No matter. She smoothed the front of her apron. She’d simply have breakfast waiting for him. She opened the icebox and peered inside. A jug of milk, a bowl of eggs, and a rasher of bacon. Plus, the leftover stew he’d spoken of.
Either he ate breakfast food at every meal, or this man just plain starved. Perhaps there’d be some flour in one of the cupboards. She opened one and found it empty. The other held a set of china dishes and a few pots and pans. Thankfully, the last contained a bag of flour, some sugar, and salt. Perfect. Pancakes and eggs for breakfast.
Standing on her tiptoes, she managed to grab the jars of flour and sugar and set them on the counter then added the bowl of eggs and jug of milk. Now for mixing it all together. She’d seen Mrs. Ackerman make pancakes hundreds of times, surely doing it oneself couldn’t be that difficult. Could it?
She took down a bowl and scooped a couple handfuls of flour inside. There. Looked like enough. Now what? Oh, yes, three eggs ought to do it. She cracked each into the bowl and chucked the shells in the dishpan. One pinch of salt or two? Hmm. Perhaps she’d better use just one. Milk? She unscrewed the lid and dumped some in. A bit of sugar and she’d be all done. Cooking was easy. She’d be a gourmet in no time.
Wherever Dr. McNair was, he’d at least lit the stove. She placed the frying pan on it and poured in some of the batter. Now she could work on the eggs. And coffee. Men liked coffee.
How many eggs should she cook? Four perhaps. That made two for each of them. She cracked them into a pan and added the shells to her pile in the dishpan. Now coffee. But how in the world did one go about making that?
Grace found a box marked coffee in one of the cupboards and scooped a couple handfuls of the beans into the pot along with a cup of water. Then she placed the kettle on the back of the stove. She could set the table, and everything would be ready the moment Dr. McNair came inside.
Something smelled like … Oh, no! The pancakes. She grabbed a spoon and scraped them onto a plate. Not golden like Mrs. Ackerman’s, but burnt and black. Her nose crinkled. Doubtful even a dog would eat these.
With a sigh she added more batter to the pan. This time she’d be sure to watch them. She checked the eggs. Cooking nicely, thank goodness. Now she could set the table.
She carefully placed two plates on the table and added silverware and cups. If only he had a tablecloth somewhere. Then she could make it truly elegant.
A hissing sound emitted from the stove. She turned. A scream caught in her throat. The coffee bubbled over, overflowing its pot. Grace ran to the stove and grabbed it. As hot metal burned her skin, the kettle crashed to the floor. Water and coffee beans doused the kitchen and soaked her skirts. She snatched a towel and knelt to wipe up the mess.
Lord, whatever happens, I beg You not to let Dr. McNair come in just now.
Once the floor had been sufficiently dried, she returned to the stove and checked the eggs. Burned, along with the pancakes. She dumped the pots into the dishpan and sank into a chair, covering her face with her hands. Tears stung her eyes, and she let them fall. She wanted so much for breakfast to be a success, but instead flopped every last bit of it. Why hadn’t she ever asked Mrs. Ackerman for cooking lessons? Because she’d been too busy working at the store, that’s why. She’d never had a moment to spare, what with Father always asking her to balance the books or wait on customers.
Well, there was plenty of time now. She straightened her shoulders and dried her eyes.
Action was far preferable to crying. She’d learn how to cook, if it was the last thing she did.
Shadows darkened the house by the time Raymond arrived home. Ten house calls in one day and over twenty miles of travel. Thank goodness for dependable King. Without his faithful horse, these calls would be impossible.
Softly, he climbed the stairs and opened the door. His stomach growled at the thought of something to eat. His hastily packed sandwich and apple hadn’t been nearly enough. Sure and certain, he’d have a decent meal. Now he had a wife. One who, no doubt, had dinner waiting on the stove.
He opened the kitchen door and squinted in the darkness. Grace sat at the table, her head pillowed on her arms. He moved closer. Beside her sat an untouched plate of food. Stone cold.
He studied her in the twilight. Her hair had escaped its usual prim pinnings and cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Soft, even breaths rose and fell from her chest.
Should he wake her? The poor thing looked exhausted. Best to let her sleep. Gently, he lifted her from the seat and carried her from the room. She sighed softly, nestling against his chest. Gossamer in his arms. The scent of lemons filled his senses. Wispy, delicate, like the young woman herself.
He kicked open the door and placed her gently on the bed. She barely stirred. For a long moment he stood over her, his heart twisting. In slumber, her features looked even younger, more innocent. She’d been entrusted to his care, and he would take care of her. As a gentleman, he could do no less.
Silently, he left the room and returned to the kitchen, lit a lamp, and surveyed the plate of food. Potatoes, gravy congealing in a lump. Some kind of meat, chicken perhaps. He picked up the biscuit and bit into it, wincing as he nearly broke a tooth.
Obviously cooking wasn’t among his wife’s finer skills. But how could it be? From what Audrey had told him, their mother died when the girls were but children. Mrs. Ackerman had consequently been hired to care for the house and do the cooking. Audrey also said that from the day Grace had graduated from school, she’d spent six days a week at the store, from the time the sun went up, to day’s end. No doubt it was cheaper for Mr. Whittaker to make use of his child than hire another employee. Audrey, on the other hand, had rarely worked at Whittaker Dry Goods. In fact, now that he thought of it, she never worked at all. Whenever he came to call, he’d always found her practicing the piano, reading a book, or writing a letter. Thus, no doubt, a great deal of housework also fell upon Grace.
He hadn’t given it very much thought at the time, he was so blinded by Audrey’s beauty. Perhaps too blinded.
Tomorrow he wouldn’t leave before Grace awoke. They’d have breakfast together, share conversation. He’d do his best to become acquainted with this wife of his, and perhaps she’d stop being so timid.
It would at least be a start.
Chapter 5
Dr. McNair cooked breakfast the next morning.
A flush heated Grace’s cheeks as she sat down to a table that seemed effortlessly prepared. Pancakes as golden as Mrs. Ackerman’s. Sizzling bacon that made her mouth water. Apple slices elegantly arranged in a bowl. He, a man, had done it all. Which only further compounded her failures.
He pulled back his chair and sat down, tucking a napkin into his shirt. She folded hers and laid it across her skirt.
“Everything looks delicious.” She managed a smile.
“It’s not very hard, and I’ve had years of practice.” He returned her smile.
Not very hard? Easy for him to say. She supposed he could also make biscuits fluffy as air and gravy creamy as pudding.
Dr. McNair asked the blessing before getting up from his chair and pouring coffee. Grace played with the edges of her napkin as steam swirled upward from her mug. She should be the one pouring while he sat and ate breakfast. Not the other way around.
“I’m going to be in my clinic most of the day.” He lifted a forkful of pancakes to his mouth.
She nodded and took a tiny nibble of bacon.
“If you need anything for the house or kitchen, don’t hesitate to go shopping. Just add it to my account. I pay the bills at the end of the month. Of course, in my profession, people often pay in trade, rather than in money. So things like eggs and milk I usually get in exchange for services.”
She nodded again.
“If you’d care to, you can come down to the clinic later and I’ll show you round.”
“Very well. After I do the dishes.” Though her empty stomach protested, she could scarcely eat a bite. What with
him sitting across from her, able to observe her every move. They’d shared many meals together at the Whittaker home, but he’d always been Audrey’s betrothed. Not Grace’s husband.
“Fine. Fine. If you like, we could take a walk this evening, go visit your father. I’m sure he’d appreciate it. And if there’s anything you’d like to get from the house, you could do so.”
Like cookbooks? The old alarm clock? She hated being the last awake in the morning.
And a new set of brains.
“I’d like that.” She took a sip of her coffee.
He pushed back his chair. “Well, that’s settled then. We’ll walk over after dinner.” He tossed his napkin on the table beside his empty plate. “I’d best be getting downstairs.”
She nodded.
“Later, then.” He made a bow as politely as if they passed each other on the street.
As quickly and efficiently as she could, Grace did the dishes. Thank goodness, she at least had experience in that regard. After making sure the kitchen was in proper order, she untied her apron and went downstairs, stopping at the waiting-room door. This was his domain. Did she dare enter? Well, why not? He’d invited her, after all.
She pushed open the door. No patients sat in the waiting room, so she gave a rap on the closed examining room. She’d scarcely drawn her hand away before it swung open.
“Oh, thank the saints above you’re here, Grace. I need your help.” Dr. McNair dashed back inside. She followed him in.
And screeched to a halt.
A man sat on the exam table. Coughs and gasps emitted from his large form as he deposited the contents of his stomach into a basin Dr. McNair held. Vomit covered the floor, the man’s clothes, and the table. Grace pressed a hand to her mouth and took a step back.
“Don’t just stand there, Grace. Get that pitcher of water and a towel and help me clean this up!” Dr. McNair’s tone could have belonged to the captain of a warship. “Now, Mr. Cooper, I need you to take some of this. It will absorb whatever it is that’s upsetting your system.”
Dizziness swooshed over her. She gingerly crossed the floor and grasped the pitcher and a towel with shaking hands. Water splashed onto the floor. The man’s hacks and heaves rang in her ears. The rancid odor of bile sent nausea rising up in her throat. She looked helplessly at the mess on the floor then back at Dr. McNair. Spots danced before her eyes.
She couldn’t do this. Not wasting another second, she ran from the room and out the door. Kept going until she left the clinic and stood on the steps, gulping in fresh air, leaning against the edge of the building to steady herself.
Awful. It had been just awful. And he’d expected her to help with such a thing? How could she have summoned the nerves for it? She sucked in a deep breath, letting the warmth of the sun soak into her. She should go back in and assist. But how? Nausea threatened just thinking about it.
Tears needled her eyes. She was a failure. Not at all fit to be a doctor’s wife. She couldn’t cook, and she sure couldn’t handle medical matters. The only things she did well were run a first-rate dry goods store and keep a house tidy. The second might prove useful but never the first.
A strand of hair blew in her eyes. She swiped it away.
Lord, why am I so useless? Why can’t I be beautiful, brave, and an amazing cook? Why do I run whenever something upsets me?
She stared up at the cloudless sky. Obviously the Almighty didn’t know, either.
Then she’d just have to conquer it herself. Starting with going back inside and seeing if there was anything she could do to help.
This time, no matter what she faced, she wouldn’t run.
Now that he’d cleaned up the mess and had Mr. Cooper comfortably settled with some charcoal water to drink, a wave of guilt assailed Raymond. Who did he think Grace was? A Johns Hopkins intern? Her first introduction to his practice and he’d asked her to do something that made even him a wee bit queasy. She’d never want to come downstairs again. He’d acted without thinking, caught in the urgency of the moment, and she’d fled quicker than a frightened rabbit.
He needed to apologize and ought to do it quickly before she decided to pack her bags and go back to Whittaker Dry Goods indefinitely.
The door to the exam room opened. He turned. Grace stood outside. He followed her and closed the door, leaving Mr. Cooper resting within.
“You must think me a weak-kneed ninny.” She met his gaze, apology in her eyes. A strand of hair dangled near her ear, brushing her creamy skin. He nearly reached out and ran it between his fingers but drew his hand back before he could attempt it. Crazy thoughts like that shouldn’t be entering his head.
“On the contrary. I think you’re brave for staying as long as you did. Most first-time assistants would’ve lasted sixty seconds. You managed a full one hundred and twenty.” A grin tugged at his lips. “But in all seriousness, it is I who should apologize. I should have never asked you to help. Forgive me?”
Her smile warmed, reaching her eyes and turning them bright. She nodded. “How is Mr. Cooper now?”
“Resting comfortably at present. I’ll send him home in half an hour. You’ll be happy to know you’re not the only female who gets queasy. His wife left right after she brought him in, and I haven’t seen her since. Of course, she has the excuse of being in a delicate condition.”
“I’d still like you to show me around, if you want to.” She surveyed the waiting room. “Perhaps after your patient leaves?”
So the sparrow of a woman wasn’t quite as breakable as she first appeared. He had suspected there was more than first met the eye when it came to her. What other layers lay beneath the delicate tissue paper of her exterior? Would he ever know?
“I’d be glad to,” he answered. He needed to look away, avert his gaze from her smile and that distracting curl that brushed her cheek. Gazing at her wasn’t part of their convenient arrangement.
“I’d better go upstairs and make lunch. Will you have time to eat?”
“I’ll be up just as soon as Mr. Cooper leaves.”
She hurried away, and he returned to his patient. Yet, as he pushed open the windows to let in fresh air, a thought sprang to his mind and made him grin.
Audrey wouldn’t have lasted anywhere near a hundred and twenty seconds.
Chapter 6
She hadn’t expected him to be so gracious. Didn’t deserve it even. Still, he seemed to forget about the incident as he showed her around the clinic and later, as they had dinner with her father.
While the men discussed politics, Grace slipped from the room and went upstairs. She opened the second door down the hall and stepped into her room. Everything remained unchanged. Her girlish patchwork quilt lay across the bed, and the worn rag rug covered the polished wood floor. She moved toward her armoire and pulled the remaining dresses off their hangers. Taking a carpetbag from the depths of the closet, she packed the dresses neatly inside and closed the clasp, breathing in the lemon peel sachets she kept among her frocks.
A barely discernible knock sounded. Grace spun around.
“Come in,” she called softly.
The door opened and Mrs. Ackerman entered. She still wore her grease-splattered apron from dinner and kept her hands behind her back.
“Can I help you with something?” Grace faced the woman. A nervous furrow knit the cook’s brow, and her gaze darted to and fro.
“This came for you in today’s mail. I didn’t show it to your father.” Mrs. Ackerman held out an envelope. One glance at the script sucked the breath from Grace’s lungs, bringing with it a gust of doubts and fears. Audrey’s handwriting.
With an unsteady hand, she opened the seal.
Grace,
Word has reached me of your marriage to the gentleman that was to have been mine. Knowing you, I suspect you did it out of your elevated sense of duty and responsibility. Be that as it may, I thought it only fair to warn you that though you may share his name, you will never have his heart. That still belongs to me. A
nd though my own affections lay with another, his shall always remain fixed on me alone. You with your few or, may I say, no advantages whatsoever could never hope to win the heart of such a man. I write this not to discourage you, but to deter you from wasting your time trying. Be his housekeeper, sister mine, but don’t attempt to be his wife.
Your Most Devoted Sister,
Audrey
Grace lowered the letter, her entire body shaking. She closed her eyes and drew in a sharp breath. Leave it to Audrey to write such words. Her, with her cadre of men. Would she not rest until every one of their hearts belonged to her? How had she found out? Why couldn’t she simply wish them well?
“Does she say where she is?” Mrs. Ackerman’s words caught her ear.
“No.” Grace sank down on the bed.
“Does she say she’s coming back?” Mrs. Ackerman twisted her hands in her apron.
“No.” Grace balled the letter and threw it into the cold hearth. “I don’t care if I ever see her again.” The vehemence of her own words shook her. She had no reason to care. Audrey had never considered her. Never loved her. Thought of her only as a commodity to be used for her own purposes. Like one of those newfangled vending machines that dispensed notepaper whenever one put in a coin. It should be different between sisters. Yet it had gone on for too long to hope for anything else.
“Why, you don’t mean that, Miss Grace. Surely not.” Mrs. Ackerman’s eyes widened.
Grace stood and picked up the carpetbag. “I hate to admit it, but I do. And if she had been your sister, you might agree with me.”
“Well, I can understand you not wanting her back now that you’re wed to her beau. As a matter of interest, how are things between you two?”
Best to dodge that and keep things within Mrs. Ackerman’s province. “They’d be a sight better if I knew my way around a kitchen. Do you have any cookbooks I might borrow?” Despite Audrey’s words, she wouldn’t stop trying. Not so soon anyway. It wouldn’t be fair to herself or Dr. McNair. And for once in her life, she wanted to prove her sister wrong.
The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity Page 3