Love According To Lily (33 page)
Summer 1887
“Two sons in two years. Very impressive, Lady Whitby.”
Lily sat up on the plaid picnic blanket and raised a shoulder, batting her eyelashes at her husband. “What can I say? I have a gift.”
Laughing, Whitby reached out and pulled her down for a kiss. He cupped the back of her head in his big hand, easing her down onto the blanket beneath him. “You do indeed.”
Lily gave in as she always did to the erotic allure of her husband’s lips—but only for a second that afternoon, for they had to keep their eyes on little Eddie, who was sitting in the grass not far away, playing with his toy train. Their newest son, James, only eight months old, was sleeping in his pram beside the blanket.
“You’re an animal,” she said to Whitby with a grin, playfully slapping him on the arm and pushing him off her. “We’ll have three sons before long, if you keep that up.”
She sat up again, and Whitby rolled over onto his back, crossing his long legs at the ankles and locking both hands together behind his head. “You like to make me wait, don’t you?” he said teasingly.
“I’m just giving you something to look forward to.”
“And I
will
look forward to it. Every delicious minute of it.”
Lily kissed him again, then dug into the basket for the shortbread cookies, but looked up when Eddie rose to his feet and took off running.
Both Lily and Whitby scrambled to their feet.
“Come back here, you little monkey!” Whitby called out, catching up with Eddie and scooping him into his arms, swinging him high over his head.
Eddie screeched with delight while Lily looked on, laughing.
“Hide-seek!” Eddie shouted.
Whitby set him back down. “All right. I’ll count. You and your mother go hide.”
Lily took Eddie’s tiny hand in hers and led him toward a tree, where they crouched down, facing each other behind the wide trunk. She knew Whitby would be able to see them plain as day, for her skirts were trailing out behind her.
Eddie giggled.
“Shh,” she whispered, holding her finger to her lips. “He’ll hear us.”
Eddie crouched down into a ball, his tiny hand gripping her skirts, while Whitby hunted around in the clearing.
“Where could they be?” he said, loud enough for them to hear. “They must be over here.”
She and Eddie giggled.
“Or perhaps they’re over here behind the pram.”
Eddie shook his head, giggling harder.
A moment later, Whitby jumped into view and said, “Found you!” startling Eddie, who screeched again and took off, laughing as he ran.
Lily stood up and brushed the leaves and grass from her skirt while she watched her husband catch Eddie and tickle him.
A gentle breeze blew from the south. She closed her eyes and tipped her face up toward the sky, basking in a calm, tranquil feeling of euphoria. She marvelled at the fact that she was so blessed with countless joys in her life. She had love, passion, and laughter, after living the greater part of her life without any of those things. Thank God she had found the courage to seek them, and had not given up.
A moment later, Eddie was running back to his toy train and Whitby was sauntering toward her, handsome and dishevelled in the afternoon sunlight, and marvelously seductive. She leaned back against the tree, anticipating his approach, yearning for his touch.
He reached her and rested both hands on her hips, then peered around the side of the tree trunk to see if Eddie was watching.
“He’s playing with his train again,” Whitby whispered. “Perhaps I’ll steal a kiss from his mother while he’s not looking?”
Lily smiled and took her husband’s face in her hands. “You don’t have to steal anything from me, Whitby. I’m yours, after all.”
“And I will always be grateful for that,” he replied in a soft voice, gazing with deep love and affection into her eyes, before he leaned down and touched his lips to hers.
The mysterious illness that afflicted Whitby and Lily was mononucleosis, also known as “the kissing disease,” and it is easy to diagnose today with a simple blood test.
This was not the case in 1884. Though the illness has likely been around for centuries, it was not given its name “infectious mononucleosis” until 1920. Prior to that, the earliest description of a syndrome that might represent mono occurred in 1885, when a Russian pediatrician, N.F. Filatov, described an unusual case that characterized those symptoms. In 1889, a German physician, Emil Pfeiffer, described other similar cases that he called “glandular fever,” and that term is still occasionally used to describe mono today.
At the time this story takes place, physicians would likely have included mono in a broad category of infections such as influenza or tuberculosis. Even today, it is estimated that only 20 percent of what we label the flu is actually the true influenza virus.
It’s no surprise that mono was difficult to explain in earlier centuries, as its symptoms are somewhat dodgy.
First of all, the incubation period—which can last anywhere from a few weeks to a few months— made it difficult to determine when and how it was contracted.
Secondly, different people can experience different degrees of the illness, ranging from a mere sore throat that lasts a few days, to a more serious infection like Whitby and Lily had, which can linger for three to six months or even longer. With such a vast range of different symptoms for different people, it’s no wonder it was a challenge to pinpoint and name the disease prior to the advent of more modern research methods.
Unfortunately for Whitby, the symptoms of mono greatly mimic those of Hodgkins disease, which had first been described by the British physician Thomas Hodgkin in 1832. In the late Victorian period, hereditary factors had in fact been considered a possible cause, though in most cases there was no explanation for its onset, as is the case today.
Biopsies were being performed, as there had been revolutionary developments in microbiology and laboratory investigation during the second half of the century, but there were unfortunately no effective treatments for Hodgkins. [Although in William Osier’s book,
Principles and Practice of Medicine
(London, 1892), the author recommends removal of the glands when they are small and localized; he also suggests arsenic in increasing doses until “unpleasant effects are manifested.”
Though biopsies are considered minor procedures today, there was an ever-present risk of infection in 1884, although such risks had significantly declined by that time, thanks to the work of the British physician, Joseph Lister, who introduced disinfection to the hospital where he worked in Glasgow in the 1860s. He insisted that his wards and instruments be meticulously clean, and he used a variety of antiseptics, including carbolic acid. It’s shocking to think that not long before that, doctors were performing autopsies on diseased corpses in hospitals, then delivering babies without washing their hands. (The fatality rate for hospital deliveries was far greater than that of home births with mid-wives, who of course did not attend autopsies before deliveries. Hence, women were constantly warned to avoid hospital deliveries whenever possible.)
Lister published his findings in 1867, and his methods were adapted all over the world. These developments were furthered when an American doctor, W.S. Halsted, initiated the use of sterile rubber gloves during operations in 1890.
In 1897, Lister was rewarded for his discoveries with a peerage, and he became the first doctor to sit in the House of Lords.
Regarding obstetrics, Lily’s use of chloroform was true to the period, as Queen Victoria had used it for the delivery of two of her children. It was at that time that anesthesia became “fashionable” during labor.
Cesarian sections were also being performed in the nineteenth century, though they were considered a hopeless last resort, as English statistics collected between 1868 and 1879 revealed that only 18 percent of women who underwent the surgery actually survived. But in his book
Science and Practice of Midwifery
(London, 1884), physician W.S. Playfair suggested that those statistics were not reliable, as most of the operations included in the study had been performed when the patient was near death. He believed that if the cesarean section were performed sooner rather than later—before the patient became exhausted or impaired by a long and fruitless labor—its success rate would increase.
I based most of Dr. Benjamin’s medical opinions on the writings of Dr. Playfair, who was, among other things, a professor of obstetric medicine at Kings College in England, and physician to the Duchess of Edinburgh.
I hope you enjoyed Whitby’s and Lily’s story, and will visit my website at
www.juliannemaclean.com
for more information about Annabelle’s book, which will be coming in 2006. Magnus will figure prominently in the story, and both he and Annabelle will finally face the issues that have affected both their lives.
Julianne MacLean
came to the romance genre after completing a degree in English Literature with a focus on nineteenth-century novel study. She fell in love with some of the classic romances—
Jane Eyre
,
Wuthering Heights
and
Pride and Prejudice
—and after a brief stint as a government auditor, she decided to try her hand at becoming a modern day romance writer. She lives in Nova Scotia, Canada, with her husband and young daughter.
Julianne loves to hear from readers and can be reached via email through her website at
www.juliannemaclean.com
, or by regular mail:
c/o Avon Books Author Mail
10 East 53rd Street New York, NY 10022
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