by Merry Farmer
“Lady Elizabeth,” he said in a lovely tenor. “It’s a pleasure to be invited to your party. My sister and I were so honored to receive your invitation.”
“We wouldn’t think of entertaining without you,” Elizabeth finished. She treated the man to a secret smile as he straightened, slashing even more color on his face. That conquest had been entirely too simple.
Lady Charlotte cleared her throat. Her color was up too now, and her lips were pursed. “This is Lady Arabella,” she finished the introductions with less enthusiasm.
“Lady Arabella,” Alexandra took over as gracefully as Elizabeth figured her cousin was capable of. “How good of you to come.”
“I’ve never been invited to a house party before,” the willowy wisp of a woman said. Her brown eyes glowed with excitement.
“I hope we will make you very welcome,” Alexandra went on.
“I’m sure I shall feel quite at home here.”
Elizabeth smiled and inclined her head to the young woman. Pretty, modest, and innocent to the core. Not to mention polite and, by the look of her gown, in possession of a good fortune. Yes, Aunt Charlotte would have something to crow about at the end of the party. If Lady Arabella wasn’t engaged before the final dinner, Elizabeth would be surprised.
“Aunt Charlotte,” she said, finished with pleasantries for the moment. “You must excuse me from this morning’s activities. I have important business in town.”
“Oh?” Lady Charlotte’s face dropped.
“Yes, on a matter of great importance,” Elizabeth went on. “I was just about to convince Alexandra to walk with me. I believe she has previous commitments in town as well.”
“You’re not going to the hospital, are you?” Lady Charlotte asked, frowning.
“Of course I’m going to the hospital,” Alexandra said. She turned to Lord Charles and Lady Arabella. “I am a medical doctor with a position at Brynthwaite Hospital. If you should find yourself in need of medical treatment while you are here, do come to me.”
The brother and sister reacted with a full array of surprise, which Alexandra promptly ignored. She and Elizabeth made their goodbyes, then slipped around them, Polly in tow, and escaped through the front door and out to the road.
“It will be worse than I thought,” Alexandra sighed as they picked up speed in their flight into town.
“I’ll make as many excuses for you as I can,” Elizabeth vowed. “I’d so much rather see you working at the hospital, doing what you love, than putting up with your mother’s match-making efforts.”
“But what about you?” Alexandra asked. “I hate to see you thrust into the middle of it. It’s me that Mother is after. It always has been.”
“Yes, but the difference between you and I when it comes to these sorts of things is that I rather enjoy the game.” Elizabeth peeked over her shoulder at Polly for good measure. Her faithful companion was having a difficult time suppressing a smile.
“I don’t see how you can enjoy it,” Alexandra went on, shaking her head. “Always being thrust into tedious conversation, never having anyone look at you or—heaven forbid—talk to you like an actual person.”
“Ah, but you see, I don’t truly look at or talk to them as actual persons myself. I like to think of them as chess pieces.”
“Elizabeth, you are cruel,” Alexandra laughed. “What have these poor men ever done to you?”
“They’ve tried to put me in my place,” Elizabeth said with all seriousness. “They treat me as something fragile, an imbecile. I am neither. I have more mettle in my little finger than most of these men have in their entire large, stupid bodies, and I resent their efforts to make me prove it on a daily basis.”
“I won’t disagree with you there,” Alexandra admitted. “I grow so tired of trying to prove it myself. Thank God for the hospital and Marshall Pycroft. At least there’s one man who treats me as if I have a brain in my head instead of fluff.”
“Then grab hold of that friendship and don’t let it go for anything,” Elizabeth said. In truth, she was a tad envious of her cousin for having such a steadfast ally. But then, she had Polly, and that was almost good enough.
“What will you do if my mother thinks she’s found a match for you?” Alexandra asked.
Elizabeth smiled. “I shall be charming and polite and enjoy his company, whoever he is, and when he pops the question, I shall turn him down with a grace that will leave me forever in his heart as an ideal of femininity.”
Alexandra laughed. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the free and bold sound as they were approached by Mr. Throckmorton on horseback. Elizabeth burst into a smile.
“Mr. Throckmorton, good morning,” she called to him and waved.
“Lady Elizabeth.”
He gratified her by blushing like a schoolboy and squirming in his saddle as though the sun had just come out to scorch him. Elizabeth could be having the most trying day of her life and Jason Throckmorton could pull her out of it with his flattery and fawning. Every woman needed a man she could count on to fall at her feet and worship her at the slightest crook of her finger.
“I was just on my way to Huntingdon Hall,” he said in his commanding voice. She did like to look at him too, sitting tall on his horse, the picture of masculinity.
“What a shame. We are just on our way into Brynthwaite,” she said, teasing him with a smile.
It worked. He glanced up the road toward the house then back at her, bereft.
“I would accompany you, but I promised your aunt that I would consult with her about activities for the house party,” he said.
“Such a pity,” Elizabeth told him with feigned regret. “Perhaps next time.”
“Perhaps—”
She turned away and continued down the road. Alexandra and Polly caught up to her.
“I don’t think he was finished speaking,” Alexandra said.
“If I had let him go on, we would have stood there all day, exchanging nothings until both of us were sore and tired of it all,” Elizabeth explained. “This way, he can go up to the house, talk to Aunt Charlotte, and then go about his business, free as a bird.”
Alexandra was silent, but Elizabeth could sense her disapproval.
“Come now, I am not cruel to him,” she said, guessing what Alexandra would say. “Mr. Throckmorton and I have an understanding.”
“Which is?” Alexandra asked.
“He fawns over me, throws himself at my feet, and fancies himself an eligible suitor.”
“And you?” Alexandra prompted.
Elizabeth sent her a cunning grin. “And I let him.”
“Elizabeth,” Alexandra scolded. “That isn’t just cruel, it’s wicked.”
“Is it?” She shrugged. “I could send him away and crush his hopes outright. Would that be any more cruel? At least this way, he can continue to dream.”
“Sometimes you astound me,” Alexandra said, crossing her arms.
“Why?” Elizabeth insisted. “He knows I would never marry him, even if I was inclined to marry, which I am most certainly not.”
“What’s wrong with the man? He’s wealthy, handsome, and ambitious.”
Elizabeth shook her head at her ignorant cousin. “He’s an orphan. He could be anybody’s son. He has no education, and in London, he has the most wicked reputation.”
Alexandra missed a step. “Really?”
“Oh yes.” Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder to Polly, who confirmed the gossip with a nod. “He’s an absolute libertine. The stories I’ve heard about his activities at the finest brothels in London would turn your hair white.”
Alexandra narrowed her eyes. “Where have you heard stories about the goings on of infamous London brothels?”
Elizabeth kept her lips shut in a mysterious smile. Not even Alexandra needed to know half of the things that she’d been able to find out.
There was no need to continue the conversation. They reached town, and the winding country road turned a corner and be
came a bustling town thoroughfare. They continued past the hotel and the first line of shops into the center of town.
“I’ll leave you here,” she said to Alexandra. “Enjoy your sick and injured souls.”
“Stay out of trouble,” Alexandra charged her in turn. She walked on, crossing the street and entering the hospital.
“Polly, why don’t you go off and enjoy yourself for the afternoon,” Elizabeth said, turning to her friend. “I don’t want to bore you with my business, and I know you have your rounds to make.”
“I do,” Polly said with her own version of the secret smile.
“Shall we meet back at the Hall in, say, three hours? That should give both of us more than enough time to get things done.”
“It will. Best of luck,” Polly said, nodded, then turned to be on her merry way.
Elizabeth watched her. Angel or viper, Polly was a valuable friend to have.
She left Polly to her own devices, then turned and marched on to the town hall. Five times in the last three weeks, Mayor Crimpley had ignored her demands for a meeting. He’d dismissed her in the most off-handed ways possible, sending polite letters that suggested she take up some charitable cause or another. Elizabeth had had it. She would not be put off anymore.
“Is the mayor in?” she asked as she breezed through the front room of his suite and continued on through the open door to his office. “Good. I’ll see myself in.”
“But Lady Elizabeth, you can’t.” The clerk sitting at the desk outside the mayor’s door tried to stop her with words alone. He should have known better.
“Mayor Crimpley, I’m here to talk about the intersection,” she announced herself to the mayor and Mr. Winslow, one of the town councilmen, who was seated in a chair in front of Crimpley’s desk.
Both men were smoking cigars and stood abruptly as she made her entrance.
“Lady Elizabeth, this is unexpected,” Crimpley said, his whiskers quivering.
“Yes, it is.” She smiled and planted herself in front of his desk.
“Wha…who…now see here….”
“Mayor Crimpley, I do not appreciate having my suggestions ignored,” she began, chin tilted up, not letting him get a word in. “I do not appreciate being silenced or treated like a child. I have been acting on my father’s behalf as squire of this area for more than a year now. If you do not treat me with the respect with which you would treat him, then we shall have a serious problem between us.”
“My lady,” Crimpley stammered, “I understand that you were greatly affected by the unfortunate tragedy at the intersection, but you must understand that—”
“What I must understand, Crimpley, is that if another soul is injured or dies at that intersection, I will hold you personally liable to the full extent of the law. For murder.”
Crimpley gasped. Mr. Winslow’s jaw dropped. Elizabeth went on.
“I have proposed an improvement to the intersection. I have offered to raise the funds to implement it myself. I have presented this plan of action to you and to the city council in writing. I have requested a meeting with you and with said council, and I have been ignored. If one more person is harmed because of a lack of restriction at the intersection in question, it shall be considered a matter of negligence. I shall see to it that you lose your position as mayor as well as serving a prison term. Do I make myself clear?”
The two gentlemen stood dumbfounded. It was exactly the reaction she had hoped for. She stood her ground, jaw set, eyes blazing, as serious as the tomb.
At long last, Crimpley said, “W-we shall see what we can do, my lady.”
“Good,” Elizabeth snapped. “And while you are seeing, might I remind you of a statement made by another Elizabeth a great many years ago: I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king. You’d do best not to forget it, Crimpley.”
With that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the room. The stunned silence she left in her wake and the startled expressions of the clerks she brushed passed filled her with immense satisfaction. That was the way a woman should comport herself. Let Aunt Charlotte boast about that to her house guests. And now she would take herself to tea and enjoy a few hours of shopping.
Alexandra
“What precisely does one do at a house party?” Marshall asked over the prone and unconscious form of Mrs. Harris. “Forceps, please.”
Alex handed Marshall the small forceps from the array of sterilized medical instruments she had prepared earlier. She stood on the opposite side of the table from him, assisting in the surgery to remove Mrs. Harris’s gallstones. It was a surgery she could have performed in her sleep and had performed a number of times in medical school, but seeing as she hadn’t performed any surgeries in a year or so, Marshall had thought it best for her to assist for a while before taking the lead. She had grudgingly agreed, though with ever nip Marshall took and every stone he removed, Alex’s hands itched to join in.
She settled for dabbing a gauze pad over the seepage of blood around the space where Marshall worked.
“The only point of a house party as I can see it is to flirt, lounge around someone else’s house eating their food, and to find a spouse,” she answered with an impatient sigh. “Which, of course, means that Mother has demanded my attendance at all times.”
“I see,” Marshall clipped. “So you’ll be abandoning your duties here to go find a spouse?”
There was something terse in his tone. His attention was focused on the surgery, but his dark eyes snapped up to meet hers for a moment. Most of his face was covered with a surgical mask, but she could see the tension around his eyes clearly.
“No,” she laughed, choosing to ignore the sudden awkwardness between them. He must be concerned because of Clara. Mourning was a long, private process. “I’m sure my mother has plans, but I want nothing to do with them.” She hesitated to say more, but Marshall was her friend, perhaps the closest friend she had. “She’s invited a Mr. Anthony Fretwell, the husband of a late friend of hers, and his son, George, to the party.”
“Oh?” He prompted her to go on.
Alex hummed. “George Fretwell and I….” She took in a breath, unsure how to explain. Instead of any explanation, she said, “I’m reasonably certain Mother is intent on the two of us rekindling our past…friendship.”
“Rekindling?” he asked. His voice was tight, strained.
“It was nothing,” Alex said, lowering her eyes.
That felt like a lie. There had most certainly been something on her part, much though she hated the fact. She had never known where George stood. One moment he would be attentive and romantic, the next cold and distant. She hated her flippant, feminine heart for every beat it wasted in wondering what George thought of her, wondering if he would kiss her, and then if he would kiss her again.
“Retractor,” Marshall said, pulling her back into the present.
She reached for the instrument and held it where Marshall indicated. He seemed upset with her momentary lapse in concentration. She rushed to reassure him with, “I would rather be here, believe me.”
The tension relaxed away from his eyes. “Good,” he said, pouring his concentration into Mrs. Harris’s gallbladder. “You may have only been here for a month, Dr. Dyson, but I couldn’t imagine what I would do without you.”
Alex was touched by the genuine feeling in his words. “Thank you, Dr. Pycroft. I’m more than happy to be here. I’ve always felt called to medicine, but it’s a rare thing to find a man who encourages me to practice it.”
He was silent for a moment, removing a few stones, which clattered in the tin pan resting on the table beside Mrs. Harris. Alex shifted to check that the chloroform was still fully effective or whether she should add a drop to the mask over the woman’s mouth and nose.
“Your father encouraged you, didn’t he?” Marshall asked.
“He did.” Alex smiled, her heart full with memories of him. “I was the only child in the famil
y that survived, though I had a younger brother who did not survive infancy. I think that my father was so intent on supporting a son and seeing him through university and into a profession, that when he was robbed of that chance, he decided that a girl was as good as a boy and supported me.”
The crinkled around Marshall’s mask indicated his smile. “I hope that I can be as supportive a father to my girls,” he said. “Though I would rather see them happy and settled in the world than always having to do battle.” He caught the thorn in what he had said and flickered a glance up to Alex. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. I didn’t mean to imply—”
“No, it’s quite all right,” Alex said and shrugged. “You are correct that it is an uphill slog. I have had to do battle every day of my life just to be who I am. It is not a fate I would blithely wish onto the shoulders of any girl.”
“And yet you handle it so well, with such grace,” he said, almost as an thought spoken aloud.
“Thank you, Dr. Pycroft.” She smiled. “You are quite generous.”
“Yes, well.” His face flushed with the compliment. “That about does it for the gallstones. Let’s close up.”
Work took over as they focused on the task at hand. Mrs. Harris had done perfectly during the surgery, and Marshall’s stitches as he closed were small and tidy. He had lovely hands, strong, but slender with long fingers. Alex smiled to herself as she watched them work. His dexterity was second to none. It warmed her that such a solid, unassuming man could hold so much talent within him, especially when his origins were as dismal as the building around her. Her mother may have driven her to distraction, but at least she had a mother to rely on when needed.
With Mrs. Harris taken care of and moved to the recovery room, Alexandra and Marshall stripped off their surgical aprons and gloves, then headed to the long mess hall for a bite of lunch.
“I wouldn’t worry too hard about your girls,” Alex told him as the two of them took seats on either side of a long table. Apparently the same tables had been in that room for decades, feeding orphans then and patients now. “They seem bright and independent to me.”