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I regret to find from Sabine's note that dear Lady Ross has been poorly and that he is rather uneasy about her. When I last saw him he was not uneasy but I was as I did not like her appearance.
- Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier to Charlotte Crozier (June 3, 1845)
April 1844
2 Eliot Place | Blackheath
A heavy pang of nausea jolted Anne Ross awake.
Her stomach churned with every movement, a familiar acid sting bubbling up her throat, as she scrambled from underneath the covers with much haste. The abrupt motion startled Fantom, their chronically disgruntled tomcat, who had lain spread out across the duvet to relish in its comfortable warmth like he always did; but now he merely meowed at her in displeasure for having been disturbed in his slumber too. Anne paid him no attention. She had every intention to make it to the wash basin this time, at the very least not to throw up across the counterpane again.
She only managed to reach for the chamber pot.
Involuntarily, she started gagging, her eyes filling with tears in an instant at the painful reflux, but her stomach did not stop convulsing as soon as it had emptied out completely, instead forcing her to choke out dry air for what felt like an eternity. At last Anne swallowed down the sob that has been forming at the back of her throat and exhaled sharply through her nose. By then she has become aware of the warm palm resting upon her neck, a single thumb rubbing soothing circles across the sensitive skin of her nape. Exhaustion rolled over her like a tidal wave and she allowed herself to slump into the familiar grasp.
"Your stomach bug is quite persistent, Thot", Francis pointed out with as much gentleness as he could possibly muster, his spare hand holding dark curls in place before they might fall back unceremoniously into the chamber pot.
He implied what all of them have been thinking for the past two weeks.
"We ought to call upon Dr. Robertson first thing in the morning", James insisted, a damp cloth in one hand and a teacup in the other as he stepped across the threshold to the bedroom, and crouched down beside them on the wooden floor. Anne's fingers trembled visibly when she took the cup now offered to her, her limbs having gone completely boneless underneath her weight. A pleasant warmth promptly spread across her palms that moored her in the present. In the meantime, James dabbed the rag over her face at a leisurely pace, replacing it with a delightful, little peck wherever he deemed his work sufficiently done.
With her bleary eyes and dirtied looks she had no doubt that she bore more resemblance to a drowned kitten than an accomplished lady at this point, the mere thought of seeing herself in a looking glass making her stomach stir all over again; but in spite of her chastened mood her husbands' collective efforts managed to draw a mild smile from her still.
"I'm afraid I'm somewhat ill at ease", Anne admitted after a moment of prolonged silence spent staring into the teacup instead, her voice awfully raw from the previous strain. James blinked at her in confusion before placing his hands on top of her own. Her digits were so tightly wrapped around the porcelain that she wondered whether it might chip within their shared grasp.
"My own beloved wife, there is nothing to fret."
"You misunderstand", Anne retorted, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment, "I'm concerned it... didn't take."
A huff of laughter rang out from behind her in response.
"That can be arranged", Francis simply stated, the coarse brogue of his voice softening with affection. With nimble fingers he tugged at the hem of her nightgown and the fabric smoothly slipped past her shoulder, granting him access to press an initial kiss against exposed skin. At the sensation of warm lips and calloused hands trailing the shape of her back a soft chuckle slipped from Anne's mouth. Her gaze briefly met James' as Francis worked his way further up her neck.
A shiver ran down her spine and straight back into her lap.
"In fact, that can be arranged right away", James agreed and quickly removed the teacup from her grasp before they might spill its contents across their legs.
Soon Anne found herself pinned between her husbands, the friction of their combined weight against her smaller frame causing her to sigh in pleasant anticipation. In spite of the most awful taste that must still linger upon her lips she exchanged countless kisses with each of them; and them with one other.
"Bed?", Anne eventually breathed against James' mouth. Her head span with want, stoked like cinders gleaming inside a furnace under their steady administration.
His face instantly split into a broad grin.
"Captain Crozier, you've heard the lady! Off we go."