Free The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne by Natasha Blackthorne Page A

“What did they call it in your day?”
    “A fondness for footmen.”
    “A what?” he asked, unable to keep the laughter from his voice. He couldn’t help it. It was simply too ludicrous to imagine.
    “You asked for plain speaking,” Grandmother Blayne said.
    “I didn’t ask for a jest.” He flashed his grandmother a censuring glare. “A jest made in very poor taste.”
    Grandmother Blayne shook her head. “I knew you would no’ want to hear the truth, even when plainly spoken.”
    “Oh, never mind her.” Aunt Frances’ tone held exasperation. “The doctor called it hysteria.”
    “Hysteria?” His voice stalled and he had to swallow against a constricted sensation in his throat.
    Both women seemed frozen, as though they were holding themselves so still that they didn’t dare draw breath.
    Waiting for his reaction.
    He frowned. “Is Catriona hysterical?”
    He didn’t want to believe it. Yet, that wildness in her eyes…
    No longer frozen, Aunt Frances leaned closer to him, her gaze never wavering from his. “She has had her moments. It has not been easy to watch over her.”
    “Does she really require watching over?”
    “Yes. If only to keep her from bringing shame on our name.”
    “The solution is another husband, I have told you that,” Grandmother Blayne said.
    “Dr. Meeker says she will be unsuitable for courtship or marriage until she is cured of her dependency. She would be unable to do anything but bring shame on herself and us without the cure.”
    “Dependency? What kind of dependency? Opiate dependency?”
    Frances shook her head. “No, that is the only thing keeping her under control.”
    “What dependency?” He demanded.
    Frances’ eyes grew larger and a flush brightened her cheeks. She stepped back.
    He turned to Grandmother. “Will you tell me?”
    Grandmother Blayne glanced down at her lap, making a great study of her folded hands.
    “Well?”
    “As Frances says, ‘tis a delicate matter, Jamie.”
    “You said she had a…” God, he could scarcely form the words. “A fondness for footmen?”
    Frances waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, she could be a little flirtatious.”
    “Bah, any warm-blooded lass wed to Freddie would have been tempted to kick over a few fences here and again,” Grandmother added.
    “Kick over a few fences?” James asked.
    “After the fever, the doctors said that Freddy’s heart was too weak.” Frances looked down as she spoke. Her cheeks flaring with color again. “Too weak to risk being a…proper husband.” She practically whispered the last two words.
    “And you say that Sunny flirted with footmen?”
    “Well, at first we thought…you know how friendly Sunny always was. It seemed a natural, if highly inappropriate, progression of her cheerful, kind demeanor.”
    “Perhaps it was,” he said. Yes, maybe it had all been kindness on Sunny’s part that these sour old biddies had misinterpreted.
    “The lassie did a lot more than flirt, Jamie,” Grandmother said. Her tone was filled with sorrow, as though it hurt her to impart this knowledge to him.
    “I’ll handle this,” Frances said.
    James turned his attention back to her.
    “After Freddy died, Sunny fell into a state of despondency. She certainly didn’t do any flirting then. She would not eat, she couldn’t sleep. We had to send for Dr. Meeker.”
    “That’s when the opiates started?” he asked, unable to keep the accusation out of his voice.
    At his tone, Frances scowled. “She must have the opiates, else she shall lose all control.”
    “I think she deserves to be able to think clearly for once. Then we shall see just how out of control she really is or is not.”
    “You don’t understand. You weren’t here. At first it seemed she just needed a little something to help her sleep. To bring her appetite back.”
    “Then what happened?”
    Aunt Frances just stared at him, looking a little lost. Quite pale, her expression strained, shoulders drooping. She didn’t