Truth be told, Joe was also feeling guilty for enjoying the sight of her ankles. Once that silk stocking had been removed, he had had a moment where he forgot to be a detached physician and had gazed upon her silky skin like a man. He never did that. He had sworn the Hippocratic Oath solemnly and took his responsibilities far too seriously to ever allow himself to be waylaid with inappropriate thoughts before. However, Lady Isabella’s habit of regarding him as she would a Viking marauder about to pillage a village soon put paid to his temporary lapse of judgement and he was back to being irritated by her attitude again in seconds. So irritated he almost forgot about her splendid legs.
Joe rapped the knocker smartly. This afternoon’s visit was strictly professional. If he happened to collide with the adorable Lady Clarissa in the process, then it would certainly make it more tolerable. As would the sight of those legs which were unfortunately attached to the other, vexing, Beaumont.
The door opened quickly.
‘Could you inform the Earl of Braxton that Dr Warriner is here to check upon his daughter? I attended her injuries this morning.’
The austere butler appeared confused. ‘The physician is already in attendance, sir.’
Of course he was. No doubt the family had immediately summoned that aged old fool Dr Bentley the moment they learned their precious daughter had been treated by a Warriner. Usually Joe tried to ignore the old prejudices, but sometimes it grated. Especially when he was a far better doctor than the quack they preferred.
‘Even so, I should like to see her, for my own peace of mind, you understand. I will not delay the family long. I will be in and out quicker than a ferret in a rabbit hole.’
Chapter Three
The affronted butler invited Joe to wait in the hallway. A few moments later he was ushered into the drawing room, where he was met by the Countess of Braxton. ‘Dr Warriner! I cannot thank you enough for coming to Bella’s aid.’ She squeezed his hands effusively and appeared far too grateful, almost on the cusp of tears, which he supposed made up for her daughter’s blatant disregard.
‘No thanks are needed,’ he said as his eyes automatically scanned the room for Clarissa. The object of his desire was sat in the far corner of the room, embroidering something on a small hoop, and did not bother looking up. Her usually smiling face contorted into a frown. A niggling voice in his head told him she was rude, but he ruthlessly blocked it out. An angel like Lady Clarissa couldn’t be rude. Not like the other one. His eyes drifted to the other side of the room where the younger sister was sat on a sofa, her injured ankle raised on pillows and her eyes narrowed in hostility. Next to her, Dr Bentley was packing away his equipment, which included his ever-present bleeding cups—the old fool’s usual treatment for everything. He glanced at Joe and nodded curtly.
‘Warriner.’
Always just Warriner. Never the title he had earned. The upstart. The charlatan who had the audacity to set up a rival practice in Bentley’s town, taking money which should rightly be his. What did that Warriner know anyway? Joe had studied medicine only since the age of eight. Toiled at medical school in Edinburgh in order to qualify top of his class. Built up a sizeable practice despite the horrendous reputation of the Warriner family because he was damn good at what he did. And he had worked hard, honing his craft every single day since. One of these days Joe would allow himself the pleasure of saying exactly what he thought, then quashed the idea instantly. ‘Good afternoon, Dr Bentley. How is our patient?’
‘She is my patient now and as such I will not discuss her treatments with you.’ Dr Bentley turned towards the Countess. ‘Good day, your ladyship. I will await your further instructions regarding the other matter and hope Lady Isabella sees some sense shortly.’ And off he marched out without a backwards glance. Bentley was obviously miffed. Clearly Lady Isabella had been a delight for him, too.
Because it was what he had come here for, Joe walked towards the sofa and smiled. ‘How is your ankle?’
‘Better now.’ She appeared about to burst into tears. The tears tugged at his heartstrings. He was always too soft and prone to want to rescue. A fault he had apparently been born with and one he had long given up fighting. Without being asked, he lowered himself on to the corner of the sofa and took her hand. He almost dropped it again when odd tingles shot up his arm and he found himself frowning at the anomaly. That had never happened before and certainly shouldn’t be happening with her.
‘Sprains can hurt like the devil, but in the main they heal quickly with rest.’ He glanced down at her raised foot and the obvious swelling. ‘You need ice.’
‘Dr Bentley said hot water was best for sprains.’ Lady Braxton appeared apologetic at usurping Joe’s advice. ‘He insisted the ice pack was removed.’
‘Ah...’ Tact and diplomacy were second nature, especially when it came to Dr Bentley’s diagnoses. As physicians, they were always at odds. Dr Bentley was mired in tradition and Joe dared to break that mould. ‘Tell me, Lady Isabella, did your ankle feel better with or without the ice?’
‘With,’ she said without hesitation, ‘I queried it at the time.’ It was clear she held Dr Bentley in little regard, so she evidently had a brain underneath all the attitude. Joe smiled in encouragement and watched her dip her eyes.
‘She also refused to be bled.’ Lady Braxton appeared at her wits’ end at her daughter’s stubbornness. ‘Do you think she needs to be bled, Dr Warriner?’
‘I cannot see any cause for it.’ Joe could never see any cause for it as he had never seen the painful procedure achieve any beneficial effects. However, saying such things out loud tended to bother people brought up to revere the wisdom of physicians—most of whom still clung to ideas from the Dark Ages—as well as the supposed health benefits of slimy leeches. ‘Ice and rest are the best treatments for sprains. If the pain is severe, some willow bark tea would not go amiss either.’ She peeked up at him through her ridiculously long, dark lashes and offered him the ghost of a smile. More tingles bounced along his nerve endings and his collar felt suddenly tight. Perhaps Clarissa was watching him. Joe ignored the desire to turn around to check. ‘Do you mind if I take a quick look? Just to be certain it is nothing more than a common sprain?’
Lady Isabella nodded warily, the smile now gone, and bit down on her bottom lip, so he did a swift examination and sat back. ‘Most of the swelling has already gone down. I dare say it will be gone completely by Friday and you will be dancing at the assembly with your sister... Will you all be attending the assembly on Saturday?’
How pathetically unsubtle he sounded to his own ears. Joe cast a glance towards his patient’s sister, who was still jabbing her embroidery with a needle and had yet to acknowledge his presence. He silently willed her to look to no avail, ignoring the niggling voice of outrage in his head. Angels weren’t meant to be rude. They were meant to be...well, angelic. Maybe she hadn’t noticed him. A weak excuse, but she deserved it.
‘Yes, of course we are going!’ Lady Braxton smiled encouragingly at her daughter. ‘And it is splendid news that Bella may be fit enough to dance! Would you like some tea, Dr Warriner?’
‘I wouldn’t want to trouble you...’
‘It’s no trouble at all. No trouble at all.’
She bustled off to ring the bell, leaving Joe with Lady Isabella. Bella—a very pretty name and one he was not sure suited her. It was too vivacious for the quiet, introverted woman next to him. Bella conjured up images of a different sort of girl. One who was witty and a pleasure to be around rather than the one currently judging him in silence. At a loss as to what else to do or say to her, and in view of her older sister’s blatant indifference, Joe smiled his reassuring doctor smile. ‘Is the pain very bad?’
‘No.’ She stared down at her hands and the customary brittle awkwardness she always incited hung heavily in the air. The big question was, did he bother attempting further conversation with either sister, when one was intent on ignoring him and the other looked like she was disgusted by him, or
did he quietly wait for the tea? Or better yet, did he make a hasty excuse and escape? Joe had never felt so uncomfortable in his own skin before. He was seriously contemplating the leaving when she finally spoke in a voice so small he had to strain his ears to hear. ‘I should have thanked you for your help this morning. It was unforgivably rude not to have done so at the time...but I am not very good at... Since the... What I mean is...’ She sighed and seemed to steel herself. ‘What I mean is...I wasn’t quite myself.’
Her dark eyes were troubled as they briefly locked with his before she stared back at her clasped hands again. A very becoming pink blush burned on her cheeks. A blush which did not fit with the sour and dour character he had attributed to her. Was it possible Lady Isabella was shy, rather than rude? Or was his innate good nature frantically hunting for an excuse for her bad behaviour? He did have a tendency to attribute better character traits to people than they actually had. Women especially. Joe decided to probe further rather than trust his overly benevolent instincts.
‘You had just been sabotaged by a potato. I doubt I would have been particularly sociable if the tables had been turned.’ Those dark eyes slowly lifted and locked with his.
‘I think you are being kind.’
He was, but she didn’t need to know that. Glancing at the book lying open face down next to her, he acknowledged it with a nod. ‘A scientific tome?’
The blush burned even brighter at being caught reading a flagrantly romantic novel. ‘Sometimes I need to be reminded the world is a good place.’
Joe would have questioned her odd response, but her mother was back, conducting servants carrying the tea things and a small table which was arranged close to the invalid. ‘I hope you have a sweet tooth, Dr Warriner, as there is plenty of cake. And biscuits, too! Both my girls are extremely fond of biscuits. Come along, Clarissa! Come join us for tea!’
The object of his affection slapped down her embroidery with a huff and sauntered to the table like a surly child. Immediately, Joe stood and inclined his head. ‘Lady Clarissa. I hope you are well.’
‘Actually, Dr Warriner, I am not well. I have a cold. But my health must be ignored for the sake of dear Bella, as she is the one everyone must worry about. All of the time.’
‘You have the tiniest of sniffles, Clarissa dear.’ Lady Braxton was embarrassed. ‘And your sister could have broken her leg!’
‘I am here and can attend to you, too, my lady.’ Good grief, he sounded eager. Far too eager. He pasted on a professional expression of concern. ‘What are your symptoms?’
Lady Clarissa cast her sister a brittle smile and plopped her bottom on the chair just placed for her by a footman. It bothered Joe she did not thank the poor fellow for his efforts. ‘My head hurts and my nose is quite blocked.’
‘Congestion of the sinuses does cause headaches. Do you have a fever?’ He avoided the temptation to reach out and touch her forehead.
‘I am a little warm.’
‘Something which might be caused by your insistence on wearing that wool frock in July.’ Lady Braxton’s eyes were shooting daggers at her daughter. There was an undercurrent here, a dynamic Joe didn’t quite understand. Jealousy? Hostility? Palpable underlying friction between the two sisters, although mostly coming from Clarissa. Lady Isabella was the very picture of mortification and back to staring down at her hands. The mother seemed ready to strangle her eldest daughter. ‘Why don’t you go and change and stop wasting the good doctor’s time, dear?’
‘Oh, yes! Why don’t I? Then you can go back to fussing over poor Bella. Why, she hasn’t been fussed over enough, has she? Thanks to her, we are stuck here and I am bored senseless!’
‘Have you tried a steam inhalation?’ Ever the diplomat, Joe intervened and tried to diffuse the fraught atmosphere. If this was a case of sibling rivalry, perhaps Lady Clarissa would return to her sweet self if her minor ailment received some attention and he would stop feeling disloyal for feeling irritated at her. ‘I would recommend a few drops of peppermint oil in boiling hot water. It’s excellent for unclogging sinuses. I could send some back here directly.’
Lady Clarissa beamed at him and Joe basked in the glow. ‘Why, thank you, Dr Warriner. It is so nice to know that someone cares about my well-being.’
* * *
The next half an hour passed without incident. Lady Braxton and he maintained the bulk of the conversation. Lady Clarissa added the odd snippet and her sister not at all. Her silence bothered him, although he couldn’t say why. As he made his goodbyes, Joe made one final attempt at engaging her. Goodness only knew why. ‘I am certain you will be well enough for Saturday’s assembly.’
‘Whether she is or she isn’t, I shall be there. Retford is such a dull place, we must find our entertainments where we can.’ Lady Clarissa rolled her eyes. ‘I cannot wait for this summer to be over.’ Which suggested their residency here was only temporary. Something that was probably for the best. A month of dreaming about the angelic, unattainable Clarissa was a month too many, as his misguided heart was doomed to be disappointed for ever.
‘Then I shall look forward to seeing you there.’
‘I am relying on you to dance with me, Dr Warriner.’ His heart soared. ‘There is a distinct shortage of eligible men in the area and, in the absence of any titled gentlemen, I shall have to content myself with handsome ones instead.’ And his heart dropped back to his toes where it belonged.
‘I am glad to be of service, my lady.’ Although he wasn’t. He was miffed. The butler passed him his hat and Joe started towards the door, feeling dejected and foolish. And angry at feeling guilty for being rightly peeved at Lady Clarissa’s words.
‘Dr Warriner...’ Lady Isabella had found her voice. ‘When might I go back to the infirmary to attend my duties?’
He saw her sister’s obvious eye roll and felt another stab of irritation at her selfishness. At least the dour Bella wanted to help people. Her eagerness shone in her dark eyes. They almost sparkled. ‘I suppose that depends on the type of duties you undertake. Racing around the ward, or standing for long periods of time, not for at least another week. But if you are doing something lighter—reading to the children or keeping a sick child company—I see no reason why you cannot resume those things in a day or two. As long as you are sitting down, of course.’
This answer pleased her immensely and for the first time he saw her proper smile. It was quite something. Quite something indeed. Dazzling, almost, and wholly responsible for a fresh wave of tingles. ‘Thank you, Dr Warriner. And thank you again for this morning.’
‘It was my pleasure, Lady Isabella.’ And for some inexplicable reason, as he left her, it was.
Chapter Four
The next two days seemed to go far slower than days ever had before. Being stuck on the sofa with no purpose made Bella’s anxiety worse. She fought it, of course, by reading or painting or sewing—anything to stop the debilitating melancholy which constantly threatened to suffocate her. Logically, she knew keeping active helped to ward off her demons. Dr Bentley’s assessment of her mental state and the invasive treatment he suggested had terrified her, and whilst she was fairly certain he was a quack at best, there was only so long her family would allow her to get over it all herself. Her way. They had moved to Retford, at her insistence, to give her the summer away from London to sort herself out. If she couldn’t, then the threat of more dreadful water treatments, and perhaps even Dr Bentley’s cure for her blatant hysteria, loomed on the horizon because she couldn’t go on like this.
She had to get better. There really was no other option and sitting around all day embroidering handkerchiefs was not helping her recovery or stopping her mind whirring. Her big brain needed proper stimuli, something meaningful, and her big heart needed to focus on others rather than herself.
* * *
On the third day, when her father announced he was going into town, Bella insisted on accompanying him, although he did not take much persuading. Both her parents saw her des
ire to leave the house as a positive step forward and delighted in seeing tangible evidence of progress, although they never, ever discussed it.
The lack of communication about the incident made it harder. Her parents, or more specifically her father, had decided from the outset it was better for everyone if they pretended it had never happened, as if blithely ignoring that dreadful night in Vauxhall Gardens would somehow erase it from existence. Yet how could it? Bella could still see his eyes boring down into hers. Still smell the fetid odour of the man’s filthy clothes and body. Still feel his hands groping her bare skin, pawing at her breasts and between her legs. Feel that part of him pressing against her flesh insistently. And all of it whilst pinned powerless beneath him in the dark bushes, unable to scream. Unable to run. All around her were the sounds of the laughing crowds and the fireworks and she was at the mercy of a monster.
In that dreadful instant, she had learned that the world was not the safe, cossetted place she had always believed it to be. Darkness and evil lurked, waiting for the unsuspecting. The trusting. The good-hearted. She had stopped to give a poor beggar some coins and he had wanted something else entirely. He’d almost taken it...
‘Will you read to us again, Bella?’
One of the three children currently in the cosy infirmary thrust a book into her hands. She stared down at the colourful picture book and grinned. ‘But I have already read you this one, not an hour ago.’
‘Yes, but we love that book, don’t we?’ Three pairs of angelic eyes pleaded with her. ‘Especially the way you read it. We love the way you do all of the voices.’
‘Very well.’ At least entertaining them gave her some purpose, even though she would much prefer to be doing something more...practical and, frankly, medicinal. Although a part of her enjoyed reading this particular Orange Blossom book, as a certain handsome doctor made an appearance in it, delivering a newborn foal to the horses on behalf of the stork and then a baby to Captain Galahad and Miss Freckles. As the book had been illustrated by Dr Warriner’s older brother Jamie, she was convinced Dr Sensible was based on the local physician. He certainly looked like him. Floppy dark hair, piercing blue eyes behind studious wire spectacles. Kind blue eyes. Eyes which she had noticed gazed longingly at her sister. Why did his obvious interest in Clarissa hurt, when every man had always preferred Clarissa and Bella no longer liked men? And whilst Dr Warriner was a brilliant scientist and she admired him for that, and whilst she might want to convince herself he was kind, trusting and noble, he was still a man. Another man who fancied her sister. No matter how many times she thought about it, it still stung. If it wasn’t so ridiculous a concept, she might even have described her initial reaction as jealousy. Which was impossible when one considered Bella now couldn’t bear the thought of being with a man. Any man. Even a brilliant and handsome doctor, with eyes as blue as the ocean. All in all, it was better to not think about it, despite her brain’s inability to stop.
A Warriner to Tempt Her Page 3