by Renée Dahlia
‘My dear, I have reached that time in my life where I should take a wife. I spent some time contemplating the type of wife that I require. You fit the bill. You are committed and ambitious. Together we will form a formidable partnership,’ he said. Josephine closed her eyes. He’d missed her sarcastic tone. She opened them to see him lean a little closer to her. He’d dropped his hands and now held them behind his back. His words sunk in.
A proposal. From a man who seemed to see her as cold-hearted. An ambitious career-focused person to support his equally cold-hearted vision of the world.
‘Professor. You paint an interesting picture for my future. I must say that it comes as a surprise that you see me in such a light. It is … intriguing. However, I cannot dismiss my connection with Lord St. George. You may see him as a rake. I know him well and am better placed to judge him.’
She watched as anger flashed over his face and she tried not to blink. In an instant, Van Percy schooled his features back to a careful blankness.
‘My dear, it is obvious you are blinded by his personal features. I know his type. You may think you know him. His letters are an illusion. He probably wrote them from the beds of his lovers.’ Snideness filled his tone. ‘You are not his first and you won’t be his last. In time, St. George will lose his focus on you and yet another woman in his long string will take his fancy. When he breaks your naïve heart, know this. I don’t care if you bedded him. I will wed you regardless. A pregnancy is easily dealt with. Together we will write history.’
He bowed and left. Josephine staggered backwards until her back hit the book shelf. The impact emptied her lungs. He hadn’t given up.
She sucked in a few breaths to compose herself. He didn’t understand her and to call Nicholas a rake was such a boring piece of strategy. Enter doubt. Sway her emotionally into choosing him. He didn’t respect her intelligence or her own opinions. Just another insult to chalk up on his account.
She pushed herself away from the bookshelf and paced around the table.
‘The library isn’t the place for exercise. It isn’t really the place for you,’ sneered a deep voice from a table nearby. The comment jarred her back to reality. Gosh, she was in the library. A place she normally respected. She sat down and buried her head in her hands. Slowly, with each breath, the edge came off her fury and she opened her eyes to read. She gave her head a quick shake and tried to distract herself with study.
A short time later, Marie bounded in and greeted her with her typical enthusiastic style.
‘Look at you. Here first, already into your books. If you don’t finish with honours, I’ll be so surprised. You could even be the first female dux graduate.’
‘I’m not sure the university is that progressive. They probably wouldn’t allow that to occur even if I did top the examination marks,’ Josephine said cynically.
‘They can’t do that,’ replied Marie. ‘Besides, if you are near the top, I’m going to check with Father. Just in case.’
‘Come now. Enough of that,’ she said.
Claire arrived in a rush of colour, wearing a silver-blue gown with a yellow ribbon tied about her waist. A matching yellow flower sat jauntily in her hat.
‘Hello, hello. What have you both been up to in the last week? Such a great idea to catch up, Josephine. And tell me, how is Lord St. George?’ Claire winked at Josephine and Marie laughed.
‘Right to the pointy end of the matter.’ Marie laughed. ‘Let us take a seat before we commence our study, I mean gossip.’
Josephine missed this banter between her friends. The easy laughter they enjoyed. Without all the sexual tension that invaded all her dealings with Nicholas. Nicholas often made her laugh too, but there was often an undercurrent that she didn’t quite understand. Van Percy’s words hit that nerve of doubt. She shook her head quickly and let her friend’s laughter wash over her.
Her two friends slid into their seats and dragged them close to Josephine so they could gossip quietly.
‘Tell all,’ whispered Claire, ‘before the librarian shushes us.’
‘There isn’t much to tell. I’ve been studying, he’s been working, we go for a walk every day and just talk.’
‘Just talk? What about the dinner? You looked quite ill at the end there,’ asked Marie.
‘Obviously, you have recovered. Did anything happen on the way home?’ Claire asked curiously. Josephine blushed as she recalled her wanton behaviour in the carriage.
‘Ohh,’ Marie cooed. ‘Something has happened. Tell, tell.’
‘So persistent.’ Josephine rolled her eyes and smiled. ‘It’s nothing much. He kissed me in the carriage on the way home.’
‘Was it good?’ Marie asked.
‘Must have been,’ laughed Claire. ‘Look at her blush!’
‘Yes, well. It was very pleasant.’ Her face bloomed with heat as she tried to keep her other actions out of this conversation. ‘I told him the next day that he couldn’t do it again.’
‘What? Why would you say that? A handsome man kisses you and you want to stop?’ said Claire. The look on her face clearly illustrated that she thought Josephine was being idiotic.
‘I told him I didn’t want the distraction. I needed to study—in fact, I told him that he was employed to ensure that I studied without distraction and he should do his job.’
‘Oh, right. I guess that’s a fair point. Still, a few kisses can’t hurt, especially if they are “very pleasant”,’ said Claire.
‘That’s what he said. It annoyed me at the time,’ Josephine said. Her head swayed as she looked at each of her friends. ‘But now, it’s fine. We have fallen into a nice routine every day. I study, he drops over for lunch and we walk. After our walk, we kiss, and I go back to my studies.’
‘And what about the professor? Any updates there?’ asked Marie.
‘He was just here actually.’ Josephine frowned as she ran through their conversation in her head.
‘I thought that dance at the dinner would have stopped him. It was rather obvious that you and Lord St. George suit each other,’ said Claire.
‘Really? The professor just told me that it was obvious Nic, I mean St. George, was just a rake and he would get bored with me soon. “Not his first and won’t be his last” he said,’ Josephine tried to mock him. It was a terrible imitation of Van Percy’s voice but managed to ape his snideness none-the-less. Claire made a sound that combined a screech of anger with a snort of laughter.
‘That’s a crazy idea.’
‘Not so crazy. St. George has several rake-like qualities,’ mused Marie.
‘Sure, he’s charming and handsome. I just don’t think he faked the look of interest on his face during the dance that night,’ said Claire.
Josephine sat back and listened to her friends debate the issue. Over the last week, this fake romance had blossomed into something real. Josephine thought her growing feelings for Nicholas were reciprocated. That it wasn’t just charm and his general good-natured attitude. That he felt something more than just friendship, and a shared secret, for her. That this fake romance might develop into something real and special.
The discussion between Claire and Marie had become a little silly so Josephine interjected to attempt to bring some sense to their gossip.
‘He can be very charming when he wants. It’s a useful skill given his job. I don’t think he’s an out and out rake. He has a keen sense of his own character and is willing to discuss his faults without self-deception.’
‘You admire him?’ Claire asked. ‘Does he know that you like him?’
‘I didn’t want to like him. When he arrived, he was too big, too overwhelming. I just wanted some peace to finish here, and he intrudes on that. It annoys me that Father thought St. George would be the right solution to the problem. So far, he hasn’t solved anything, and he’s turned everything upside down. He’s made it difficult to concentrate on my work. He bosses me about and irritates me. Sometimes I’m not sure if I want to hit him or kiss him. I�
��m so confused.’
‘And does he feel the same way?’ Marie asked the crucial question.
‘What, confused?’ Josephine stared at her friend.
‘No. It’s obvious that you find him desirable. Has he indicated that he is similarly attracted to you?’ Marie asked.
‘How do I know?’
‘The usual way. You said he kisses you. Is it a friendly peck on the cheek, something he would give his sister? Or something more passionate?’
Josephine blushed at the sudden intimacy of the conversation. The price of friendship. She tried in vain to not think about kissing Nicholas. Naturally, when you try not to think of something, your brain just focuses on it more. And hence her face burnt hot.
‘I think that answers that question,’ laughed Claire. ‘Not a boring buff to the cheek then!’
‘But what if he is just a rake, like Van Percy says? What if he’s just trifling with me to entertain himself during his assignment? It feels real to me. How can I tell if it feels real to him?’ Josephine asked. Claire and Marie shared a glance that made Josephine wonder what she’d said. Marie leant over and gave Josephine’s hand a small squeeze.
‘I don’t know the answers to your questions. But I do know that you shouldn’t listen to anything Van Percy says on the matter. Trust your own instincts. Van Percy benefits by confusing you,’ Marie said.
‘And regardless of what happens, we will be here for you. Hopefully dancing at your wedding. Or working together,’ said Claire.
‘Thanks.’ Josephine swallowed. ‘Should we get this done then? The examination on bacterial diseases is proving to be the hardest to study. It’s such a new science that there are no old exam papers on record for practice.’ She changed the subject. She didn’t want to spend any time contemplating a wedding. Especially a wedding to St. George.
‘Speaking of weddings,’ said Claire. ‘How are your own preparations going?’
‘Mother has it all under control,’ said Marie. Josephine watched her friend smile as she started to outline all the details for Claire. She looked down at her notes as they discussed the fanciful dress that Marie would wear to the church ceremony after the civil service. That detail had surprised her. To be legally wed in Amsterdam only took a civil document at the town registry. As Marie had laughed once—a church ceremony was only for vanity.
Josephine let their chatter flow around her. The last week with Nicholas made her feel like a butterfly from a chrysalis, emerging to find her place in the world. She was no longer a freak who wanted to study medicine. The words of society had stopped romping around her head. No longer did she feel less for wanting to know more. By the small act of being interested in her studies, Nicholas had validated her choices. No longer too tall, too shy and too bookish. The gift he gave her was to accept her for who she was.
This past week had helped Josephine understand Aristotle when he said that friendship is like a mirror through which you see yourself in ways that wouldn’t be accessible without each other. The act of walking and talking with Nicholas had indeed given her a different view of herself. A vision of herself, not just as a budding doctor obsessed with learning, but of someone who could have a fuller life thanks to being with him. Her anxiety lessened when she was with him. He breathed confidence into her because he delighted in her sharp tongue. After a lifetime of being told that her words were not quite right, it was a relief to be able to let them out and have them enjoyed, not disdained.
It seemed so long ago that they had met, or rather that she had walked right into him. His shape had branded itself upon her memory. The lust between them had only grown as they had become closer friends. Josephine had known instantly that she would need to guard her heart from him. Today, she knew. This fake romance had become real. It wasn’t love. Yet. She knew she was on the road towards love. She respected him, admired his strength, and valued his friendship. That should be enough for the moment.
Chapter 12
Her first exam ranged close. Only a few days away. In less than a fortnight she would have completed all her final exams and spent a day in a surgical assessment. Then it would be done. If she passed, and she was confident that she would, she would graduate with her two best friends to join a select group of female doctors around the world. If she shared that thought with Claire, she’d end up in a society dedicated to the future of female advancement. She’d rather not. She wasn’t ready to fight society, unlike the two doctors who ran the London School of Medicine for Women. They had to beg and scrape for every cent that funded their school. Reading about them in the newssheets had been one of the reasons she’d decided to come over to Europe. To be in a place more open to the roles of females in education and medicine.
Of course, she agreed with Claire that she should be treated on an equal footing with the male doctors. They had the same training. And yet, they’d all had to put up with all manner of insults on this journey. Even before Van Percy stuck his head into her business. She might have gained confidence from the experience of studying here, away from home, and yet more from her interactions with Nicholas. That didn’t mean that she could deal with society without feeling nervous or shy. Her base personality wasn’t going to change.
Before Nicholas arrived in her life, she had contemplated this issue. How to overcome her shyness so she could deal with her patients. The course had included plenty of practical work at the university hospital. Slowly, through practice, she became better at talking to people without anxiety. Talking to the ill gave her something to focus on; a logical process to follow. It was the everyday chit chat that she found difficult.
Everyone assumed the female graduates would take up jobs in hospitals working with feminine health issues, childbirth, infant diseases—the jobs seen to be beneath the men. Women’s health was sadly overlooked by many doctors, and Josephine knew from personal experience that there was a great need for doctors like herself to work in that field. If only she could reconcile the idea with her own personality.
She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck as she sat at her desk musing on her future. She picked up her pencil and a knife to sharpen it. Perhaps the act of sharpening the pencil would sharpen her brain and help her refocus on her work. Or maybe she should write to Aunt Hillary. Her aunt had brought her up after her mother’s death in child birth. She owed her a letter, at the very least. But since Nicholas had arrived, she had found excuses. Aunt Hillary would be in raptures about the idea of Josephine being courted by a Duke’s son and Josephine was unsure how to write about all her other issues without sending her aunt into conniptions.
She leant back in the chair to stretch out her back and her stomach grumbled. She was hungry. No wonder she couldn’t concentrate. She laid down her knife and pencil on the desk and turned to get up. Only to find herself pressed back into the seat by a pair of large warm hands.
Nicholas leant forward and whispered ‘relax’ into her ear. She blushed as his voice sent a shiver of delight up her spine. His hands spread on her shoulders and he started to knead the knots caused by her study. He rolled his fingers up her neck and she relaxed into the sensation. His thumbs dug into the muscles around her shoulder blades, while his fingers gently massaged around her tailor’s joint. She sighed with pleasure and he increased the pressure. Just enough to heal the muscles and stretch out the soreness caused by being hunched over her books. Not enough to cause pain. How he knew just how to balance his ministrations between pleasure and pain, she didn’t know. It didn’t matter. She shivered.
‘Oh, yes, right there.’ The words drifted out of her as the knots were massaged away. His large, strong hands with nimble fingers kneaded at her aching neck muscles. As he stroked his fingers up and down her neck, she relaxed into his touch. His hands soothed as they slid down her neck, across her shoulders and down her arms. Heat traced over her skin as his touch slid back up her arms, right up into the base of her hairline. His fingers pressed against the tight little knot at the base of her head and she groaned
. The vague headache that had been forming all morning started to retreat under his attentions.
She reached up and placed her hands over his. An action that caused her head to loll backwards towards him. Her back arched. Her breasts pushed against her dress. Tight. He leant forward and kissed her forehead.
‘Keep your hands there,’ he whispered into her hair. His low voice rasped her senses. A tiny part of her tensed, wanting to argue at his order. He leant his weight against the tension and she shuddered. He slid his hands from under hers and left hers on her neck. His hands drifted down her throat and across her collarbone. Her fingers tingled against her own skin. He kept his lips pressed to her forehead as she sagged with pleasure in the chair. The room faded away. His masculine scent surrounded her and she moaned. His clever fingers drifted down towards the neckline of her dress. Her heart raced. Each thud expanding her rib cage.
Her breasts strained against her dress. The plain cotton fabric dug into them. They swelled, asking to be released. He teased. Running his fingers along the edge of her dress. She writhed in the chair. His hands continued to drift down over her dress until he held a breast in each hand. She sighed and closed her eyes. Gently he cupped her and desire pooled low in her belly. And then he was gone. Josephine’s eyes burst open and she spun in the chair.
He stood there. His hair dishevelled and his hands outstretched. She placed her hands in his. A tremor of delight raced up her arms. He closed his hands around hers and tugged. She leapt to her feet in a rush, colliding with him. The memory of that first meeting tore through her brain. His too, if his smile was any indication.
His hard chest pressed against her softer form. They had danced this dance every day now. She let herself relax fully against him. Safe and familiar. Together they stood, inside. Warmed by the fire. Warmed by each other. She gazed up at his face and blinked. He stared back with intensity; like a starving beggar peering through a kitchen window. She tipped her lips up to his in a blatant invitation. He took it. The sensation of his lips against hers had her reeling. The heat between them burnt. This kiss promised to consume them both.