by Bree Wolf
“I would appreciate it,” he began, his face tense, blank, almost unreadable, “if you were to stay and see to my sister until her departure. As you are aware, it is imperative that her condition does not become known. Therefore, I think it would be beneficial if you could assist her maid for the time being.”
“My lord,” Evelyn began, trying to sort through the maze in her head, “I would suggest that–”
“No!” Lord Ashwood interrupted, his voice harsher than she had ever heard it. “There is nothing to say. I’ve made my decision, and it is not open for discussion.” For a moment, his gaze remained on hers, and Evelyn thought to see a hint of hesitation before he once more opened his mouth. “If you have no desire to stay on at Farnworth Manor, I will find a replacement for you.” His brows rose as though in question. However, before Evelyn had the chance to answer, he spun on his heel and stormed from the room, closing the door a bit too loudly for comfort.
Evelyn fumed. Not only did she feel riled by his lack of sensitivity in informing his sister of his decision, but…replace her? Had she heard him correctly? Evelyn gritted her teeth, forcing the ache in her heart back down. Why did she care if he threatened to replace her? Certainly, there were others who could look after Miss Davenport as well as she could. Why then did it bother her?
For your own sake, a distant voice whispered, once more conjuring the moment in Lord Ashwood’s study, the moment she had lain in his arms, the moment she had responded to his kiss.
“Blasted man!” Evelyn hissed, only becoming aware that she had spoken out loud when Lady Ashwood’s head turned, and the woman’s eyes found hers. However, instead of disapproval, Evelyn saw humour in the lady’s grey gaze.
“My son can be rather stubborn at times,” Lady Ashwood commented, her eyes watchful as they held Evelyn’s, “however, he is not unfeeling. He merely has a different way of seeing the world. Still,” the left corner of her mouth crinkled in amusement, “it would do him good to be reminded that there are opinions out there differing from his own.”
Surprised, Evelyn held the widow’s gaze, trying to understand what the woman wanted her to do. In fact, if she were not mistaken, Lady Ashwood was all but urging Evelyn to argue with her son. If his mother believed him to be wrong, why would she not speak to him herself?
“You are a very compassionate, young woman,” Lady Ashwood whispered to Evelyn, her hand gently brushing over her daughter’s hair as the young woman’s head rested on her shoulder, her eyes closed. “You have a way of seeing into another’s heart.” A memory of Lady Ashwood’s own suffering following her beloved husband’s death flitted across the woman’s face. “Speak to him, and perhaps he will listen.”
Evelyn swallowed, and for a moment she could do nothing but stare at the viscountess. Certainly, it was not her place to speak to Lord Ashwood, to lecture him, to argue with him, to persuade him. Still, whether or not it was proper, Evelyn could not deny that she longed to do as advised.
More than anything, she wanted to speak to him, to hear his reasons, to understand why he acted the way he did. For deep down, Evelyn was certain that there was more to Lord Ashwood than met the eye. As infuriating as he could be, she could not deny that there was a quality in him–well-hidden–that hinted of a caring man. Why on earth was he so insistent on hiding that side of himself?
“If you’ll excuse me,” Evelyn mumbled as she stepped toward the door, seeing Lady Ashwood’s approval in the soft smile that came to her lips.
Slowly, Evelyn walked down the corridor toward Lord Ashwood’s study, willing the trembling in her hands to cease and her thoughts to stop spinning so wildly. However, most of all, she wished her heart would slow its hammering and allow her a moment to catch her breath. Perhaps she was not the best person to speak to his lordship after all, for it seemed that her wits had finally abandoned her. In that moment, Evelyn felt like a bundle of fluttering nerves.
Nothing more.
Nonetheless, upon reaching the heavy door, she knocked, afraid she might change her mind if she dared hesitate. Lord Ashwood’s strong voice called for her to enter, and she pushed open the door with trembling hands…only to stop short when her gaze fell on Mr. Bragg. “What are you doing here?” she blurted out, taken aback by this rather unexpected development. “Has something happened?”
“Not at all,” he replied, his gaze narrowing as he took in her undoubtedly pale expression. “Are you well?”
As Evelyn nodded, Lord Ashwood rose from behind his desk and stepped around it. “I’ve asked Mr. Bragg here to fill in for your father. Since he is still unable to tend to my sister, I felt the need to have another doctor’s opinion.”
His words felt like a slap in the face, and Evelyn almost staggered backwards. Had he not heard a word she had said the other day? Or did he simply choose to ignore them? “As I’ve told you,” she forced out through gritted teeth, fighting down the urge to strangle him, “I’m perfectly capable of tending to your sister myself. There was absolutely no need to call for Mr. Bragg.”
For a moment, Lord Ashwood held her gaze, his own narrowed in confusion. Was it truly possible that he did not know why she was burning with anger in this very moment? How was that possible?
“Mr. Bragg,” Lord Ashwood addressed the other man, “would you please see to my sister? I need a word with Miss Procten.”
Although there was a satisfied spark in Mr. Bragg’s eyes at Lord Ashwood’s decision, he hesitated at the door and turned back to look at Evelyn. “Are you certain you’re all right? You look a little pale. Perhaps you ought to lie down.”
Annoyed, Evelyn snapped, “I’m fine. Perfectly fine.” Anger boiled in her veins, and in that moment she could not even say at whom she was most angry.
“All right,” Mr. Bragg said, nodding. However, before he stepped through the door, he turned back to look at Lord Ashwood. “I trust you will ensure my fiancée's well-being, my lord. Please do not hesitate to call me if she faints.”
And then he was gone.
As the shock and outrage over Mr. Bragg’s words reverberated through Evelyn’s body, she slowly became aware that Lord Ashwood, too, seemed to have had the air knocked from his lungs for he stared at her as though he had just been issued a death sentence.
Chapter Nine – Betrothed or Not
Actual, physical pain radiated through Richard’s body as though someone had just now delivered a severe blow to his abdomen…or his heart. He felt an almost incontrollable reflex to sink to his knees and curl into a ball on the floor in order to alleviate the excruciating sensation, and his muscles tensed painfully as he fought to keep upright.
Dimly, he realised that he was staring at her, his eyes unblinking; and yet, he could not bring himself to avert his gaze. “Y-you’re betrothed,” he stammered, a lump forming in his throat that made it difficult to speak. “Y-you’re betrothed to Mr. Bragg.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Richard heard a faint echo of his voice of reason. Never had it been so faint. Always had it been right there at the forefront of his mind. Not now though. Only quietly, it whispered that he was overstepping a line. After all, who Miss Procten was or was not betrothed to was none of his concern…or was it?
His hands balled into fists at his sides as he fought the sudden urge to strangle the cursed doctor. How dare he!
How dare he what? His voice of reason piped up, daring him to answer.
Instead, Richard chose to ignore it, belatedly becoming aware of Miss Procten’s gaze as it once more seemed to study his expression. Without him noticing, she had even taken a step closer, and now peered at him like a scientist studying a rare specimen.
Squaring his shoulders, Richard raised his chin, groping for something to say that would distract her from her current observations. Before he could though, she suddenly shook her head as though shaking off a thought and her features relaxed. “I apologise,” she began much to his surprise. “I did not mean to stare. I came here in order to speak to you about your sister.�
� Despite the casualness in her tone, her gaze narrowed, and her eyes darted to the door through which Mr. Bragg had left.
Was she worried about being left alone with him? Richard wondered, his insides tightening once more. Did she fear he would force himself on her again? Did she wish for Mr. Bragg’s protection?
That thought seemed to turn Richard’s world upside down as he suddenly found himself the villain in this scenario. How had this happened? Always had he thought of himself as an honourable man. However, recently, his sister as well as Miss Procten seemed to be of a different opinion.
“Why did you call for Mr. Bragg?” Miss Procten asked as she turned her attention back to him.
Richard blinked, reminding himself to try and follow their conversation. “Because my sister is in need of a doctor,” he replied, thinking that ought to be obvious. What indeed did Miss Procten hope to achieve by asking nonetheless?
Her lips thinned. “I’ve told you more than once that I’m perfectly able to see to your sister.”
“But you aren’t a doctor,” Richard replied, “as I have told you before.” Despite his growing concern about the direction of their conversation, Richard could not keep himself from staring at her, unable to forget the earth-shattering news he had just received.
What is it to you? His voice of reason once more objected.
And once again, Richard ignored it.
“Neither is Mr. Bragg.” Hands on her hips, Miss Procten leaned forward like a soldier readying himself for battle. “He’s been training with my father for only a year; whereas, I have been learning from him all my life.” Her brown eyes held his as she took a step closer as though proximity would grant her a better understanding of him. “Why is it that you discount my abilities? Is it because I’m a woman?” Her jaw tightened, and she drew back her shoulders another fraction. “I will have you know that women are a lot more capable than you give us credit for.” She sighed. “And that includes your sister.”
Unable to concentrate, Richard blurted out the first thing on his mind. “You ought to have informed me that you are betrothed.” Unfortunately, it was a statement rather irrelevant to their current conversation.
Miss Procten’s gaze narrowed once more, and for a moment, she seemed at a loss.
Richard knew that feeling only too well.
“Why?” she demanded, her brown eyes once more sweeping over his features. “What is it to you?”
Richard cleared his throat, doing his best to appear nonchalant. “It’s common courtesy.”
“It is?” She inhaled a slow breath, and for a second, Richard thought she looked disappointed. However, then the expression on her face cleared, and he could not be certain. Not that he had been before. “It does not matter. It–”
“Of course, it does.” Cringing at the sound of his own voice, Richard could not keep himself from advancing on her. “Do you make it a habit of kissing other men besides your own betrothed?” Unfortunately, that question only brought back the memory of their kiss, and he could all but feel her lips against his.
Miss Procten’s mouth dropped open while her eyes seemed to narrow into slits. “How dare you?” she demanded. “Was it not you who kissed me?”
Richard swallowed. “That might have been so. However, I would never have done so if I had known you were betrothed to another. Did you not think he would object to another man kissing his betrothed? If it were me,” he took a step toward her, “I would mind very much.”
For a moment, Miss Procten remained rather still, her eyes widening ever so slightly, and her chest rose slowly as she inhaled a deep breath. “Is that so?”
“It is indeed.” Feeling his pulse hammer in his veins, Richard watched her as she stood before him, the expression in her eyes changing in subtle nuances.
If only he knew what they meant!
“If you must know,” Miss Procten finally said, her voice softening as her hands slid from her hips, “you are the only one who has ever dared to take such liberties with me.” For a second, her gaze dropped to the floor before she forced it back up.
Stunned, Richard stared at her. “He didn’t…? I mean, why would he not…?” His voice trailed off as he realised how highly improper his question was. Not that it mattered much. After all, whenever they spoke to one another, decorum seemed to evaporate into thin air.
A soft smile came to her lips as she looked up at him, and Richard could not help but think that she was pleased. The only question was, why? Certainly, learning that Mr. Bragg had not lain a hand on her–so far, at least–was greatly pleasing for him–for a reason he did not dare examine further. However, why would his rather inappropriate question please her?
“If you must know,” she began once more, her deep brown eyes holding his with such intensity that Richard thought she did not wish to miss his reaction to her next words, “Mr. Bragg is not my betrothed.”
In one whoosh, the air flew from Richard’s lungs, and he could not stop his utter relief from revealing itself in a deep smile that drew up the corners of his mouth. “He’s not?” he demanded, fearing he might have misunderstood her.
Miss Procten shook her head, a large smile on her face. “He is not.”
“Then why would he say so?”
Her lips hardened, and her nose crinkled in a way that made Richard think she was getting angry once more. “Because he does not listen to me any more than you do, my lord.” Exhaling loudly, she shook her head. “My father sought someone to train, to follow in his footsteps. He hoped that if he found the right man, he would eventually allow me to continue to work beside him…if we married.” Her jaw clenched. “Unfortunately, all the world seems to believe women to be far less capable than men.”
Richard frowned, wondering why she felt so passionately about this. “Do you truly believe yourself to be of equal capability as your father and Mr. Bragg?”
Miss Procten’s eyes lit up dangerously, and for a second, Richard thought she would lunge herself at him. However, then she took a deep breath, her hands balling into fists before she unclenched them once more. “I admit,” she began slowly, her jaw still slightly tense, “that I may still lack some experience compared to my father. However, that is only natural, given that he has been treating patients for decades. However, I truly believe– no! – I know that I’m more qualified than Mr. Bragg for two very simple reasons. One, I have been training for a lot longer than he, and two, his rather high opinion of himself often prevents him from acquiring further knowledge as he believes to already know everything worth knowing.” Her hands trembled as she held his gaze. “Should the need arise, you’d do well to call on me, and not him.” For a moment, she simply stood there as though to emphasise her words, to ensure that they would be heard, noticed.
Then, however, she simply turned on her heel and without another word left his study.
Remaining behind, Richard stared at the closed door, wondering if he would ever be able to make sense of Miss Procten.
Still, the only thing that echoed through Richard’s body then and there was pure and utter joy at finding her still unattached. No one had claimed her as his own yet.
Not that he ever could. Or wished to.
After all, they would not suit each other…for more reasons than he could name.
Nevertheless, he could not deny that he was relieved.
More than he had thought possible.
Chapter Ten – A Personal Question
Stomping down the hallway, Evelyn felt her own footsteps echo in her ears like a stampede of thundering hooves. Anger boiled in her veins, and yet, she could still feel her heart jump and dance at the utter joy that had come to Lord Ashwood’s face upon finding her a free woman still. Why had it pleased him so?
Shaking her head, Evelyn pushed those thoughts aside. After all, they served no purpose. Her silly infatuation with him needed to end. She would do well to remember that they came from different worlds, and so she clung to her anger rather than the soft tingles that swept thro
ugh her body.
How dare he question her capabilities after everything she had done for his mother and sister? Why was it that people generally only saw her pretty face? Her skilled hands? Her gentle temper? Never had she been praised for her mind and its accomplishments. At least, not by anyone other than her father.
Turning down the corridor toward her father’s chamber, Evelyn tried to calm her nerves when she found Mr. Adams walking toward her. As Miss Davenport was currently with her mother, apparently, there was no need for the young footman to watch her.
“Good day, Miss Procten,” he greeted her kindly before his brows drew down and a hint of concern came to his eyes. “Are you all right? You seem upset. Is something amiss with Miss Davenport?”
Evelyn shook her head. “No, nothing at all,” she assured him, aware of the hint of hostility that still clung to her voice. “I’m quite all right as well.” Gritting her teeth, she cursed Lord Ashwood under her breath.
Mr. Adams’ brows flew up, and a short laugh spilled from his mouth.
“I apologise,” Evelyn mumbled, ashamed of her lack of control.
“There is no need,” Mr. Adams assured her, a kind smile on his face. “As much as I appreciate my position here, I am well aware that those born to privilege have never known the need to prove themselves. It is rather easy for them to look down upon the rest of the world and believe it their right that they do so.” He shrugged good-naturedly. “It may not be solely his fault though. After all, he was brought up like this.”
Although Evelyn was surprised by Mr. Adams’ forthrightness, she could not deny that being able to speak honestly was rather refreshing. “Indeed, there is merit to your words, Mr. Adams, however, would you say that that also means that none of them can ever be expected to rise above what they were brought up to be? For that can simply not be right. Should we not all strive for a world where men and women find themselves equals? Where we all have the same choices? Where we all can decide our own fate no matter what class or gender we belong to?”