understanding what plagued her, Nora feared she could never cure her.

She was poring over one of Papa’s books she had brought from home when the door to the chamber opened. The duke marched in the room without casting her a glance, leading a tall, impeccably attired gentleman. They walked a direct line to the bed.

The stranger settled the bag he carried upon the edge of the bed beside the duchess. He pressed a hand to her brow and clucked his tongue sympathetically. “How are you feeling, Your Grace? Not quite yourself, I hear?”

The duchess opened her eyes. She seemed to stare at the man with a decided lack of focus. Eventually, she let out a huff of discomfort and rolled over onto her side.

Opening his bag, the man started digging inside it. It took all her will not to step forward and demand his identity and purpose. He lifted a vial and poured some of the liquid into a spoon.

At that point, she could not stop herself. She took several steps forward. “What is that?”

The man looked over his shoulder and regarded her with an arrogant expression. “’Tis laudanum. It will relax her.”

She frowned. Apparently the man was a doctor. A doctor the Duke of Birchwood did not see fit to introduce to her. She shifted on her feet, suddenly uncomfortable in her own skin.

She cringed as she watched him pour a very generous dose of laudanum for the duchess.