A Perfect Weakness

by Jennifer A. Davids

  Lord Turner cleared his throat. “Are you all right? Does your hand hurt?”

  Her emotion must have shown on her face. Her heart jumped at his concern, and she forced it to be still.

  Thomas strode in. “Oh, she’s a tough old girl. Nothing slows her down, does it, Pen?” He sat next to her on the sofa. “Actually, I’m surprised to find you here. I thought you were visiting today.”

  Thank goodness for Thomas; his timing couldn’t have been better.

  “Hannah insisted on going with me to handle the cart. But then she slipped and wrenched her hip. It isn’t serious, but I thought better of going out.” She addressed Lord Turner. “I assure you, I do plan to make my visits tomorrow.”

  “If, of course, you are agreeable with her continuing to do so,” Thomas added.

  Lord Turner set his cup on the side table. Here it was. He was going to tell her not to continue with her visits. She straightened her spine.

  “I heard nothing but your praises all day, Miss Howard,” he said. “I can’t imagine a better person to see to the tenants.” Traitorous delight coursed through her, until he continued. “However, I will allow you to continue on one condition. You must promise to go for help if you come across another kitten that needs to be rescued.”

  “Of course, my lord.” Was it relief or his teasing that caused her heart to pound so? Mercifully, Thomas spoke before she could decide.

  “So she told you about her adventure yesterday. Tough old girl, isn’t she?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call her old.”

  So that was why Lord Turner had mistaken Hannah for her. “That is merely my brother’s unfortunate nickname for me, my lord.” She didn’t mind Thomas using it between the two of them, but did he have to refer to her to others that way?

  “But accurate,” her brother retorted. “Papa always said you went from a babe in arms to responsible young lady practically overnight. And he was the first one to use it, not me.”

  “I hated it when my mother called me Johnny,” Lord Turner said to Thomas. “Did your father have an embarrassing name for you?”

  He couldn’t know what a precarious question that was. Their father hadn’t had any pet names for him. Just long-suffering sighs, annoyed looks, and a sharp word or two. She held her breath as her brother tapped a fist against his knee. “No. Just Thomas.”

  “Let me get you some tea, Thomas.” She rose and changed the subject as she poured another cup. “How do you like the state of things, Lord Turner? My brother works very hard to make sure the estate runs smoothly.” By the time she returned with his cup, much of the tension had left Thomas’ face.

  “I agree. I don’t know much about running an estate, and it’s good to know I have someone as qualified as you helping me.”

  “Thank you.” The slight pink in her brother’s cheeks spoke volumes.

  “But I can’t help but wonder why you haven’t married. I’m surprised you haven’t courted any of the young ladies we saw today. They certainly were interested.”

  “A question I’ve often asked him, my lord.” Penelope gave her brother a gentle nudge.

  Thomas’ fingers shook, and he fumbled his teacup just enough for it to rattle in its saucer. “I don’t think my marital status is as interesting as yours. None of the tenants could quite believe you were unmarried.”

  “Thomas!”

  “No, it’s all right, Miss Howard.” Lord Turner swept off a bit of dust from his trouser leg. “I was serving in the American Army up until a few years ago. Not exactly droves of young ladies there.”

  “What about afterward? Surely your medical practice left you time for romantic pursuits.”

  Penelope leaned forward. Whatever his reply, it would turn the conversation toward medicine and how often he planned to visit the cottage hospital. The war was an understandable sore spot, but he wouldn’t mind being asked about his practice. But her questions slipped away as a distinct tension filled the room.

  “Not as much as you might think.” Lord Turner took a deep sip of his tea and plowed forward. “Now, what about these ruins? The Castle. Is it open to anyone who wants to go see them?”

  Thomas set his cup aside. “Yes. Lord Renshaw always made it known people can visit whenever they please.”

  “I’d like to see them for myself. In light of your sister’s injury, I want to make sure no one else can get hurt.”

  “One of the Ashford Hall gardeners is in charge of tending to it. We can see what he recommends.”

  He leaned forward. “I wonder if it might be better to completely seal them off somehow.”

  “But … s-surely, my lord.” The words tripped as they left her mouth. She swallowed and forced her heart back down into her chest. “I beg your pardon, but surely something that drastic isn’t necessary. I mean, Mr. Truett could simply close off the tower where I slipped and fell. Uncle William—Lord Renshaw—was exceedingly proud to show the county the origins of the barony and the Hall.” It was unfair to play on his emotions, but the need to be free to visit the ruins overrode all else.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I suppose closing them off completely might be a bit much.”

  Her muscles tingled as the tension left them. “Thank you, Lord Turner.”

  “Of course. I don’t want to change anything that was so important to William.”

  As the two men fell to discussing the proper raising of sheep, Penelope fixed herself a cup of tea. That had been a near thing. Not just the closing of the Castle, but her outburst. Maybe she shouldn’t have spoken. Wouldn’t it be best if she were forbidden from visiting? She could go on with her life. Her secret angel would rest safely.

  Pain rose in her chest as the ghostly echo of a child’s laughter slipped through the corridors of her mind.

  She moved back toward the men and forced her thoughts to their conversation. But that only served to turn her attention to Lord Turner, a subject nearly as unsafe as her angel.

  Handsome faces seldom are.

  Yes, of course. And hadn’t that already proved a little true? Why had he gotten so uncomfortable about Thomas’ mention of his medical practice? Or had the subject of marriage agitated him? No, it wasn’t until the mention of his practice that he had gone so cold. Why? Did it have something to do with how he had managed a swift arrival? But as she tried to reinforce her imaginings on the man who spoke words of encouragement to her brother, they refused to stick and fell in a heap at her feet.

  A quarter of an hour later, Lord Turner set down his empty cup and rose. She and Thomas followed suit.

  He rubbed his leg. “I think I can make it back to the Hall now.”

  “Are you sure, my lord? We could send a stable boy with you,” Penelope suggested.

  Thomas shot her a flat look. “Of course he’s sure.”

  “No, your sister is just being thoughtful.” Lord Turner caught her gaze. “You’re very kind, but I’ll be fine.”

  “Then I shall go and send someone for your horse, my lord.” She made for the door before the warmth she felt showed in her cheeks.

  CHAPTER 7

  As soon as he was out of sight of the Home Farm, John nudged his horse into a canter. Best to get as far away from Penelope Howard as possible. She was kind, considerate, and beautiful—the type of woman who was far too risky for him to be in close proximity to. He urged the great bay beneath him a tad faster. Why had he continued to praise her as he had? Because it was too ingrained in his nature not to. Yet even as the distance between him and Fairview steadily lengthened, it was difficult—if not downright impossible—to erase her image from his mind. What was it Thomas had said about that first tenant they visited? Something about the sheep? Or was that where Miss Howard had said that tea was from?

  Blast it! He gave the horse its head. This would not happen again. He would not make the same mistakes with that sweet young woman as he had with Maggie. He had not come all this way for that. He meant to live a quiet life taking care of William’s legac
y and, for once in his life, not be the cause of trouble. And he would. By God, he would.

  No matter how boring or tedious it became. If his conversation with Thomas were any sample of what the day-to-day running of this estate was like, he would soon get bored out of his mind.

  The Lancet. Had Parker seen to canceling it yet? It wouldn’t hurt to keep abreast of the latest—

  No! He wouldn’t even dip his toe in those waters again. Too much danger of simply picking up where he left off. People would get hurt, and he would end up breaking another heart. And he’d nearly done that just an hour ago. For whatever reason, Miss Howard felt strongly about The Castle, and he didn’t want to be the one to disappoint her by closing it.

  Who could do that to a woman such as her? She radiated kindness like the first warmth of fire on a cold day. Which made her large eyes, pert nose, alabaster skin, and honey-gold hair twice as appealing.

  A savage growl escaped his throat, and he urged his horse faster.

  The searing ache in his leg had returned by the time he reached the Hall. A young groom jogged up to take the horse’s bridle as he halted at the front steps. John swung down and clutched the saddle for a moment. He shouldn’t have pushed himself.

  “Are you all right, my lord?”

  “I’m fine. At least I will be once I get inside.”

  The groom nodded, and the gravel crunched beneath the horse’s hooves as he led him away.

  John’s chair in the library called to him. But the front doors were shut tight and no footman waited to receive him. All right. He’d have to let himself in. But how? He had no key. Was it locked? There was a distinct ridiculousness in the situation, but he would have to find the humor in it later.

  “Where has Joseph got to?” the groom said. He and the horse were only a few feet away. “Shall I help you, Lord Turner?”

  “What about my horse?”

  The groom wrapped the reins around a balustrade. “Fortis is one of our best horses. He won’t go nowhere, your lordship.”

  He strode up and John took his arm. As they reached the door, it opened. Joseph stood there, mouth open like one of the many fish John and his father used to catch.

  “Sir—Lord Turner—my lord! I’m so very sorry.”

  John waved him off as they crossed the threshold. “Don’t worry about it. If you would, open the door to the library for us.”

  He raced ahead of them. “Yes, my lord, of course.”

  The groom helped John into his chair, while Joseph hovered. He then turned on the footman. “I’ve a good mind to box your ears, Joe. What do you mean leaving your post like that?”

  “It wasn’t my fault, Arthur.” Joseph managed to turn three shades of red. “I had to . . . you know …”

  “Mum will be furious when I tell her. She wants to see you as butler here one day, and you won’t go far abandoning your post, no matter what the reason.”

  John wouldn’t mention the incident to Parker. But he would ask him to assign another footman in the hall. “Joseph, as I said, don’t worry about it. You’re not the first man who had to answer nature’s call at the wrong moment. I made it inside. Now, why don’t you go back to your post before Mr. Parker comes along?”

  Joseph couldn’t move fast enough. Arthur, on the other hand, had walked trance-like to the wall of books behind him.

  “It had the same effect on me too,” John said.

  The groom started. “I’m sorry, my lord. I’m partial to books.”

  “No reason to be sorry about that. I am too.” He gestured for Arthur to take the seat across from him. Arthur perched on the very edge, back as straight as a board. “What do you like to read?’

  “I read part of one of Mr. Dickens’ stories once. Never got a chance to read the rest.”

  “Which one?”

  He named it, and John squinted as he scanned the shelves. “Right there on the other side of the fireplace toward the middle.”

  Like a skittish colt, Arthur rose and found the book.

  “Just bring it back when you’re done.”

  “Really? Thank you. I’ll take care with it.” He opened his mouth to say more but shut it again.

  “What?”

  “I was wondering, Joseph told me one of the maids told him the late Lord Renshaw had medical books in the library.” John’s sigh caused Arthur to back toward the door. “I’m sorry, my lord. I’ve overstepped.”

  “No. It’s true.” He couldn’t believe this was happening. Like it all had been planned out somehow. Had William engineered this too? It wasn’t possible. “You’re interested in medicine?”

  “Yes, my lord.” He rushed through the next sentence like a rabbit running from a dog. “I like being a groom here, but I don’t want to take care of horses all my life. I want to help people.” He snapped his mouth shut, and his face reddened again. Arthur was about nineteen and every bit of awkward. His dark blond hair stuck out at odd angles, his nose dominated his face, and he was a head shorter than John. John should deter him, tell him he was better off in the stables. But how could he? He recognized the eagerness and hope in the young man; it mirrored his own when William had insisted on sponsoring his education.

  “What kind of a doctor do you want to be, Arthur … ”

  “Wilcox, sir. Arthur Wilcox.” He shifted from foot to foot. “What kind of medicine did you do in America, my lord? Did you set bones or tend to the sick?”

  Ah, the English tradition that put doctors in two different boxes. A physician attended the sick, while a surgeon set bones and stitched people up. “In America, doctors generally do a little bit of everything.”

  “Oh. I’m not quite sure, my lord. I don’t think I care all that much, so long as I help people.”

  Help people. There were other ways to help people. He should say as much, but instead he said, “Come on. I think I know where we can find the books to help you decide.”

  But Arthur glanced out the window. “Begging your pardon, my lord, I should see to Fortis. If I’m not back soon, I’ll catch it from the head groom.”

  “Of course. But when your duties permit, come and find me. I’ll make sure Parker knows to admit you.”

  Arthur left with a light step. Helping him might be the right thing to do. John had taken himself out of the world of medicine. Maybe he’d help replace himself with someone who could do better.

  He made his way over to the medical section and scanned the titles for some basic texts. William must have spent a fortune for such a diverse collection. He snagged a rare edition and opened it, unable to take in the words fast enough.

  He categorized books in piles, according to what Arthur would need and at what point in his education he would need them, then sat at the massive table.

  “My lord?” Joseph said from the doorway.

  “Hmm?” He turned the page.

  “Dr. Royston, sir.”

  The spell broke, and a ball as hard as India rubber took up residence in his gut. Behind Joseph stood William’s physician when he died. John had wanted to speak to him about his cousin’s passing but had intended to call on him—not have the man find him here, surrounded by all these books.

  “Lord Turner, how do you do?” The older gentleman offered his hand. “Dr. Henry Royston, at your service. I’m sorry to come uninvited, but I have been so looking forward to the day when I am not the only doctor in Woodley—well, I couldn’t help myself.”

  The man’s eyes drifted toward the books.

  John rose and took a step forward. “How do you do, Dr. Royston? Won’t you sit down? I’ve been meaning to ask you about my cousin and his final days.”

  “I’m not sure what I can tell you.” Dr. Royston settled into a chair in front of the fireplace. He clasped his hands in front of him. “I presume Mr. Smith told you it was consumption. You know the symptoms and progression of the disease as well as I.”

  “Yes.” He’d seen several cases in Philadelphia when he worked among the poor. “I really just wondered if
his passing was peaceful.” And had he known about me? Despite his last letter, John was still haunted by the notion that William had somehow found out about his downfall.

  Understanding softened the man’s gaze. “Of course. He passed during the night. So as far as I could ascertain, he slipped away quietly.”

  John frowned. “There wasn’t a nurse sitting with him?”

  “He wouldn’t allow it. His niece, Miss Howard, tried to convince him to let her stay during the evening hours, but he insisted she return to her room and rest.”

  “Miss Howard? She nursed him?” Of course. It was just the sort of thing she would do.

  “Yes. All but ran the place for those last couple of months. She did see him that last day. I know she would be more than happy to tell you how he was.”

  “Thank you. I will be sure to ask her.” He would, at some point. A delay of a week or so would not change anything. He would have some time to prepare himself, harden his resolve.

  Dr. Royston gazed at the bookshelves that flanked the fireplace. “I’ve long been an admirer of this library.” He rose and returned to the books piled on the table. John followed. A tourniquet bound his chest as the doctor picked up a tome. “This must be one of the newer books. Renshaw said he was going to invest in the latest editions.” He glanced down at the article John had been reading and grunted. “So what do you make of Pasteur and his germ theory? Rubbish if you ask me.”

  John flipped the journal shut. “I haven’t formed an opinion.”

  The man arched a brow. “Really?”

  “Yes.” He cleared the edge from his voice. “I’m sorry if this is rude, Dr. Royston, but I’ve had a long day.”

  “Of course. It wasn’t very good form for me to come here uninvited in the first place.”