Read Online The Governess Was Wicked by Julia Kelly - Free Book Online
Authors: Julia Kelly
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exposed to the illness. Losing his heir would be a great blow to Mr. Norton,” said Crane.
Edward was about to remind the man that the loss of any child was a tragedy when Crane opened the door to the children’s bedroom. Miss Porter was kneeling by Miss Cassandra’s side, a wet towel in her hand as she dabbed the girl’s forehead between coughs. She was unquestionably breathtaking. How had no one else come across her in all of her beauty and snatched her up? She was incredible, heart-stopping, devastating, and when she looked up at him with those sorrowful brown eyes, a part of him shattered. He wanted to brush her hair back from her brow and kiss her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. He wanted—no, needed—to reassure her that he was there with her. They would nurse the young ladies together.
“You’re back,” she said, her voice just a little ragged from exhaustion.
“I’m here,” he said, trying to hold back the urge to sweep her up and into his arms.
“I’m glad, Dr. Fellows,” she said as she turned back to her work.
He swore at that moment he would find a way to convince her to call him Edward again.
For three days he repeated the same ritual. Each and every night Miss Porter would keep vigil over the little girls. He’d watch as she administered foul-tasting tonics he knew the girls objected to, and kept the cool towels pressed to their foreheads, but still their fevers climbed.
Finally, on the fourth night, there was a change. When he arrived at the house, Miss Porter was in her rocking chair and Miss Norton was sitting up in bed.
“Good evening,” he said, his medical bag clasped in both hands in front of him.
Two sets of eyes, both ringed with exhaustion, looked up at him. Miss Porter shot him a thin smile. “I believe Juliana’s fever has broken.”
He nodded and strode to the bed. Carefully, he eased a thermometer under the girl’s tongue before examining the child for physical signs of her progress. She was still weak, but she appeared to be out of the very worst danger. The thermometer confirmed that her fever had dropped.
“You’re on your way to being healthy again, Miss Norton,” he said with a smile. “Now how does Miss Cassandra fare?”
Miss Porter shook her head. “No change.”
He examined the patient in the other bed just as he had the other evenings. The little girl’s linens were drenched with sweat, and her head cast about restlessly in her sleep. Angry red splotches still marred her skin.
“I fear that Miss Cassandra may have another day or two until she’s out of danger,” he said. “I’ll make her up another tonic.”
He wished there were more he could do than suggest brewing willow bark tea and foul-tasting medicines, but a fever must break on its own. There was very little he could do to intervene except make the girl as comfortable as possible and try to keep her body cool.
As he mixed the tonic, he glanced over at Miss Porter. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, and her hair was scraped in a simple knot worn low on the back of her neck. Her movements were slow and heavy. He had no doubt she was on the brink of collapsing from exhaustion.
He handed the tonic to Miss Porter, who slowly spooned it into Miss Cassandra’s mouth. When the half-awake girl finally finished the brew, she handed him the glass again.
“Let her sleep,” he told her. “It is the best thing she can do right now.”
Miss Porter nodded and got to her feet with a heavy sigh. She swayed slightly, brushing her shoulder against his arm. The skirts of her dress swept around his legs, and he suddenly couldn’t escape the awareness of her. She was everywhere in this room. The book she’d been reading to Miss Norton lay open on a small nightstand, an abandoned shawl draped across the back of the rocking chair.
“Miss Porter,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “You’re exhausted.”
She put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. “I’m just a little
Edward was about to remind the man that the loss of any child was a tragedy when Crane opened the door to the children’s bedroom. Miss Porter was kneeling by Miss Cassandra’s side, a wet towel in her hand as she dabbed the girl’s forehead between coughs. She was unquestionably breathtaking. How had no one else come across her in all of her beauty and snatched her up? She was incredible, heart-stopping, devastating, and when she looked up at him with those sorrowful brown eyes, a part of him shattered. He wanted to brush her hair back from her brow and kiss her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. He wanted—no, needed—to reassure her that he was there with her. They would nurse the young ladies together.
“You’re back,” she said, her voice just a little ragged from exhaustion.
“I’m here,” he said, trying to hold back the urge to sweep her up and into his arms.
“I’m glad, Dr. Fellows,” she said as she turned back to her work.
He swore at that moment he would find a way to convince her to call him Edward again.
For three days he repeated the same ritual. Each and every night Miss Porter would keep vigil over the little girls. He’d watch as she administered foul-tasting tonics he knew the girls objected to, and kept the cool towels pressed to their foreheads, but still their fevers climbed.
Finally, on the fourth night, there was a change. When he arrived at the house, Miss Porter was in her rocking chair and Miss Norton was sitting up in bed.
“Good evening,” he said, his medical bag clasped in both hands in front of him.
Two sets of eyes, both ringed with exhaustion, looked up at him. Miss Porter shot him a thin smile. “I believe Juliana’s fever has broken.”
He nodded and strode to the bed. Carefully, he eased a thermometer under the girl’s tongue before examining the child for physical signs of her progress. She was still weak, but she appeared to be out of the very worst danger. The thermometer confirmed that her fever had dropped.
“You’re on your way to being healthy again, Miss Norton,” he said with a smile. “Now how does Miss Cassandra fare?”
Miss Porter shook her head. “No change.”
He examined the patient in the other bed just as he had the other evenings. The little girl’s linens were drenched with sweat, and her head cast about restlessly in her sleep. Angry red splotches still marred her skin.
“I fear that Miss Cassandra may have another day or two until she’s out of danger,” he said. “I’ll make her up another tonic.”
He wished there were more he could do than suggest brewing willow bark tea and foul-tasting medicines, but a fever must break on its own. There was very little he could do to intervene except make the girl as comfortable as possible and try to keep her body cool.
As he mixed the tonic, he glanced over at Miss Porter. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, and her hair was scraped in a simple knot worn low on the back of her neck. Her movements were slow and heavy. He had no doubt she was on the brink of collapsing from exhaustion.
He handed the tonic to Miss Porter, who slowly spooned it into Miss Cassandra’s mouth. When the half-awake girl finally finished the brew, she handed him the glass again.
“Let her sleep,” he told her. “It is the best thing she can do right now.”
Miss Porter nodded and got to her feet with a heavy sigh. She swayed slightly, brushing her shoulder against his arm. The skirts of her dress swept around his legs, and he suddenly couldn’t escape the awareness of her. She was everywhere in this room. The book she’d been reading to Miss Norton lay open on a small nightstand, an abandoned shawl draped across the back of the rocking chair.
“Miss Porter,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “You’re exhausted.”
She put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. “I’m just a little
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