“The doctor,” he told her, kissing her cool cheek before he made his way downstairs to admit a blond man who struck Andrew as entirely too young, handsome, and cheerful to be a physician.
“Dr. Phillip DuPont, here to see the Viscountess Amery. I’m told the situation is urgent,” the man said as Andrew opened the door.
“Greymoor. I’m… family by marriage,” Andrew said, offering a quick handshake. “She’s upstairs. I suspect poison, though it wouldn’t have been in her system for long.”
At those words, the physician’s smile fled, and he fairly sprinted up the stairs ahead of Andrew. When DuPont opened his bag and sat on the side of the bed, Andrew took up his post in the rocking chair, resisting the urge to hold Astrid’s hand.
“Viscountess?” The doctor had a pleasant, calm voice, one of those voices that always sounded close to a smile. He picked up Astrid’s wrist in his left hand, holding up his timepiece with his right, while Andrew wanted to kill him for touching her.
DuPont’s hands moved with the deft, impersonal competence of the medical professional as he listened to her heart, peered into her eyes, and laid the back of his hand against her forehead. All the while, he asked questions: When did symptoms arise; what had she to eat today; had anything tasted off; did she use any laudanum; how long before his lordship had found her; did her joints ache; did her head hurt; and where did that nasty, nasty bruise come from?
The doctor sat back, frowning. “If you would excuse us, my lord?”
Astrid reached for Andrew’s hand as he started to rise, and he promptly sat back down.
“The lady has asked that I stay.” Which was fortunate, because Andrew was not about to go any farther than across the room, even when Astrid was tended by a man whose vocation was healing.
“But, my lord, I must examine the viscountess personally,” the doctor tried again. “For you to be present, family member or not, would be highly improper.”
Astrid met his gaze, silently pleading with him.
“You can leave, Doctor, or you can examine her while I sit in this chair,” Andrew said. “I’m sorry, but the lady’s wishes must come first. Those are your choices. And if it eases your conscience, I wasn’t even in the country when she conceived.”
Blond eyebrows flew up, but the doctor seemed to gather his wits as he turned his attention to Astrid.
“My lady, there are certain herbs, which when ingested, can end a pregnancy, though few of them would be effective this late in your term. Some of them, if taken in sufficient quantity, carry a risk of symptoms such as those you’ve experienced, though such herbs would not account for all of your symptoms.” He kept his gaze on her as he blathered on, which Andrew took as an expression of the instinct for self-preservation. “Did you attempt to end your pregnancy?”
Her hand tightened around Andrew’s fingers, as if she’d keep him from reacting with violence. “God, no.”
“I thought not,” DuPont murmured. “As I said, the symptoms are not entirely consistent with such a notion. Let’s see how the baby is faring, then, shall we?”
Astrid closed her eyes, likely the better to pray for her child’s welfare.
The doctor did nothing more than palpate her lower abdomen through her nightgown, gently at first, then a bit more firmly.
“Everything seems to be quite in order,” he announced cheerily. “You are still carrying, Lady Amery, and there’s little reason to suspect harm to the child at this point. For the next few days, you should remain quiet, though, as a precaution. If you experience any bleeding or cramping—and I mean the merest twinge, the tiniest spot—you must call me. As your activity level drops over the next few days, you may not be as aware of the child moving, but if as you resume your normal routine, you don’t feel movement, you must also call me.”
He sat back, still not meeting Andrew’s gaze. “Any questions?”
Astrid shook her head, so Andrew escorted DuPont to the door, making sure they had gained the front entryway before posing questions.
“Was she poisoned?”
The doctor looked thoughtful. “I appreciate that you are concerned for her, and you are a member of her extended family, but I really should be discussing this with Viscount Amery.”
“Amery is no more related to her than I am.”
“Ah, but Amery is related to the child, is he not?”
“He might be,” Andrew allowed, “but that child, if Lady Amery lives long enough to produce one, is not your patient, and the mother is.”
“The Church doesn’t quite see it that way.”