Oppressed & Empowered: The Viscount's Capable Wife (Love's Second Chance Book 11)

by Bree Wolf

  Naturally, it would have to be someone he could trust with his life. The only one who came to mind was his childhood friend, Sebastian Campbell, Earl of Weston, a man who–despite his numerous, but good-hearted complaints about Richard’s own rather cold heart–had never strayed far from his side. Sebastian might not understand him, but he was loyal…to a fault.

  In any case, if Richard were to allow his sister to stay, then it might be good to have someone keep her company, in which case he could only hope that Miss Procten would be willing to return to Farnworth Manor once again. Certainly, her presence would be torture for him, but he had to think of his sister’s future. If Miss Procten was the solution to keeping his sister’s tantrums to a minimum, then that was a price he would have to pay.

  Richard could only hope that he would not lose his mind over the constant struggle that assaulted him whenever he laid eyes on her. What would happen if he was to see her every day?

  Richard swallowed, very much afraid to know the answer.

  Then he headed back upstairs to hear from Dr. Procten–and hopefully not his daughter–how his sister was doing.

  Chapter Four – Farnworth Manor

  “Good day, Lady Ashwood,” Evelyn greeted the late viscount’s widow as she approached the bed. “It is good to see you again. I hope you are well.”

  “I am.” A gentle smile came to the older woman’s face before she squeezed her daughter’s hand with tense fingers. “It is my daughter I’m concerned about.” Her gaze shifted about the room before she stepped closer to Evelyn. “You see, she finds herself with child.”

  Evelyn’s eyes widened as she looked at the viscountess, not having expected that. Then her gaze travelled to Miss Davenport, taking note of her pale skin and fast pulse, the way her eyelids would twitch upon occasion and the rhythm with which her chest rose and fell. “I suspect she merely fainted,” Evelyn concluded, not seeing any reason for alarm. “What was she doing when it happened?”

  The viscountess dropped her gaze as an indulgent smile came to her face. “She was arguing with her brother, I’m afraid.”

  “I see.” Careful not to appear to be looking, Evelyn glanced at the young viscount out of the corner of her eye. Concern rested in his pale eyes, and yet, she thought that the tension that held his shoulders rather rigid spoke to yet another matter that plagued him. Surely, he did not believe his sister in medical distress. Surely, he had to know that it was a mere faint as well. What then was it that currently occupied his thoughts?

  Cursing her own curiosity, Evelyn inhaled a slow breath, noting the way her heart sped up whenever she dared glance in his direction. What was it about him that drew her near? After all, he was the kind of man who ought not appeal to her, was he not? The way he seemed to look down at others with those sharp, grey eyes of his, like those of a hawk hunting for prey, seizing up those around him, spoke of a man who felt superior to others. There was a calm and often calculating hint in his eyes as though he constantly measured those in his presence for their worth. Certainly, most peers possessed that quality as it had been drilled into them from birth. However, his parents had always been kind-hearted people. People Evelyn had always respected and even come to care for. What made him so different from them? From his own sister?

  And yet, every once in a while, Evelyn thought to see something in the way he almost hung his head, in the way his shoulders would slump the barest fraction, the way his eyes dimmed on occasion, that spoke of a deep vulnerability as though this cold demeanour of his was nothing but a mask to hide who he truly was. And as was the case with every mask, here and there, it slipped.

  Or was she fooling herself? Was she conjuring a far-fetched reason to paint him in a better light because she could not reconcile herself to the fact that she found herself wanting to be noticed by a snobbish sort of man?

  Always had Evelyn thought of herself as independent. As much as she knew that becoming a doctor in her own right was nigh on impossible, she had vowed early on to not leave any chance unexploited to see her dreams realised. Always had she known that marrying would limit her freedom, making her a wife, someone’s accessory, and she had never thought herself the kind of woman who would only feel complete if married. Certainly, society thought differently. However, Evelyn knew that it was wise to allow her mind to take precedence over her heart. Deep down, she knew she needed to remain her own person, not someone’s wife to be ordered about.

  And yet, ever since she had tended to Lady Ashwood the previous year, she had realised that day by day her whole being had slowly become more and more aware of the lady’s son. She could almost feel him when he was near and longed to be closer, to unravel the secret that she saw behind his eyes. And yet, he barely took note of her the same way he barely took note of anyone. Did he never long for anything or anyone?

  “Are you all right, dear?” Lady Ashwood asked, jarring Evelyn from her thoughts. “You seem lost in thought.”

  Clearing her throat, Evelyn forced her gaze away from the son and back to the mother, noting with some surprise the amused crinkles around Lady Ashwood’s eyes. “I apologise.”

  “There is no need,” the viscountess assured her, smiling, and Evelyn wondered what went on in the lady’s head. Had she noticed Evelyn gazing at her son like a love-sick dolt?

  When Lord Ashwood stepped outside, her father and Mr. Bragg approached the bed, saving Evelyn from having to conjure a reasonable reply. Relieved, she turned to her father. “Considering that Miss Davenport is expecting, her breathing and pulse appear to be normal.”

  Mr. Bragg nodded, stepping forward and in-between Lady Ashwood and Evelyn’s father as though he wished to display his own perceived importance. Annoyed, Evelyn glowered at him, remembering that she had not yet had a chance to speak to her father about Mr. Bragg’s apprenticeship. “It obviously was only a faint,” he stated as though he was the first one to do so. “All she needs is rest.”

  Fighting down her annoyance with Mr. Bragg, Evelyn inhaled a deep breath, focusing her mind on what was important. “I suggest we elevate her legs and encourage blood flow to the brain.”

  From the corner of her eye, Evelyn noted Mr. Bragg’s brows drawing down in disapproval. His mouth opened, and she expected him to lash out at her for being presumptuous. However, before a word escaped his lips, his gaze came to rest on Lady Ashwood, whose presence seemed to change his mind for he remained silent. Apparently, there was at least a little sense in Mr. Bragg’s mind after all. On the other hand, that seemed to make him more devious for he adapted his behaviour according to those in his company.

  Evelyn could not wait to be rid of him. She could only hope her father would agree and terminate Mr. Bragg’s apprenticeship. However, finding out whether or not he did agree would have to wait. At least, it was quite obvious that her father agreed with her on the present matter, for he nodded his head in approval.

  Without hesitation–let alone addressing Mr. Bragg–Evelyn turned toward the door. Opening it, she stepped outside, relieved to find a footman waiting patiently. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mr. Bragg step toward her father and whisper something under his breath. Oh, how she wished she knew what he had said! Something hateful, no doubt! Why was it that that man only saw her as a threat? Was there something antagonising about her of which she was not aware?

  “Is there anything I can help you with, Miss?”

  At the footman’s question, Evelyn’s head snapped around, and belatedly, she forced a smile onto her face when she saw the honest concern in his eyes as he glanced toward Miss Davenport’s chamber. “Yes, indeed. I require a few pillows. Four or five would be good.”

  “Certainly.” Inclining his head, the young footman strode off.

  Watching him disappear around a bend in the corridor, Evelyn inhaled a deep breath to settle her nerves. Anger was not a good emotion when one was tending to a patient. After a few more deep breaths, her heartbeat slowed down, and her hands stopped trembling. Slowly, her body calmed, an
d she felt the strain ease off her mind as well.

  However, the moment she was about to return to the room, Evelyn almost tripped over her own feet when Lord Ashwood appeared as though out of nowhere at the other end of the corridor. For a second, their eyes locked, and Evelyn felt her heart jump into her throat, her fingernails digging painfully into her palms as she fought to maintain control.

  Curse that man for the effect he had on her!

  Unfortunately, he seemed completely unaffected. His silver-grey eyes remained cold and calculating as he slightly lifted his head in that snobbish sort of way of his and broke their eye contact–as though she was not worth his attention. Then he strode toward her with measured steps, his gaze fixed on the half-open door behind her.

  Fresh anger grabbed Evelyn’s heart, and for a brief moment, she felt the almost uncontrollable need to slap him. Fortunately, it passed quickly, leaving behind a sense of disappointment and embarrassment. After all, she ought to have more control over herself, ought she not? This was truly mortifying!

  “Is my sister all right?”

  Swallowing, Evelyn blinked, momentarily stunned to find Lord Ashwood standing in front of her. His grey eyes met hers–if only briefly–and she was surprised to see honest concern in them. More often than not, he appeared as cold as a block of ice. However, perhaps she was wrong in her assessment.

  “She is,” Evelyn mumbled, clearing her throat to dislodge the uncomfortable lump that had settled there. “Or she will be. It was merely a faint, and I trust she shall recover quickly.”

  Lord Ashwood’s eyes closed and remained so for a second or two as though he were savouring the moment. Evelyn watched him curiously. Had he truly feared for his sister’s life? He did not seem like a man prone to entertain irrational fears. However, as someone with an untrained eye for the sick, perhaps he had simply not been able to assess his sister’s situation with the same ease Evelyn took for granted. Perhaps she had judged him too harshly.

  However, where Lord Ashwood was concerned, she seemed to be going from one extreme into another. Either she found herself swept away by his mere presence or riled into anger by his cold dismissal.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Nodding his head to her, Lord Ashwood glanced past her shoulder. “When will she awaken?”

  “I expect within the hour,” Evelyn replied, trying her best to focus her thoughts on her patient. “I should get back,” she whispered as though more to convince herself to move than for any other reason. Reluctantly, her feet turned, and she forced her gaze toward the chamber and away from the unsettling man before her. Her eyes fell on her beloved father, and the sight of his gentle face gave her the strength to step way.

  Unfortunately, the moment her eyes focused on him, she detected the slight strain on his face that had often preceded another episode. Without another thought, she rushed toward him as he began to sway on his feet. “Father!”

  At the sound of her voice, everyone turned toward the old doctor.

  “I’m fine,” her father insisted in the very moment his hand reached out and grabbed the first thing he could find. In this case, Mr. Bragg’s arm.

  Evelyn was relieved to see him steady himself. Still, her trained eyes recognised the small signs of exhaustion. “You need to rest,” she told him, mimicking the same authoritative tone he sometimes took with his patients. “Mr. Bragg would you please take my father downstairs and ensure that he rests.”

  For a second, her father’s apprentice seemed to scowl at the way she was ordering him about. However, he could not have refused her without betraying a very unbecoming side of him, and so he nodded, took her father by the elbow and escorted him out the door.

  “Don’t you worry, my lord,” Evelyn heard her father say to Lord Ashwood as they slowly made their way down the corridor. “My daughter will look after your sister.”

  “I admit I should feel immensely better if she had a doctor by her side,” the young viscount replied to Evelyn’s great dismay, and for a moment, she closed her eyes to keep herself from challenging his words.

  “I assure you my daughter is very capable,” her beloved father said, his voice gentle but insistent. “She’s the best I’ve ever trained.”

  Evelyn’s eyes snapped open. Oh, if she could only see Mr. Bragg’s face! The man’s head had to be as red as a tomato!

  “Do not mind my son,” Lady Ashwood said, and Evelyn slowly turned to look at her. “He knows very little of women, which I have come to realise is not as unusual as it ought to be.” A hint of sadness and regret hung about the widow’s eyes, and yet, there was a slight curl to her lips and a spark in her eyes as though she viewed this unfairness as a challenge only. Something that was to be changed over time. Something that presented an opportunity for women everywhere to overcome the prejudices associated with their gender. “Believe me. The world still has a lot to learn about the strength of women.”

  For a moment, the two women looked at one another, and Evelyn felt as though something passed between them. An understanding. An insight. An agreement.

  Then a knock sounded on the door, breaking the spell, and Evelyn strode forward, thanking the young footman for the pillows he handed to her. With Lady Ashwood’s help, she moved Miss Davenport’s legs, positioned the pillows in a small stack and then draped the young woman’s legs gently about them. Then the two women sat with her, alternately cooling her face and checking her pulse.

  After a small while, Miss Davenport’s eyelids began to flutter before she finally opened them. Her gaze was unfocused, and her forehead crinkled in confusion. “Where am I? What happened? Mother?”

  “Everything’s all right, my dear.” Brushing a gentle hand over her daughter’s head, Lady Ashwood bent over her, her gaze meeting Miss Davenport’s as she spoke in hushed tones, ensuring that her daughter remain calm.

  When Miss Davenport’s breathing had evened, Evelyn stepped forward, once more examining the young woman’s vital signs. “Are you feeling any pain? Are you experiencing any dizziness?”

  “No,” Miss Davenport whispered, glancing a little fearfully at her mother. “I only feel a little weak as though my limbs are too heavy to be lifted.”

  “That’s all right,” Evelyn assured her. “Give yourself some time. I suggest you remain with your feet elevated for a little while longer. As far as I can tell there is nothing wrong with you.” Her voice dropped lower. “Considering your condition, there is nothing too unusual about a fainting spell. However, you ought to try and avoid agitating situations at present.”

  Miss Davenport scoffed, her blue eyes once more flashing with the strength of character Evelyn had seen in her before. “Then I suggest you speak to my brother. After all, it was he who agitated me.” There was a hint of bitterness in her voice. However, the look in her eyes spoke of disappointment, of pain and regret. What had happened between the two siblings?

  “Indeed, we should inform my son that Claudia has awakened,” Lady Ashwood said, her gaze travelling to Evelyn. “Would you mind? I’d rather stay here with my daughter.”

  “Certainly.”

  Although Evelyn would have rather avoided seeing the young lord again, she could not very well deny Lady Ashwood, and so she took her leave, stepping out of the room and granting mother and daughter a moment of privacy.

  “May I ask,” the young footman addressed her, a cautious look on his face, “is Miss Davenport all right?”

  Smiling at him, Evelyn nodded. “It would appear so.” Remembering that no one was to know about Miss Davenport’s condition, she did not dare say more. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. …?”

  “Adams,” the young footman supplied. “Maxwell Adams.”

  “I’m Evelyn Procten. Nice to meet you.”

  “You as well.” Holding her gaze for a moment, Mr. Adams then turned to gesture down the corridor. “I believe, his lordship as well as your father and his apprentice headed to his lordship’s study. Would you like me to escort you there?”

  “Th
ank you, Mr. Adams. I’d appreciate that.”

  A small chuckle escaped the young man. “I would not consider it remiss in my duties as I assume Miss Davenport is in no condition to get herself in trouble at present.”

  Taken slightly aback by the man’s forthright manner, Evelyn glanced at him. “His lordship has you watch over her?”

  The smile vanished from his face as though he had just now realised that he had crossed a line. “Only to ensure her well-being, I assure you.”

  “I see,” Evelyn mumbled as he guided her down the stairs and through an arched doorway into a small corridor. All the while, she wondered what to make of all the many things she had learnt about Lord Ashwood that day.

  When they reached the study, Mr. Adams excused himself to return to his post. Knocking on the heavy door, Evelyn waited to be invited in before opening the door and stepping over the threshold, willing her gaze to see only her father.

  And possibly Mr. Bragg.

  But not Lord Ashwood. Could she simply pretend he was not in the room? Or was that too childish?

  At her entrance, the three men rose to their feet, which caused her father to sway on his, prompting Evelyn to rush forward and pull his left arm through hers to steady him. “Father, you should have remained seated,” she chastised him, urging him to sit back down.

  “Oh, I will not portray bad manners in front of his lordship,” her father chuckled, remaining stubbornly standing, “or my daughter. What kind of man do you think I am?”

  Disarmed by his sweet manner, Evelyn smiled. “The best kind, I assure you.” Then she inhaled a deep breath and turned to Lord Ashwood, finding his watchful eyes on hers the moment she lifted her head. “My lord, your sister has awakened. She feels a little weak, which is to be expected, but otherwise does not complain about any discomfort. I trust she shall be fine.”