↫Mischief in Mayfair↬

Dear Readers, I must say that Lady Trotten was the most excellent hostess at last evening's event. If only because she decided to forgo the awful lemonade that plagues balls throughout London. Whoever thought that cider would be such an exceptional alternative? We must give the lady our thanks for such delicious refreshments. Whatever will she think of next?

-Madame Mischief

Scarlett had not wanted to dance with Lord Symons. But she also had not wanted to let her facade drop in effort to fight him. Sometimes the easiest way to deal with men like Lord Symons was to go along with them; it was a tactic that protected and destroyed her at the same time.

She'd felt it coming on toward the end of the dance. The familiar narrowing of her throat, the compressing sensation taking over her. It was as if she was being smothered by the touch of Lord Symons and the crush of the bodies and the heat of the stuffy room. Stepping out into the cold air had instantly helped. The pressure had lessened on her chest, but her breathing still came in short, shallow spurts.

And that was when Scarlett knew her condition was getting worse.

After what had happened the other day when she chased Timothy, Scarlett had been leery about dancing at the ball. But still, dancing the quadrille shouldn't have set in motion an attack such as the one she had just experienced.

She would call for her doctor tomorrow morning. Hopefully, he would know something. Hopefully, he would be able to do something.

When the carriage rolled to a stop outside her home, Scarlett ambled inside.

The door swung open for her, and Scarlett stepped inside. Her rigid butler, Eugene, gave her a nod. It was more of a greeting that he usually gave, and she returned it. Quietly, she requested that he send for Fallon, wanting the lady's maid to meet her in her chambers. All Scarlett wished for was to remove her tight gown and crawl into bed.

And that was what she did.

The next morning, Scarlett greeted her guest in her parlor. The room was decorated in vibrantly rich colors and furnished with expensive and embellished French furniture. Her visitor appeared a bit out of place with his slightly worn, brown coat and matching waistcoat.

"Good morning, doctor. Thank you for coming with such short notice."

Dr. Abbott bowed his head a little in respect, before returning her regards. "My Lady Humphries. I was sorry to receive your note. Do tell me what has been happening since I saw you last month."

Scarlett filled him in on her symptoms of late, mainly what occurred last night at the Trotten ball. Dr. Abbott, who was a middle-aged man with a generally gentle disposition, listened intently, his face swimming in thought. Once or twice, he smoothed his dark hair absentmindedly.

"Well," he said finally. "It would seem that we have to take an even more aggressive approach to treat your asthma."

Scarlett nodded. What else could she say?

"Have you been taking your easing powder?" Dr. Aboott asked.

Scarlett nodded but slower. "I take it in the morning, generally after I wake. But it does not make me feel good." Dr. Abbott called it "easing powder," but it was just a title to replace what it really was—laudanum, a tincture of opium and alcohol.

"And both of your recent attacks have been in the evening?"

Scarlett nodded for the third time, her movements even slower yet.

"I know that the easing powder fogs the brain, but it also relaxes the muscles that are causing the spasms in your chest. Those spasms are what causes your shortness of breath."

Scarlett did not think that her symptoms identified with the term shortness of breath. When her attacks came, there was no breath at all.

"I think that we must increase the number of times per day that you are using the easing powder," the doctor continued.

Scarlett sighed. Many people used a small amount of laudanum to soothe their aches and pains. But the quantity of the drug in her easing powder was not what she considered a small amount. For several months now, however, it seemed to have been working. Her last attack, besides the two recent ones, had been in the summer.

"I will be confined to my bed if I use too much of the easing powder," Scarlet pointed out smoothly, despite her anxieties heightening inside.

Though Dr. Abbott had an apologetic look to his face, he shrugged. "Unfortunately, it would seem that the side effects of the easing powder are a necessary evil if we wish to control your breathing, my lady."

"Is there nothing else that can be done?" Scarlet asked lightly. Perhaps if she acted unphased, she might begin to feel that way.

Dr. Abbott pursed his lips in consideration. There seemed to be something on the tip of his tongue, and he was deciding whether or not to let it out. Finally, he said, "There is one other option that has recently been recommended for your condition. It was first prepared by an American physician about six years ago. I remember reading about it, but I have not yet experimented with it myself."

"Oh?"

"It would be used to counteract the attack if it were severe enough that you couldn't get your breathing regulated. It would put you to sleep, relaxing your muscles as the easing powder does. However, it works instantly. There is no delay in effect, and then when you'd wake, your attack would be gone." Dr. Abott leaned back in his chair, folding his hands tightly on his lap.

"What is this called?"

"It is a sleeping solvent."

Scarlett shook her head. "I am not interested in your name for it, Dr. Abbott. Let us not use words that need to be parsed out. What is the medication actually?"

Dr. Abbott furrowed his brows, either in confusion or irritation of her words. "You needn't worry yourself with that, my lady. It isn't a woman's job to trouble over such science."

Pursing her lips, Scarlett leaned forward to grab her cup of tea from the table between them. Very slowly, she took a sip. She was afraid that if she spoke too soon, she might lose her tongue on the man. Only once she was sure she could control her response did she speak. "You are right that it is not my job, Dr. Abbott."

He gave a satisfied nod.

"It is your job. A job which you have because I am paying you to do it. If you wish to receive such dues, I suggest you answer the questions of your patients," she said in a single breath. Scarlett then looked down, setting her teacup back on its saucer in a single, lazy motion. When she glanced back up at the doctor, he appeared somewhat flabbergasted, his mouth hanging open just enough that she could see his tongue resting on the edge of his teeth, as though he was about to say something but didn't know what.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "It is called chloroform, my lady."

Scarlett applied a pointed look. "Thank you."

"I can prescribe the medication to you just as a precaution, for if your attacks should get worse."

Scarlett contemplated that. She supposed it would bring her some relief to know that she had something that could be taken to instantly cease an attack if, for some reason, it wasn't lessening on its own. It had never happened, but it had felt before like it was going to. And there was agony in that panicking thought.

"How much does it cost?"

Dr. Abbott shook his head. "As I haven't prescribed it before, I am unsure. Would you like for me to look into that for you, Lady Humphries? Before you make a decision on the matter?"

Scarlett gave a perfunctory nod. "I must be wise in my investments, Dr. Abbott. Though Lord Humphries did not leave me bereft, God rest his soul, I still must be cognizant of my spending."

The doctor appeared surprised, looking around the opulently appointed parlor. Scarlett knew what he was thinking. He was assuming that she had plenty of money—though not from her late husband. Everyone knew that a widow was left mostly on her own. Most of what had belonged to Lord Humphries passed onto the heir of the title. The only reason that Scarlett was still known as Lady Humphries was that her husband's brother was now the earl. And the man had not yet married and found his own countess.

No, the doctor assumed that Scarlett had acquired wealth from other gentlemen—in return for being their mistress, of course.

But the truth was that Scarlett had never been any man's mistress. The only money she had, which wasn't all that much, was from her earnings as Madame Mischief.

The doctor finally came to his senses.

"Naturally, my lady. I will send a note with what I learn on the matter. In the meantime, do increase your use of easing powder to twice per day. Roughly eight hours apart would be best, I think."

"Thank you, doctor."

"Of course, my lady. Do send word of how the treatment is going." He stood then, collecting his belongings quickly and striding through the door of her parlor. In the background, Scarlett heard the front door creak as it opened before it closed with a resounding thud.

She sighed into her chair, sinking deeply. Alone in her parlor, in her thoughts, in her life.

"Are you quite alright?"

Startled, Scarlett straightened abruptly in her seat. Apparently, she wasn't as alone as she'd thought. Looking upwards, the handsome face of Leo Pearce was gazing at her with worry.

"No," she sniffed. "I am not alright, Lord Farrington. You've given me a fright."

One of her hands flew up, checking the curls upon her head to make sure they were still in order. It had taken Fallon nearly an hour to arrange them all at the base of her neck.

"And is that all that bothers you, Lady Humphries?" he asked, sitting in the chair opposite her as he did. He hadn't waited for an invitation.

"I—" Scarlett paused, realizing she was about to answer him when there were more important questions to be explained. "Whatever are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"Through the front door. Isn't that how one typically enters a home?" He crossed his long legs, the fabric stretching over his thighs. He picked a biscuit from the assortment of sweets on the table and popped it into his mouth.

"You know very well that is not what I meant," Scarlett drawled. "You were not even announced."

Leo shrugged and finished chewing before he said, "I told your stodgy butler that he needn't bother and that you and I were old friends."

"And that worked?" Scarlett said with disbelief. Then a startling thought occurred to her. "How long have you been here, my lord?"

"I walked in just as that bloke with a briefcase was heading out." Leo hesitated momentarily. "Who might he be?"

Scarlett inwardly relaxed, grateful that Leo didn't seem to know who Dr. Abbott was or that he hadn't arrived just moments earlier. She picked up her tea from the table. "Oh, he's just another one of my acquaintances," she murmured, peering at Leo over the edge of her teacup before she took a small sip.

Leo held her gaze, his eyes a piercing blue, and when she swallowed, it sounded too loud to her ears. Had she just audibly gulped?

"I see," he said eventually before picking up another biscuit to plot into his mouth.

"Why are you here? You have never called upon me before," Scarlett managed to ask. She found that her throat had gone dry despite just drinking tea.

"I wanted to inquire about your welfare after last night," Leo replied simply after he finished eating.

He seemed so casual, so relaxed about the gesture, but it struck Scarlett in the chest. There were not many people in her life that came by merely to ask about her wellbeing.

"I told you I am fine, Leo," she said softly, letting her guard down ever so slightly.

"You wouldn't let me escort you home," Leo said, his lips pulling down into a frown. It was almost an accusation. He adjusted his cravat even though it was immaculately tied beneath his chin. Today, the earl was dressed nearly as well as he had been last night at the ball. Though Scarlett doubted that there was anything that Leo wouldn't look good in.

"Because I was fine," Scarlett said with a sigh. "And I still am."

He looked her over curiously as if assessing for himself if she was well. His gaze traveled down her lilac-colored morning gown, and the lingering perusal made Scarlett squirm. It was uncomfortable, but not in the way that it was when other men looked at her. This was different.

"I am fine, Leo," she said for the third time, her voice firmer. She needed him to stop watching her like that.

He threw his hands up in defeat. "Yes, alright. If you insist."

"I insist." She fixed him with a glare, which he returned with a raised brow.

At that moment, her butler walked into the room. "Lord Eades is here to see you, my lady," he announced.

Scarlett tried to not react. She tried not to look at Leo either, but she heard his murmur. "Another acquaintance, I take it?"

She didn't respond. Lord Eades was certainly not just an acquaintance. And Leo knew it.

But it was not for the reason everyone believed; she was never his mistress. It had all been an act, of course. Because in actuality, Lord Eades was like a brother to Scarlett. But no one knew that, including the man next to her. The man who glared intently at the door with unexplained irritation. Leo Pearce.

For some reason, Scarlett suspected that this visit would not end well.