She laughed and selected a large, healthy-looking stem. “If you were cursed with the King’s Evil, you might find this ugly little flower quite beautiful.”
“King’s Evil?”
“Yes, scrofula,” she said, snapping more stalks. “It’s a form of consumption that attacks the skin, causing great ugly growths, mainly around the neck. It sometimes accompanies traditional consumption, but more times than not, it is curable.” She chose several more flowers, and rather than break them, she tugged them gently from the peat, holding up the clumped root-ball. “Bruised asphodel root can be used to dissolve scrofulous swellings,” she explained, “and the rest of the flower is used as an antispasmodic as well as”—she blinked in her recitation and a light blush stole over her face—“to assist with feminine concerns.” She ducked her head and went back to tugging flowers with a vengeance.
“I see,” he said, and he did. Saw yet another reason Liliana could never be for him. At four and twenty, she was dressed like a man, standing knee-deep in muck, when by all rights she should be in a parlor somewhere, children tugging at her skirts. He certainly couldn’t see the woman before him, plucking herbal remedies from a swamp, hosting Peers of the Realm and their wives at political dinners. So why did his traitorous body—and he feared something more tender—seem to hope otherwise?
“So your experiments have something to do with plants, then?”
She looked up at him, her eyes gauging the intent behind his question, no doubt. By her wary look, Geoffrey imagined she’d experienced much ridicule over the years—indeed, even from him when she’d offered to help him that first night in the library. He kept his gaze open and nonthreatening, as despite his better judgment, he wanted to know more about her. How had a gently bred young woman escaped marriage and pursued science and healing instead? What did she hope to accomplish?
“Partially,” she said, the word drawing out slowly from her lips. Her gaze shifted over his shoulder, her attention drawn to something behind him.
Geoffrey turned. Liliana brushed past him and stopped before the strangest-looking plant he’d ever seen.
“Sundews,” she said, reaching out but not touching. Petals burst from the stems in bright colors—some red, some green, some pink—reminding Geoffrey of Chinese fireworks when they spread through the sky. Each bloom had tiny tentacles with glistening drops of moisture beaded on the tips. “It’s a carnivorous plant, much like a Venus flytrap,” she explained. “But this little beauty has superb medicinal properties.” Liliana looked the plants over, then selected one and reverently plucked it. “Sundews are invaluable in the treatment of lung diseases, severe coughs and breathing difficulty.” She picked three more, cradling them protectively as she waded out of the bog.
Geoffrey followed, carrying his armful of asphodel, his curiosity riding higher. “So your experiments are partially concerning plants…and?”
She looked over at him, as if debating how to answer. He remembered her gibberish scribblings. More likely, she was debating how much he’d understand, which irked, true though it probably was. He sensed her mental shrug. “And water and air and living organisms, human and otherwise.” She paused, thinking. Melodic chirps and the crunching of leaves under their boots filled the silence. Liliana pursed her lips and her brow furrowed, as if struggling to express herself.
Geoffrey found the effect endearing, which only increased his attraction to her. He shook his head. He was beginning to think that anything Liliana did would arouse him, which was all the more reason he should steer clear of her after this morning.
“I believe chemistry and physiology are interrelated,” she said. “Inside each living body, chemical processes are occurring all of the time. Much of what we understand of experimental chemistry has changed in the last few decades, yet great debate exists as to whether the chemical substances found in living things are fundamentally different in character from the inorganic.”
Enthusiasm bubbled in her voice, and her eyes had taken on a zeal reminiscent of passion. Geoffrey glanced away, his body reacting to her excitement, even though his mind knew it had nothing to do with him.
“I also believe the processes are more similar than we think, and if I can prove the correlation, just think what we could learn about precisely how our bodies work and how to prevent, or at least better treat, disease.”
He couldn’t keep his eyes from her for long.
“There has to be a way to isolate the chemicals within living things,” she continued, holding up one of the strikingly beautiful sundews, “like plants, and synthesize and reproduce them to create even more potent medicines.”
How fascinating she was, and how wholly different from any woman he’d ever known.
“So you’re trying to…”
“Ease people’s suffering,” she said, raising her chin. She stared at him, as if debating her next words. “Like yours.”
Shame heated his face, remembering how she’d offered to help him that first night and how curtly he’d dismissed her. “I owe you an apology—”
She raised a hand to stop him. “There is no need. You were in pain, which can make even a saint snappy. I had thought it was due to your catching my fall. But now…”
He stared at her, uneasy and yet fascinated with the turn the conversation was taking. He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Now?”
“It’s clear to me that you are in pain almost constantly.” She watched him avidly, and he did his best not to squirm. Her eyes were so large, so very expressive. “And not from any recent injury.”
Geoffrey regarded her with admiration. She was incredibly perceptive. Hiding the constant pain he’d been living with the past two years had become second nature. He hardly even noticed anymore, it being always in the background…a part of him now, more a constant tension of the muscles around his injury, strained from trying to compensate.
Still, he didn’t care for the vulnerability Liliana’s words and looks made him feel.
“Perhaps,” he allowed.
“Your war wound?” she asked, not mincing words.
He nodded, not surprised she knew of it. It was no secret, after all, though he never spoke of it.
“Can you tell me the nature of your injury?” she asked. “I really may be able to help.”
He regarded her, the desire to open himself both alarming and relieving. “I took a bayonet through the side,” he said. “Actually, it went in my back but came out the side,” he said, remembering the hot white agony, the spill and stench of his own blood. “But I was lucky. It missed my vitals.”
“But it tore through your muscles,” she said, nodding, “which would have stitched themselves back together however they could. I notice you often smell of mint. Is that a liniment you apply?”
Again Geoffrey was struck by her perceptiveness. “Yes, an old stable hand suggested I use a salve he’d made for horses.” He shrugged. “It helps.”
Liliana tugged at her lower lip. “Would you be willing to try a few of my suggestions? They might help as well.”