“Ugh!” I cringed a short time later when I returned to my room. I lifted an arm to cover my nose. “What is that awful smell?”
“’Tis valerian root tea, m’lady.” Lucy stepped forward with the cup of the foul brew, holding it away from her face. “I noticed ye were havin’ trouble sleepin’, and Cook swore it would put ye right oot, like a bairn.”
“Truly?” I asked doubtfully, taking the cup from her.
“Aye.”
I stared down into the pale brown liquid and leaned forward to smell it more closely. “Ugh!” I turned my nose away. “It smells like stale sweat and . . . and dirty feet.”
Lucy bit her lip and then offered helpfully, “Ye could try pinchin’ your nose. That’s what me mam used to do whenever we didna want to take our medicine.”
I hesitated, but seeing the eager look in the maid’s eyes, I decided to at least try. It was clear she was trying to make up for her earlier lack of judgment, and though I would have wished for a better token of apology, I couldn’t disappoint her without at least making an effort. So I followed her instructions and lifted the cup to my mouth, but before it even touched my lips I gagged and had to turn my head aside. I shook my head and handed the cup back to her. “I’m sorry. I’m grateful for your effort. Truly. But I simply cannot drink that.”
“I understand, m’lady.” Lucy wrinkled her nose at the concoction. “It do reek. I dinna think I could drink it either.”
I instructed Lucy not to worry about me—I could slip out of this dress alone—but just to get rid of that fetid-smelling tea before it made me ill, and then get herself to bed. I saw her out the door, balancing the tray of tea as she would a basket filled with snakes, and then crossed the room to stand before the hearth, knowing the stench would be less near the fire. Once the scent had cleared from my nose, I settled down to wait.
The foul odor of the cook’s valerian root tea was not the only reason I had urged Lucy to leave without helping me to change. I expected a visitor, and I had no intention of again being put at the disadvantage of wearing my nightclothes. I wanted to be ready this time, for I suspected I had just as much to say to him as he had to say to me.
I realized that perhaps I’d been a bit precipitous in condemning Gage for beginning an inquiry on Dr. Sloane’s behalf. His motives for doing so had not been completely unjustified. He was right. Another inquiry agent would not have been so concerned with protecting the Dalmays, and their reputation, at the very least, would likely have been damaged irreparably in the process. At least I could take comfort in knowing that Gage had their best interests at heart. I could see now that he had been placed in an impossibly difficult situation and he was proceeding the only way he knew how. It still irritated me he hadn’t confided in me sooner, but I better understood why he hadn’t.
I also realized that maybe I expected too much from Gage, that perhaps I needed to be a little less demanding when it came to the information he chose to share with me. If he wasn’t comfortable sharing the details of his past, then I needed to accept that. Just because I wanted the truth didn’t mean he owed it to me. I had secrets of my own, and I didn’t share those freely, whether a person deserved an explanation or not. The fact that I had chosen to share some of those secrets with Gage did not mean that he had to reciprocate. Maybe if I were his wife, or fiancée, or even being seriously courted, I could expect more, but as we stood now, in spite of those kisses, I was nothing more than a temporary partner and perhaps a friend.
In any case, we had to put this dispute aside, because if this evening had proved nothing else, it was that I needed Gage’s help if I was to finish this investigation. Things had become too dark, too difficult, and I wasn’t certain I could do it alone. Not facing the prospect of the truth we might uncover about William. I was too close to this one, my emotions too involved. I needed Gage’s impartiality. And perhaps his shoulder to cry on if things did not end as I wished.
I twisted around in my chair, checking the clock ticking steadily away on the mantel. Enough time had passed that I began to worry I’d misjudged him yet again, but then a peremptory rap sounded on the door.
Gage strode through it without having been given permission to enter. He glanced around the room, clearly looking for me, and it took him a moment to find me in the shadows cast by the rounded sides of my wingback chair.
I arched my eyebrows at him. “I suppose I should be happy you at least knocked.”
He ignored my comment, crossing the room toward me. “You were waiting for me.”
I tilted my head, watching the firelight flicker over his features. “You’re becoming predictable.”