by Robyn DeHart
“Absolutely not,” Drew responded.
The footman came to retrieve Anna, and she missed whatever Simon and Drew were discussing. Drew nodded curtly in her direction, but didn’t even thank her for her services. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Why would he express gratitude when he questioned her very abilities?
***
Three days later
“Annabelle Jacobs, honestly,” Lady Wickersham said as she stepped near her daughter in the parlor. Her features scrunched as she surveyed her daughter’s work. “You are supposed to be doing embroidery.”
Anna looked up at her mother and gave her mother a deceptively sweet smile. She had hoped her mother would not notice precisely what she was doing. “Yes, but I must practice my sutures; it is far more important than embroidery. There are hordes of women in London who can embroider. So should the need arise when it is paramount that I have something embroidered, I suspect I could find someone to do it for me.”
Her mother tilted her head to the heavens and uttered a silent prayer. “You are deliberately missing the point and you very well know it, young lady.”
“Yes, I do.” Of course she knew that. She’d “practiced” her skill quite recently on the most maddening scoundrel in all of London. But in light of her sutures on Lord Carrington and how crooked they were, she also knew that she needed more practice. Granted, she’d been flustered working on a patient who was not interested in her medical assistance, but still she should be able to hold the needle steady. “But I also know we have had this conversation quite readily over the last few years, and I am not budging on this.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake, Annabelle, if you’re going to be stitching up someone’s arm, you must pay attention to your work. You certainly don’t want to leave them with an unattractive, jagged scar because you can’t make your stitches even.”
Lord Carrington and her mother might think her medical studies foolish at best, and inappropriate at worst, but Anna had no intention of giving them up just to suit some antiquated notion of what a woman could or should do. She frowned down at her most recent stitch, then pulled the thread out to try again. “I shall graduate from medical school regardless of how you feel about it. And Father agreed with me.” She tilted the fabric toward her mother, who, in turn, examined it and nodded.
“Better.” Her mother crossed the room to stand by the window furthest from Anna, as if being near her at the moment would contaminate her mother’s genteel sensibilities. “Your father could simply not say no to you, God rest his soul,” she said with a shake of her head, smiling wistfully. “The man didn’t have a disciplinary bone in his body. And I suspect the only reason he thought it a good idea to send you to medical school was because you might meet a nice doctor and settle down and marry. As all ladies of good breeding should do.”
If only she had met a man who respected her for her intelligence, she might have been willing to marry. It was all too easy to imagine intimate caresses from a man she loved and admired, someone with tawny hair and sultry green eyes, a lean and muscular build. She squeaked when she realized who her mind had just conjured.
“What’s the matter?” her mother asked.
“Nothing. I merely stabbed myself with the needle.” She put her finger in her mouth to further the charade. No, no, that was all wrong, to imagine a man who looked like Drew Foster, when she most certainly did not want to fall in love with someone like him.
Anna shook off her inappropriate thoughts and held up her hand. “Mother, please let us not do this again. I might have married had someone asked. I did things your way for two years. I was properly introduced into Society and I was polite and personable, yet no gentleman would have me. You know it as well as I know it.” They had been the most boring and humiliating years of her life. She’d seen all of her friends marry and start families and she could have counted on both hands the number of times she’d waltzed. “I realize it is difficult for you. But I fully intend to be a doctor and I should like it very much if at some point you would decide to be proud of my aspirations.”
Her mother came over and sat on the chair adjacent hers and put her hand upon Anna’s knee. “I never said I wasn’t proud, my dear. I am merely considering your future. I shall not be here forever, and then what will happen to you?”
“I shall be able to care for myself; that is part of my motivation for becoming a doctor. I shall be able to be financially solvent. But should my plans not work, you know I can always turn to Harry, Elizabeth or Simon. I shall never be alone. I have family, and they love me,” Anna said.
“Well, of course they do. Everyone loves you.”
“Everyone but the eligible men in London,” Anna said. Simon always told her it was because she was far too intelligent for most men; she intimidated them. But her mother had argued it was Anna’s opinionated ways, and Anna suspected that in this one thing, her mother was probably right.
“I’ve told you a hundred times no one likes to be told they’re wrong, least of all men. You must learn to control your tongue in front of people,” her mother said, and Anna recalled her conversation with Drew Foster. Was she to keep her opinions to herself when speaking with such a boor? Was she supposed to allow untruths and misconceptions to go unchecked?
Lady Wickersham waved her hand dismissively. “I am not trying to fight with you, my dear, I am merely concerned. You cannot think to live here with Harry and Veronica forever.”
“I haven’t heard them complaining,” Anna said.
“That is exactly what I am talking about!” her mother said with exasperation. “A well-bred young lady would politely agree with her mother and not offer any sort of retort, no matter how true it might be.”
Anna sighed. She did not want to hurt her mother—ever. But Lady Wickersham just did not understand her need to accomplish something on her own. To be more than some self-important man’s quiet, innocuous, agreeable wife.
Her mother released a sigh and gave Anna a pointed look. “Of course Harry and Veronica have not complained. They are far too polite to do so.”
“Not to mention they’ve been in Portsmouth for the past two months,” Anna said under her breath.
“Still you cannot abuse their hospitality simply because they are family.” Apparently, her mother had heard. “You must consider your future.”
It was on her tongue to inquire if her mother intended to live the rest of her days with her brother and his wife, but Anna kept the question to herself. Her mother had been the Viscountess Wickersham until Anna’s father had died and left the title to his eldest son, Harry, and his wife, Veronica. Now with two children married off, she spent the majority of her time occupied in the futile attempt to marry off Anna.
Her mother leaned back and braced her hands on either side of her temples. “Annabelle, you try my patience so. Do you not realize I’m already consumed with worry about your brother, off chasing violent killers?” She shook her head. “But now I must constantly worry as to whether or not my youngest child shall ever marry.”
“I am concerned about Simon as well, Mother, but need I remind you he is not married either?” Anna asked.
“A fact I am well aware of. But he is a man and that is a different situation altogether. Also he has a paying position and can fend for himself.”
“Whereas I am utterly helpless and must find some strapping man to put food in my belly.” She set her fabric aside, careful to secure the needle first. “Mother, this is 1889. A woman can be nearly anything she wants to be. Once I have my medical license I shall have a paying position as well. I will not need to rely on a husband to care for me.”
“But do you not want to marry? To meet someone and start a family?” her mother asked.
Anna’s thoughts returned to Drew Foster. Her association with that scoundrel was far more intimate than any she’d shared with the young men who’d been present at th
e balls and soirees her mother had insisted she attend. She felt a flutter low in her belly, and her palms began to itch.
She’d wanted those things. Didn’t everyone? But wanting something did not equate to having it. She wanted a smaller bottom and narrower hips, too, but no amount of wanting had made her any less plump. She sighed. This argument was futile, she knew that. Why she’d allowed her mother to engage her in it today was a mystery.
“Of course I want those things, Mother. It is not that I am not looking. I’m merely looking whilst attending school. I still accompany you to the occasional soiree or ball.”
“Yes, but do try to remember there are plenty of men who will not find you the least bit appealing because of your schooling and headstrong ways,” her mother said.
“Duly noted. But I do not want any of those men. I want a man who will be proud to say his wife is a doctor. It is a good thing I am doing, Mother. Someday you shall see.” She squeezed her mother’s hand. “Simon approves.” She tossed that last bit out there knowing the mention of her mother’s beloved Simon would likely end this argument.
“Your brother is too smart for his own good, always has been. Simply because your family is forward-thinking, Annabelle, does not mean the rest of London is.” She pointed a finger at Anna. “Take note of that, my dear.”
“Of course, Mother. If only more people were like our Simon.”
“Indeed. I do hope they won’t have him in that godforsaken country for too long.”
In truth Anna was concerned about her brother as well. The day after their encounter with Lord Carrington and the ruffians, Simon had been sent on a fool’s errand to Edinburgh—a training assignment, they’d called it. But Anna knew what it was about. He was being punished for failing to catch Jack the Ripper. To add insult to injury he’d been unable to enlist help from the one man who might be able to draw out the killer: Drew Foster.
***
It was a good week before Drew could move without wincing. He’d had his valet remove the stitches placed in his side by the delectable Miss Jacobs, and he had to admit she had the makings of a decent physician. Not to mention the hands of a courtesan. If she’d slid them across his bruised chest one more time, he likely would have embarrassed himself right there in Simon’s study.
If he were to be honest, he could not see any reason why women should not practice medicine, even though most members of his sex would disagree. She’d been astute and quick about her treatment, and had even advised him on the care of his numerous injuries before her brother had returned to say the footpads had eluded him. She was as professional as . . . well, as Doctor Robertson, who’d had the care of Drew’s family ever since he could remember.
Despite Simon’s trying to convince him otherwise, Drew had refused to give him the names of the men who had jumped him that night in the alleyway. He knew all of their names, but saw no reason to make an ordeal of it. He had known that being accused and arrested for the Ripper murders would affect his reputation. And it would seem that plenty of Drew’s would-be peers thought to teach him a lesson. He’d lain low his first week out of prison, recuperating while he struggled to keep his thoughts off Simon’s exquisite sister as he worked through the notion that someone of his acquaintance was a vicious murderer. The same man who wanted Drew to hang for his killings.
Drew had every intention of assisting in capturing the man who’d worked so hard to frame him for the murders of those poor women. Perhaps in doing so he’d manage to repair his reputation to some extent. It mattered not to Drew, but it would be nice to have his brother, the Duke of Carrington, not be affected by Drew’s past behaviors.
He would have liked a drink. But that would only prove Anna Jacobs’s low opinion of him, for he was sure he had not impressed her. She, on the other hand, had impressed him, mightily. He never realized how stimulating a spirited woman could be. He’d enjoyed their banter and her clever rejoinders immensely.
But a woman like Anna Jacobs would never look twice in the direction of a man like him, his reputation made even worse by his stint in prison.
Now that he was mostly healed, he could put himself out into Society and watch and wait. He hoped that, for whatever reason, the man still held him in ill will and would attempt to pin another crime on him. To that end, his first foray into society was to the theatre, a notably more public place, than going to his club. No one would touch him with their betters watching.
Come and find me, he thought as he looked out across the lobby.
But at the moment no one was coming near him. Apparently, the ton was a trifle worried about his arrest. They obviously thought him guilty of the murder he’d been arrested for, even though he’d been released from Scotland Yard. People whispered and looked his way. Women stepped out of his path with horrified looks on their faces.
They were afraid of him. Normally he’d ignore this entire situation with a bottle, but the one good thing about being in the hole was that it had removed him from the drink that had poisoned his mind and taken so much of his memory away. Had he been more alert in the previous months, during the tirade upon Mayfair, perhaps he wouldn’t have been such an easy target for the Ripper to frame. If Drew had been able to provide one tiny shred of evidence suggesting his innocence, then he might never have been arrested in the first place. But he’d been unable to do so because he’d spent much of the last year drunk. Hell, he’d been drunk for longer than that.
For too long he’d used the shock of finding out he was a bastard to justify his excesses, but no more. Regardless of how much his mouth craved the taste of brandy and how much his mind longed to be dulled to his surroundings, he would not succumb. He shook off the desire and leaned against the wall.
At least if his brother and his new bride had been back from their honeymoon then Drew would have had someone to speak with, but they had not yet returned. He couldn’t blame them, as Mia had been attacked by the Ripper before their wedding. Though she had shot the murderer and saved herself, she needed time away from London. So Alex had taken her to Paris to see the sculptures.
He didn’t need companionship to stalk his prey, but he feared his prey wouldn’t scurry out of the shadows if he were alone.
From across the lobby, he caught sight of a flash of red. A lovely and deliciously curvaceous woman met his gaze. Intensity flared in her fiery eyes. She said something briefly to her companion and then started off in Drew’s direction. Every nerve in his body clenched tightly as Anna Jacobs approached him. It appeared she had something to say to him.
***
Anna recognized Drew Foster immediately. He had not been far from her mind in the past week since she’d patched him up.
She did not know how such a scoundrel could plague her thoughts the way he did, but ever since she’d had her hands on his bare skin, she’d been hard-pressed to keep her mind on her studies. She reminded herself that Foster was the main reason why her brother had been sent to Scotland, and bolstered enough courage to go and speak to him.
“Pardon me, Mother, I have someone I need to speak with,” she said, but only managed to leave her mother’s side because several of Lady Wickersham’s friends had surrounded them.
She started in Foster’s direction, and when Anna met his gaze, her breath caught. Remnants of the blackened eye shaded above his eyebrow, but this man standing before her looked vastly different than the man she’d worked on. Dressed head-to-toe in black, his clothes were perfectly tailored and accented his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He was far more dashing than he’d been when bloodied and injured. She swallowed hard, shaken by the effect of his eyes on hers. A shiver of awareness slid through her and her step faltered. But only for an instant.
He might possess the most astonishing good looks she had ever encountered, but physical perfection meant nothing. He was merely a man. A rude and terrible man who had let down her brother, and he deserved to be called out on preci
sely that.
“Lord Carrington,” she said tartly when she reached him. She angled her head to look up at him. He wasn’t overly tall—not like his brother, the Duke—but Andrew Foster was still taller than she. Moreover, he had a way of looking down at a person that made her feel quite insignificant. She knew how he felt about a woman in her profession, but she wasn’t easily intimidated.
“Miss Jacobs.” He bowed. “We meet again, although in much better circumstances this time, I am happy to say.”
So, he could be charming. Not that Anna cared. “You have done my brother a disservice,” she said.
He gave her a puzzled look. “I do not see how that is possible. I believe he is on holiday in Scotland.”
Her brows rose. “Holiday! You truly believe he’s on holiday?” She poked a finger in his chest. “I’ll have you know, Lord Carrington, Simon was sent there on a so-called training exercise, but in truth it is merely Scotland Yard punishing him.”
The man had the audacity to appear surprised. “How is that possible? Your brother seems to be the only one following the right paths.”
“It is possible because you refused his request for help with the investigation.”
“I refused?”
“I heard you with my own ears.”
He glanced around them, then took her arm and drew her through a doorway that opened into a dimly lit hall. “You could not have heard something I did not say.” He stood quite close and spoke quietly to her, as though he did not want anyone else to hear. Anna felt the same thrill of intimacy she’d experienced while tending to his wounds in his study and had to resist the most unseemly desire to lean closer to him.
“But you did, Lord Carrington. You told Simon you would not change your mind.”
Anna’s breath caught when he lifted his hand and touched the neatly arranged curl near her temple. She could not move as he caressed the shell of her ear. “Perhaps you ought to have your hearing examined, Miss Jacobs. You might need an ear trumpet, at least for when you’re eavesdropping.”