by Merry Farmer
She smiled and Rose smiled with her…until they were out the door and down the garden path to the gate. Then Elaine let out a sigh.
She didn’t follow up her sigh with words, but then, she didn’t have to. Rose remained respectfully silent, letting her new mistress, mentor, and friend come to grips with the realities rushing at her on her own time.
Instead of conversation, Rose turned her attention to the beauty of Cumbria, her new home. It really was as different from Wyoming as oats were to apples. The Bond’s house stood halfway up a hill, along a path that continued all the way to the great estate of the area, Huntington Hall, the family home of the Dyson family and Lord James Dyson, the Earl of Thornwell. In the letters Rose had had from her friends, Millie, Clara, and Noelle, each woman had gone on and on about how strange and magnificent they found the whole concept of the English nobility. But Rose had grown up as part of a “good family” in Boston. The only thing her family had lacked that the English gentry had were titles. They had most certainly mastered the snobbish attitude and utter coldness of dukes and earls.
Elaine’s suddenly happy exhale kept Rose’s thoughts from turning down yet another dark path. The gloom that Mr. Bond’s health had inspired in Elaine had melted into a cheerful smile.
“We really should get out in the sunshine more often,” Elaine said, swinging her arms and making her skirt swish as she walked. “They say that exercise is good for the blood, after all.”
“And new books are good for the intellect?” Rose suggested with a sly flicker of her brow.
Elaine laughed. “That too.”
Rose relaxed to see her new friend so happy. “I’m surprised you haven’t visited the new bookshop yet,” she said. “It seems like exactly the place where you’d be happiest.”
“And I can’t believe you haven’t batted your eyelashes at Dr. Newsome and convinced him to ask you to walk out with him,” Elaine countered.
Heat rushed to Rose’s face. “I wish you wouldn’t make so much of that.”
“After the way you smiled at him that first time he came to treat Papa?” Elaine grinned like a fiend.
“It was just a grin,” Rose insisted. “Dr. Newsome is a kind and handsome man.” And he made her heart—and other things—flutter.
They rounded the bend that separated the edge of town from the surrounding countryside and made their way along the paved path toward the center of town.
“Strangely enough, I’ve never noticed that he’s handsome. Perhaps beauty is in the eye of the beholder?” Elaine continued to tease.
Embarrassed as she was by the conversation, Rose couldn’t help but giggle. “I’m sure you’re reading more into the situation than is really there.”
“And I’m sure I’m not. In fact, I think I—watch out!” Elaine gasped and shrieked as she grabbed Rose’s arm and yanked her away from the road.
They’d reached an intersection at the very heart of the town just as a carriage with two horses came careening past. Rose felt the rush of air and nearly stumbled as the carriage came perilously close to hitting her. She and Elaine pressed back against the whitewashed building on the corner as the roar of the carriage passed. Rose pressed a hand to her heart, which thudded in her chest.
“That’s the third time since I moved here that I’ve nearly been struck by a carriage at this corner,” she gasped.
“Someone has to do something about that,” Elaine agreed. She shook her head as they recovered and dashed across the street. “The death toll of that intersection is a blight on Brynthwaite.”
They hurried on, Rose feeling a little worse for wear, to a small cluster of buildings at the end of the street, across from the Brynthwaite Municipal Orphanage. The town petered out to another stretch of countryside, but not before a handful of quaint stone buildings, one of which was the new bookshop.
“Ooh.” Elaine paused to peer into its windows. “He’s already stocked all the shelves.”
“He?” Rose asked, teasing as much as she’d been teased.
“The owner,” Elaine reported, either not catching or not responding to Rose’s mischievous hint. “I don’t know his name. But he’s in there, scribbling away at some ledger.”
Rose peeked through the bookshop window. Deep in the shop, sitting at a desk, was a man with hair that was almost white. He didn’t look particularly old, though. Tall, yes. Aristocratic, also yes. But not old.
“He only just arrived in town this winter.” Elaine moved on slowly, her eyes staying glued to the shop window even as the rest of her moved. “No one knows who he is or where he came from, only that he’s opened this bookshop.”
“Interesting,” Rose said.
“You know what’s interesting?” Elaine said as they moved on to Dr. Newsome’s clinic. She grabbed the door handle and turned. “How you will react to the glorious sight of the handsome and kind Dr. Isaac Newsome.”
She spoke as she opened the door, glancing over her shoulder at Rose. Which meant that almost everything she said was plain to be heard by Dr. Newsome…and the five adolescent boys who were grouped around his examination table, evidently having some sort of medical lesson.
The boys all looked up at Rose and Elaine. Then Dr. Newsome did as well, his eyes going straight to Rose’s. He smiled. And in an instant, it was as though the two of them were the only souls in the world.
CHAPTER 2
“Bone-setting might seem like a crude practice for a modern physician,” Isaac explained to the eager young men he was instructing, “but it could very well be the second most common call for your services, aside from treating fever and illness.”
He turned to reach for a chart showing a human skeleton and the muscles of the human body side by side. As he did, a flash of movement and color out the front window of his clinic caught his eye. Two female figures were approaching his door. One was clearly the petite form of Miss Elaine Bond. And the other shape must have been the exquisite and mysterious American, Miss Rose Rawlins—the woman he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since she startled him at the Bond’s front door two months before. He still hadn’t been able to ascertain who precisely she was, why she was in Brynthwaite or—
“The chart?” young Marshall Pycroft prompted him.
“Oh…er…” Isaac forced his attention away to the window and back onto his lesson. “Right. Where were we?”
“Setting bones,” Marshall told him, perfectly serious.
To the side of the group, his two closest friends, Lawrence Smith and Jason Throckmorton, exchanged smirks. Of the adolescent students Isaac had taken on from the ranks of the young men at Brynthwaite Municipal Orphanage, Marshall was the only one who was serious about a career in medicine. His two friends were probably only there to get out of the usual, stringent classes offered at the orphanage, and to keep an eye on Marshall. The remaining two students were destined for careers in agriculture, and were only there to gain rudimentary first aid skills. But Isaac would take what he could get in terms of teaching.
He nodded and continued with his lecture. “Yes, well, setting broken bones is one of the most common tasks a country physician is called on to do. The process is different for broken bones surrounded by small muscle groups as opposed to those encompassed by longer, larger muscles, such as a broken femur.” He gestured to his chart. “The reason for this due to the contractions of….”
His sentence trailed off as the door to his clinic opened and Miss Bond and Miss Rawlins stepped inside. Miss Bond was saying something, but Isaac’s gaze snapped straight to Miss Rawlins’s bright blue eyes and full lips. She met his gaze, and suddenly the rest of the world disappeared. Where had such an extraordinary beauty like Rose Rawlins come from, and what beatific forces had brought her into his life? He hadn’t felt the sort of stirrings that the mere sight of Rose gave him for years. Not since…not since losing his wife all those years ago.
He wasn’t sure how long the buzzing silence that filled the room and his chest lasted. It was broken by
one of the boys clearing his throat and another chuckling. Isaac blinked and shook his head.
“Good morning, Dr. Newsome.” Miss Bond spoke first. She wore a grin as wide as any on the faces of the amused schoolboys.
“Good morning, Miss Bond, Miss Rawlins.” Isaac only allowed himself a brief glance at Rose, lest he lose himself in the blush painting her cheeks.
Rose remained silent, though she sent him a smile of greeting. Miss Bond took another step forward. “We’re so sorry to interrupt, but my father seems to have run out of digitalis.”
Reality and purpose stiffened Isaac’s back. “Really? I’m certain I took him a full bottle just last week.”
Miss Bond hummed. “Yes, well, it seems as though my father has misplaced it.” She arched a fine, dark eyebrow.
Isaac nodded in understanding. Mr. Bond likely had some ulterior motive for sending his daughter and maid on an errand. “I see.” He set his chart down on the examination table and turned to the cupboard that held his medical stores.
“Oh, please don’t interrupt your lesson for our sake,” Miss Bond said with more than usual intensity. Isaac turned back to her in time to catch Miss Bond’s sly look at her friend. “We can sit here until your lesson is finished. Can’t we, Rose?” She took Rose’s arm and pulled her to a row of chairs against the clinic’s front wall.
Rose glanced questioningly at Miss Bond, her cheeks growing even pinker, then looked to him. “Um….”
Isaac was suddenly struck by how much of a tragedy it would be for Rose to leave his clinic so soon after arriving. Damn him for feelings he shouldn’t have, but he wanted her to stay a while.
“Our lesson is close to its conclusion,” he said.
“Is it?” Marshall asked with a frown.
Isaac pretended not to hear him. “If you would like to have a seat, I will be with you in a moment.”
“Well, all right.” Rose smiled and sat with a demure posture that belied some sort of well-bred background.
But Isaac had an audience of impressionable young boys—and Jason and Lawrence were already whispering to each other as though they intended to make Isaac’s reaction to Rose Rawlins the story of the boys’ dormitory that night—so he cleared his throat and returned to teaching.
It took him a moment to gather his chart and his thoughts enough to say, “The greatest challenge that physicians face when setting bones is the contraction of the muscles that surround them. If the bone breaks clean through, the muscles will have to be stretched before the bone can be properly placed and splinted. And a great deal of strength is required for the task.”
Lawrence lifted his head from his whispering with Jason to ask, “Could we have a demonstration of the technique of stretching muscles?”
Isaac blinked at him. Marshall pivoted to frown over his shoulder at his friends, but a spark of interest lit his eyes. “A demonstration would be helpful,” he admitted.
The other two boys seemed to know as well as Isaac did that Lawrence was up to something with his suggestion and watched eagerly, as if the lesson had become a cricket match.
“Very well,” Isaac said, uncertain where things were heading. “Anthony, would you care to sit on the table?”
“Me, sir?” Clearly young Anthony hadn’t intended to do anything but watch the plot unfold.
“Doesn’t Anthony need to observe, sir?” Jason asked, his mouth twitching impishly.
“He really should,” Lawrence agreed.
“Perhaps one of the ladies would be willing to volunteer for the demonstration?” Jason suggested.
Isaac let out a breath. Leave it to Jason to suggest a lady get involved. At age fifteen, Jason Throckmorton already had a reputation for being one of the most charming ladies’ men in town.
“Yes.” Miss Bond hopped up from her chair, pulling Rose with her, as if she’d been in league with the boys all along. “I think you do need a volunteer for your demonstration. Rose will volunteer.”
“I…what?” Rose blinked rapidly, glancing from Miss Bond to Isaac.
Isaac’s shoulders dropped, and he put on a sympathetic smile. It was crystal clear what practically everyone in the room was after. He could fight it or he could play along and hope to control the situation…and himself. He extended a hand to Rose. “Miss Rawlins, I would be honored if you would help with my lesson.”
Rose swallowed, looking as uncertain as if he’d offered to break one of her bones first in order to demonstrate the proper way to set it. But in the end, she stepped forward, taking his hand. It felt more like she had agreed to his invitation to dance, and that he was now leading her onto the dance floor rather than escorting her to an examination table observed by a gaggle of mischievous adolescents. His pulse pounded harder when he grasped her around the waist to lift her to sit on the table. And heat filled his face—his whole body—when one of the boys failed to suppress a chuckle.
“Now then, Miss Rawlins, if you would be so kind as to extend your arm, we shall pretend as though you have fractured your left radius,” Isaac said, well aware that his voice had taken on a softer tone. It was impossible not to be anything but tender where Rose was concerned.
She raised her eyes to his. The blush coloring her cheeks made him wonder if she tasted of sugar plums. The blue of her eyes was easily a match for the clear Cumbrian sky. And damn his eyes for being a cad, but as she entrusted her arm to his care, he was filled with the desire to peel back her sleeve, expose her shoulder, her neck, her breasts. A hundred women and more had come into his life since Annabelle had died, but he hadn’t felt such a visceral desire to feel any of them writhing in passion beneath him, calling out his name in the throes of ecstasy, clasping his—
“I think it would be much more useful to see you demonstrate how to stretch the muscles to set a broken femur than it would to watch you set an arm,” Lawrence said.
Anthony snorted. Marshall scowled at his friends. But the cheeky comment was an unexpected relief, as far as Isaac was concerned. It gave him the excuse he needed to break eye-contact with Rose, to let her arm go, and to turn away before he embarrassed himself and her in front of the boys.
“Might I remind you that this is a medical lesson,” he said less stern than he should have been, “not a circus or a bordello. Begging your pardon, Miss Rawlins,” he added, turning to Rose with an apologetic half smile.
“Not at all,” Rose said, though she had taken on an alarmed look and refused to meet his eyes.
Dammit, the boys had upset her more than he’d figured they could. That shifted him to complete seriousness. He stood taller, squared his shoulders, and said, “The lesson is over for today. Clean up and be on your way.”
The boys seemed to sense they had crossed some line. They lost their smug looks and set to work tidying up the clinic, putting away the charts that had been taken out, the books they had been using, and gathering their things.
Isaac helped Rose down from the table, trying not to revel in the feel of his hands around her waist or the flowery scent of her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let them bait me like that,” he whispered to her.
“It’s all right,” Rose whispered in reply.
She glanced uncertainly up at him. Rose’s mouth relaxed, and something far from innocent sparkled in the deep blue of her gaze. Perhaps he had never felt such a carnal draw to a woman since Annabelle because no woman had dared to look at him with such blatant wanting as Rose had from the start.
She cleared her throat and stepped away. Isaac forced himself not to reach for her and draw her into his arms. Perhaps what he needed was a trip up to Carlisle to visit someplace where he could exorcise the desires that wouldn’t let him sleep.
But no, the very idea of finding release in the arms of a professional woman—or any woman other than Rose—was repellant to him.
“Do these books belong on this shelf?” Marshall asked from the far side of the clinic.
Isaac blinked and frowned. Marshall knew the shelving system in the clinic
better than he did. “Yes, I believe so,” Isaac answered nonetheless, using the question as an excuse to stride to the far side of the room.
“Well?” Marshall asked him as soon as he reached the young man’s side.
Isaac frowned. “Well, what?”
Marshall was half his age and then some, technically young enough to be Isaac’s son, but he sent Isaac a scoffing look and said, “Are you going to ask Miss Rawlins to walk out with you?”
Isaac’s brow shot up, not so much for Marshall’s audacity—or because the question was something he would have expected from Lawrence or Jason—but because he couldn’t think of any other way to react that wouldn’t reduce him to the level of moon-eyed schoolboy himself.
As soon as he was aware of the reaction, he shook his head and forced himself to be realistic. “I can’t do that.” He picked up one of the books Marshall had abandoned and set it on the shelf.
“Why not?” Marshall was back to frowning.
Isaac tried to remind himself that he was an educated professional, Marshall’s elder, and that he had every right to smack the young man upside the head. Instead, he answered, “I was married once before.”
Marshall continued to frown at him with the impatience of youth. “You’re not married now.”
“I’m widowed,” Isaac said, barely above a low rumble.
“Plenty of widowers remarry.”
“And plenty don’t.”
They finished putting the books on the shelf, and Marshall faced Isaac, arms crossed. “Are you still in love with your dead wife?”
If a grown man had the audacity to ask that sort of a question, Isaac would have called him out. “There are other reasons a man chooses not to remarry,” he said instead, jaw clenched.
“Good reasons?” Marshall raised a doubtful eyebrow.
“Very good reasons,” Isaac snapped, then added, “Reasons you are too young to understand.”