Healing Hearts (Roselund Heights Book 1) by Nelson Miranda D

Author:Nelson, Miranda D [Nelson, Miranda D]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Calequoia Books
Published: 2016-07-21T16:00:00+00:00

That afternoon, Joanna walked to the Marchant’s home on Bedford Street. Miss Marchant met her outside the drawing room and spoke in a hushed voice.

“Mother is not feeling well today. I did not write to you as I had hoped she would be recovered by now. I can stay with her if you’d like. I know she can be rather irksome when she is unwell.”

Though Joanna was less than pleased by this news, she had made a commitment. She hoped the smile she wore appeared more genuine than it felt.

“I will not hear of it. I am happy to assist. Has my uncle seen her since she fell ill?”

“No, she has forbid me to call on him. She claims it is only a chest cold.”

Joanna tilted her head. “Not many are ailed by chest colds in this area, the sea air does much to relieve them.”

Miss Marchant shook her head.

“That is precisely what I told her, but it did not matter one jot. If she begins to cough fiercely, sipping her tea has helped in the past.” She pulled on her bonnet and gloves. “Thank you so much, Miss Leighton for taking care of Mother. You do not know what relief it provides me.”

“Enjoy yourself!”

Miss Marchant cast Joanna another grateful smile before leaving the house. With herself and Mrs. Marchant both out of sorts, it would be a difficult afternoon indeed. She held a breath before knocking lightly and letting herself into the sitting room. Mrs. Marchant sat on the sofa, her feet propped up on a pillow, her head back. She was sleeping. Joanna breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps the time would pass quickly after all.

Mrs. Marchant dozed for more than an hour, disturbed only by a small cough from time to time. Joanna selected a book from the small selection on the table and attempted to read, however her mind would not be silenced. While she’d been originally doubtful of Mr. Aldridge’s suggestion that painting would assist her grief, she had held some hope it might work. She found herself disappointed thus far. In addition to the gnawing despair she’d felt for days, she was now frustrated as well. She sighed heavily and laid the book down on the table with more force than she’d intended.

At the same moment, Mrs. Marchant began to cough violently, finally waking. Joanna poured her a cup of tea.

“There, there,” Joanna said, coming beside Mrs. Marchant.

The older woman looked at her, startled, Joanna was certain, to see her there instead of Miss Marchant. She looked all around her, obviously searching for something. Joanna attempted to hand her the tea cup, but Mrs. Marchant pushed it away, nearly spilling the contents. Joanna balanced the cup before setting it down on a nearby table. Seeing a handkerchief on the floor, Joanna scooped it up and handed it to the older woman who snatched it from Joanna’s hand, raised it to her mouth and began to cough again.

Joanna brought a chair over and waited until Mrs.

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