After the Rain

by Elizabeth Johns

  Seamus leaned on the edge of the table and Gavin sat down in a leather chair in front of him.

  “You are not happy, my son.”

  “No.” He closed his eyes. This was going to be one of those painfully introspective conversations he could not avoid. “I always grow so close to the patients. A loss of one is a deep blow.”

  Gavin sat for a moment and steepled his fingers in front of him. He was not one to be superfluous with words, but he gave great thought before he did speak.

  “Perhaps your calling is in academia rather than in treatment.”

  “I cannot disagree with you. However, I could not support a family if I were to do such.”

  “This is where we differ. I would rather be caring for patients. Is accepting the estate abhorrent to you? Is it because you feel you must earn it yourself?”

  “I suppose so.” He was not sure why. It did not seem right to take from Iain’s inheritance.

  “It is no different from providing dowries for Catriona and Maili. I assure you, you will have to work the estate. It would not be as simple as you living there and being provided for.”

  Seamus felt pain in his throat. Was his father doing this so he might be more acceptable to Yardley? Seamus had hoped to buy his own estate one day, with his own hard-earned money.

  “May I think on it?”

  “You may, but the property has already been left to you. Whether you choose to take it over is up to you.”

  Seamus looked up in dismay. “I do not know what to say.”

  “I am proud of you, no matter what you decide to do. But if you love Christelle, I suggest taking Yardley up on this offer. You will not be likely to have another chance.”

  Gavin gave him a long, solemn look of empathy before leaving him alone with the burden of his choices. What should he do? Sell out for a chance with the woman he loved, or give her up because he could not yet give her the life she deserved?

  Christelle sat on the cushioned window seat, looking out of the window from the sitting room of her apartments. There was so little time unoccupied—or alone for that matter—that she simply stared. She could not have told anyone what she saw, even had they asked her.

  Maili came twirling into the room, holding two gowns.

  “I do love the way this organza flows, but I love the way the sarsenet shimmers too. Which do you like?” She held up one, then the other.

  Christelle pondered both gowns. “What is the occasion?”

  “Vauxhall!” Maili could barely contain her excitement.

  “Then I would say the organza. It will be too dark for anyone to appreciate shimmers.”

  “Excellent point. What will you wear?”

  “I have not decided to go.”

  “But you must! It will be dream-like, and a break from all of the drab soirées with matrons in their horrid turbans staring down their noses and lorgnettes at us.”

  “I would love to see fireworks just once, but an evening at home is equally enticing. We have not been to bed before dawn in a week.”

  “And the Season has just begun!” Maili said this as if it were a good thing. She made Christelle feel like a dowager.

  “Who would you like to dance with most? Cavenray or Weston? Perhaps Sir Anthony or Mr. Cole?” she asked as she waltzed with the lavender organza.

  “I do not favour any one of them over the other. They are all very agreeable.”

  “Fustian! Cavenray is a cold fish, and Weston is handsome. I might enjoy kissing him at Vauxhall if I was to find myself lost on a dark walk. What about you?”

  How could she tell Maili she had eyes only for her knight in shining armour? Maili's brother. Would Maili laugh at her?

  Maili turned and looked at Christelle. “You must think me very silly. I suppose I am. Everyone thinks I do not remember what happened to my parents, or what it was like to live in the orphanage.” She walked over and looked out of the window too. “But I do.”

  Christelle remained silent. She had thought Maili a little immature, perhaps, but she was no different from many of the girls who had been at school.

  “It is simply that I choose to go on with my life and be happy rather than dwell in misery.”

  Christelle felt much the same way, but she did not mask her feelings with joy. Not that she was an unhappy person, she was just much quieter on the surface.

  “I think it is admirable you are able to be happy,” Christelle said.

  “Do you like it here?” Maili asked.

  “I think so,” Christelle said. “Everything in my life has changed. I am not as comfortable as you are in Society.”

  “I am not as comfortable as I appear. I realize what the ladies think of me, and the gentlemen as well. I cannot seem to act with refinement when I am nervous.”

  Ah. That explained much.

  “I also know that none of these men would be paying me any heed if you were not there. I do not have illustrious blue blood running through my veins.”

  “I would not say that,” Christelle said with a frown. “Your parents were gently bred.”

  “Oh, yes. But it is not the same thing to these people, you see.”

  “Then why would you want to marry one of them, anyway?” She certainly did not.

  Maili traced the outline of the window pane with her finger. “I suppose it is to prove something to myself... that I am as good as they are. But I know what they are saying about me.”

  For the first time, Christelle felt a connection to Maili. She knew how it felt to be the girl everyone whispered about. She had been that person for six years. It must be a new experience for Maili, and she realized she had misjudged her.

  “Catriona told me how it would be. She used it as an excuse to avoid London, but she was in love with John anyway.”

  “I think you could make a very good marriage, if you wanted to,” Christelle said—and she meant it.

  “Perhaps. Either way, I choose to enjoy the fairy-tale while it lasts,” Maili pronounced with her exuberant self back in place. “Now, I insist you join me for Vauxhall. Even Seamus is coming!” she exclaimed with a giggle.

  “Dr. Craig?”

  “Yes, can you believe it? He just told me so a few moments ago, in the hall.”

  Maili twirled herself and her gowns back into her bedroom. Christelle decided to slip away to find Dr. Craig. She had seen him peer into the drawing room earlier and then quickly leave. She could not blame him. She would have liked to escape as well.

  She walked through the house, wondering where he could be. She did not wish to enquire of the servants or they might suspect something. Servants knew everything before you knew yourself. That she had learned by being invisible to the others at school.

  He was not in the drawing room or the study. She was afraid to try the billiards room, as it would look very odd for her to enter there. Neither would she go to his bedroom.

  She frowned and walked out to the terrace. There were a few more minutes before she needed to begin dressing for dinner– something she could do quite well for herself in less than quarter of an hour. However, the family seemed to think she needed an army of servants to attend to her every need.

  The gardens were generous for a town house. There was a terrace surrounded by a formal garden, with a fountain at its centre. She kept going beyond the fountain, along the pathway leading to the back wall, where there were trees and a gazebo. The air was heavy and the sky was beginning to darken with the threat of rain. Various flowers were coming into bloom and she inhaled fresh air, feeling a sense of calm overtake her as she stood before the burgeoning rose bushes lining the rear stone wall.

  If only she knew what to do. She felt as if she were losing herself. Everyone had grandiose ideas of what they wanted and expected of her, and she had done her best to be that girl. However, Maili's words kept playing through her mind. She could choose.

  “I thought I would never find you alone,” Dr. Craig said as he appeared before her. She had not heard him approach.<
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  She smiled with joy. “I had to escape,” she confessed.

  “I do not blame you. You have been quite the sensation, I hear.”

  His comment wiped the smile from her face.

  “I did not mean to upset you. Why the frown?”

  Oh, how she wished he would kiss the sadness from her, and take her away from this insanity—even if only momentarily.

  “I suppose I am overwhelmed with it all. I have not been used to running non-stop at all hours of the day and night, and conversing with strangers. People I would not choose to converse with under normal circumstances.”

  He laughed. “It does seem contrary. The ton is not a comfortable place if you are not raised to it. Are you enjoying any part of this?”

  “Being with my family. I suppose there is some novelty in living in a grand house and dressing like a princess and dancing at balls.”

  “But they don't make you happy.”

  “Non.”

  He understood. Her hand reached out to touch his, which instantly seared her palm. Had he felt it?

  She looked up at him. He was everything she wanted in her life. His kindness, gentleness, his humour, his lips…

  “Seamus, what is wrong? You have grown quiet,” she said as her eyes wandered to his mouth.

  “Nothing... I was just thinking of our walks,” he replied, swallowing hard.

  “Me too.” Christelle touched his chin with her fingertips, and she could tell the moment he gave in. He drifted towards her and slanted his lips over hers—gently at first. She leaned in towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  Their kiss became more of a gentle dance, exploring and tasting, and she quickly felt her insides warming with an unfamiliar sensation.

  He pushed back, and she was already regretting the separation...missing him.

  “Forgive me. I became carried away,” he said as he put his hand to his brow. “To be seen with you like this would destroy everything.”

  She reached out to him, but let her hand drop. “What do you mean? Destroy what?” she asked, searching his eyes.

  “Your father said several gentleman have asked for permission to court you.”

  She said nothing. She was not ready to speak of her father.

  He shifted uneasily and she heard hesitation in his voice. “I have decided to close my practice here and remove to the country after the Season is ended.”

  “What?” She turned to stand in front of him and look him in the eye. “I do not understand. Is it not your dream?”

  “I am not certain it is. I came to London to find a wife. My few months here have shown me that a family would be neglected if I practice the way I ought. I have a small estate in the country. Perhaps I can find a way to be both a doctor and a gentleman farmer.”

  He looked up at the sky and she turned back to the roses. He was disturbed by something and she did not wish to upset him further.

  “If that is what you wish,” she said softly. She began walking away slowly. He would follow if he wanted. He had come for a wife.

  He did join her and fell in to step beside her.

  “Will you be attending society events then?” she asked.

  “Yes, I will begin escorting you and Maili, I suppose, though you have an entourage of chaperones already.”

  “Funny, is it not, that only a few weeks ago no one noticed if I went about alone with you? And now that my name has changed, I cannot leave the house by myself.”

  “I imagine the change in circumstances is daunting in more than one way,” he remarked.

  “Yes, I did not think my father would be so overprotective.”

  “You must understand it if you see it from his perspective.”

  “I will do as he wishes.” She now sounded like the puppet she felt.

  “Will you accept the man he chooses for you?”

  Why was he asking her this? Why was he suddenly speaking to her distantly? She longed to beg him to marry her and take her away to the country. But she did not dare. Maybe she had imagined him to reciprocate her feelings.

  “He has said nothing to me of him choosing,” she answered vaguely, feeling hurt, and as though she could not speak freely to Seamus. It felt as though he had created a wall of awkwardness and she wanted to take a hammer to it.

  He looked at her, and she could see he was hurting. But why was he pushing her away?

  “Is there something else?” she could not stop herself from asking.

  He sighed deeply and looked up at the darkening sky. “Mr. Baker has died.”

  Christelle gasped and longed to comfort him, to touch him. She took his hand and began to draw circles on his wrist. He watched her for a moment before sighing and pulling it away.

  “That is why I was late to your ball. It is also why I have decided to give up my practice.”

  He turned and walked away, leaving her feeling heartbroken for him and for Mrs. Baker, and longing to run after him.

  She did not want him to go to the country and find another woman. She did not care for this marriage market, or the fact that her life was being taken over by people who did not know her. Dr. Craig seemed to understand her, but what else could she do to make him want her? She could tell he responded to her physically, she recalled with a blush, but was she not what he wanted in a wife?

  Chapter 20

  Lady Charlotte Stanton, spinster sister of the Duke of Yardley, arrived in time for dinner to meet her new niece. She had decided on accompanying them to the theatre, as Hamlet was one of her favourites of the Bard’s plays. Christelle had been warned her aunt was quite bookish and eccentric, and she knew she liked her already.

  She was rather taken aback when she first saw Lady Charlotte. She looked very much like her father, except not as refined and elegant. She was voluptuous, and Christelle thought if her aunt ever learned that fact, she would have London's gentleman at her feet. She was not as old as Christelle had been led to believe, either, yet Lady Charlotte did not seem to know it. In fact, by her demeanour, Christelle might say her aunt was self-conscious.

  The gown of silver satin she wore seemed to accentuate her curves by clinging to her bosom and hips, and Christelle's fingers were itching to draw some sketches for her.

  When Lady Charlotte’s gaze fell upon Christelle and their eyes met, she exclaimed:

  “Oh, heavens! You are a beautiful, feminine version of Benny! I could be very jealous of you!” She came across the room with her arms wide open, and Christelle was afraid she braced herself as she was drawn into the woman's embrace. To her surprise, it felt very good to be wrapped in a familial hug.

  Charlotte seemed to realize she had behaved with impropriety as she stepped back and apologized with a sheepish smile.

  “There is a reason I had only one Season, Christelle.” She laughed heartily. “I never come to London if I can help it, but I will try not to embarrass you. Mama sends her love and begs you to come and visit her for a few days, if you can escape for a while.”

  “A splendid idea,” Yardley concurred, coming across the room to greet his sister with a kiss. “I am certain we will all need a few days in the country before long.”

  The butler announced dinner, and soon Christelle was caught up in a conversation with Lady Charlotte, who peppered her with questions while ignoring her other dinner partner. Dr. Craig did not seem to mind, but he also seemed more solemn than usual. Christelle did not wish for their relationship to become strained, and she struggled to know what to say.

  Immediately after dinner, the theatre party loaded into the carriage and headed for Drury Lane, where they were to meet Sir Anthony Turner and the Duke of Cavenray. For Christelle, the worst part was that everyone seemed to assume Cavenray was courting her, even though few words had been exchanged between them beyond polite trivialities. What was worse still, her father seemed to support and encourage her association with the Duke, when all he had to offer was good looks and a title. She desperately hoped her father knew something she
did not. Did he not comprehend that Dr. Craig and Mr. Cole were far more suited to her?

  She sat next to Lady Charlotte in the town chariot, facing Dr. Craig and Maili. On any other night, she would have been very excited, but she was still depressed about the way her conversation had ended with Dr. Craig this afternoon. He looked incredibly handsome in his evening ensemble. Tonight he had chosen grey breeches with a silver waistcoat and black jacket, his simple elegance a contrast to the almost frilled look of other gentlemen. Her aunt was very unrefined in a way that was similar to Maili, but Christelle suspected her behaviour would be considered eccentric rather than vulgar in a Duke’s sister.

  When their carriage pulled up in front of the theatre, the Duke of Cavenray and Sir Anthony were waiting to assist them from the vehicle. Dr. Craig alighted first and helped Maili alight. Then Sir Anthony handed Lady Charlotte down and they seemed quite pleased to see one another, Christelle noticed with some amusement. The Duke, the very same cold fish that Maili had described him as, assisted her descent with a look of approval—if, indeed, he had that much emotion in him.

  The crowd parted for them as they made their way inside. It was rather disconcerting. Christelle did not know whether it was for her or the Duke, or the party in general. Lady Charlotte rarely came to town, so it was unlikely she was the cause. Christelle had noticed people tended to move out of her father’s way, as well.

  The theatre was as elaborate as any ballroom; in fact, more so than any she had seen, which was not many. The party took their seats in the Duke’s box, where Christelle sat next to Lady Charlotte, with Maili on her other side. Dr. Craig, the Duke of Cavenray and Sir Anthony sat in the seats to the rear. Christelle quietly took in her surroundings, acutely aware of Dr. Craig in the row of chairs behind her. His musky scent singled him out immediately, only inches from her person. Lady Charlotte and Maili conversed gaily with the others, and Christelle also endeavoured to smile and answer appropriately as she awaited her first play with eager anticipation. The theatre was lined with boxes from floor to ceiling, in a horseshoe shape around the stage. At the front was a pit full of rowdy younger bucks and females who Christelle considered to be loose women by their behaviour and gaudy dress. There were chandeliers suspended from the ceiling, and the curtains and chairs were dressed in rich velvets. The audience was costumed for the evening in bejewelled elegance, and there was a dull roar of chatter while the orchestra tuned their instruments. She was relieved when the curtain lifted and the performers took the stage. Shakespeare had always been a challenge for her to read, as English was not her first language, but the acting was superb and she quickly became engrossed as Bernardo uttered the words, “Who’s there?”