Finding Bliss

by B L Bierley

  “I’m accepting extra hospital duties, you see. We’re working to ensure there are enough doctors for the spring fevers and colds that children are suffering so dreadfully this year already. I’ll leave the bottle with your butler. No, no! Don’t get up,” Eric said briskly.

  He nodded a curt acknowledgment to Lady Lyle as she burst into the room but found no compromise to protest. Eric didn’t wait around for the butler to see him out. He rummaged in his satchel for a bottle of watered opiate and placed it on the table in the foyer as he left.

  Following his narrow escape, Eric went straight to his favorite coffee house to calm his nerves. It was a very close call! The nerve of that woman to try and trap him, HIM—a mere mister even, into an unfortunate marriage was beyond the pale!

  What was she thinking? It would have been a nagging disaster if she’d managed to get me hooked! I’m not poor, but I’m not ton either! What on earth would she do when she woke up and realized the stupidity of her actions?

  Eric spent the remainder of the evening in deep contemplation over the warning. If it hadn’t been for her, he surely wouldn’t have known what was coming! No! If she hadn’t invaded his day the way that she did, he would have stayed at his office seeing normal people with real medical problems. When her summons arrived, he would have easily asked Stemley or his nurse to attend to the problem.

  Eric’s usual “house-calls” these days were with women he held no professional ties to whatsoever. And those house-calls always took place in the darker hours of evening. He knew better!

  After a couple of hours of personal reflection, Eric commiserated with a few of his fellow surgeons over a bottle of bourbon. Several of them shared similar stories. One man, an older barber-surgeon, told the younger men in the group that if you made house calls to any unwed women, you were better off taking a nurse along for precaution. Even some who have husbands need a buffer, he’d warned.

  The table raised glasses to salute the sage advice. Eric drank his usual limit of three glasses before paying his tab and heading for home.

  Home for Eric was a boarding house establishment that catered to surgeons fresh from medical school. Most were bachelors with no skills for cooking or laundry. But Eric, having grown up mostly without a mother, knew how to cook, clean and launder his own clothes.

  His rented lodgings were slightly more advantageous. More like a smallish house, Eric’s place was equipped with a kitchen, a dining table and a separate living room and bedroom.

  He could afford a better place, having inherited his boyhood home in Cardiff when his father died. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to sell the house or the land yet. So instead, he leased the property and lived closer to his work.

  When he arrived home, Eric set his satchel down and stared at the emptiness of his life. It never felt lonely coming home after a long day at work. Not usually. But somehow, after seeing an old familiar face today, he craved companionship.

  The restless ache in his chest for someone to talk to didn’t sit well with his confirmed bachelor status. He moved around the rooms of his rented home and tried to find activities to busy himself.

  Opening a medical journal he recently purchased, Eric studied a few of the newer remedies for common ailments for an hour or so. When that did nothing to alleviate his loneliness, he decided to take a practiced approach to the problem. He would make another ill-advised house-call in the morning … to Whisper Chase.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bliss, Bristol, March 1811

  The next morning started out much as the previous one, except Bliss let herself sleep in a little before waking Pauline. Her best morning dress, a lovely shade of deep plum muslin, was refreshed in anticipation of Eric’s arrival.

  She saw the upcoming visit with stunning clarity after her efforts the day before and knew, without doubt, how it would unfold. She fully expected an exercise in futility.

  At breakfast, Penelope asked who she expected to call. Bliss gave her the name without hesitation.

  “Dr. Eric Benchley is coming,” she said with a clever face void of any hint of subterfuge. Penelope was not convinced.

  “Is this your way of proving your theory, darling? Well I hate to disappoint you. I saw Dr. Marks last month, and the diagnosis was much the same as I have told you over and over. I’m a woman of a certain age. I am feeling tired and uncomfortable as is logical for a woman over forty.”

  Penelope held herself in a semblance of lofty disdain. Bliss giggled.

  “Eric is an old family friend. I didn’t summon him here to attend to you, though I think I’ll have him do an exam just to prove my point. You really should learn never to doubt me, Aunt Pen,” Bliss told her with distinctive counter disdain. Penelope rolled her eyes.

  Before the breakfast dishes were cleared, the butler entered the breakfast room to announce that Dr. Benchley was waiting for them in the downstairs sitting room. Penelope rose dramatically, swaying slightly as she did, and walked behind the butler with undisguised irritation.

  Bliss skipped ahead of her slow pace and entered the room ahead of her aunt. Penelope walked in as Eric rose from his seat to bow.

  “Lady Osterburg, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Eric said with a quirked brow at Bliss.

  “Likewise, Dr. Benchley. When Bliss told me she was expecting a visitor I had no idea it would be a professional surgeon of high regard such as you. Welcome to Whisper Chase.”

  “Interesting. Bliss told you I was expected? Well, I had it on good authority that an unwed lady, such as Lady Bliss is, was not allowed to receive visitors,” Eric said with a gleam in his eye.

  “That’s not what I said. I said it would be improper for me to receive certain types of house-calls,” she said with lofty disdain. Her mention of his offer made him clear his throat nervously.

  “But since you’re already here, I hope you won’t mind doing a little work in service to a friend. My aunt is expecting a baby, and she refuses to believe me when I tell her it is certain.”

  Bliss turned to look at Penelope’s shocked expression for two seconds before turning to fetch Penelope’s ladies’ maid.

  By the time she returned, Penelope was seated on the sofa, and Eric was regaling her with a few of Bliss’s less accurate childhood predictions. Bliss tried not to let their doubt cloud her judgment. She motioned for Marla to stand near her mistress while she turned to direct Eric’s attention to the obvious signs of pregnancy.

  “Aunt Pen is forever dozing off at inopportune times. She is slower and has trouble with exertion from even the most sedate walks in the morning. Her housekeeper reports that her vision is altered slightly and that her appetite changed considerably over the last few months,” Bliss reported succinctly.

  Eric turned to stare at Penelope with a shrewd expression.

  “Is that true, Lady Osterburg?” Eric asked simply.

  “Yes, I’m also hot even when the weather is cool enough to make my husband require an evening fire, and I am having difficulty sleeping for needing to use the necessary. All signs which hint at my time of life, according to Dr. Edgar Marks—my personal surgeon,” Penelope sighed.

  Eric remained at her side giving her a professional assessment even though knew he could probably trust Marks’ diagnosis.

  “Did he examine you physically? There are signs of both pregnancy and a woman’s cessation which can delineate the two conditions,” Eric pointed out to humor Bliss, no doubt.

  “There wasn’t any need. My courses ceased well over nine months ago. If this were a pregnancy, Dr. Benchley, then I am having a longer gestation than an elephant. I’m not the one in need of convincing,” Penelope chuckled.

  Eric smiled and gave Bliss a look that clearly showed which camp he was in.

  “What about her yen for strawberries? Aunt Pen has never liked them before. And Marla told my ladies maid specifically that she has been consuming all the jams and jellies in the larder of that flavor since January. And she also asks the gardener every afternoon whe
n the crop will be ready. That’s not a usual sign of someone who is shoring up her child-bearing days, is it?” Bliss asked.

  In truth this was grasping at straws. But other than predicting the exact moment of the birth, which was still several weeks away and slightly more difficult to pinpoint, Bliss had nothing else that was remotely convincing.

  “It is true that some women, upon reaching their later years, develop keener senses and tastes for foods they’ve never shown even a remote interest in. It’s hardly telling, Bliss,” Eric said pointedly.

  At that moment Marla, the ladies’ maid cleared her throat.

  “What?” Penelope asked stubbornly.

  “You’ve had no appetite for any of your regular favorites either, my lady. You positively turn your nose up at oatmeal, and you haven’t eaten bacon since well before Lent,” Marla said softly.

  “That, again, points more to a change in preference, not pregnancy. I’m inclined to side with your aunt, Bliss. This is clearly not the first time someone has mistaken the change of life for a baby. Women often have difficulty resigning themselves to the fact that their days as a mother are moving into a different phase,” Eric said softly.

  Penelope’s eyes misted over, and she excused herself to retrieve a handkerchief from her bodice.

  “Fine, then. I give up. You are never going to believe me anyway. But I will say, on record, that when the truth comes out I will have absolutely no scruples in telling you that I was right. I’ve never once, when I’ve been accurate in predicting an outcome, given over to such behavior. But I will say ‘I told you so’ when this baby comes.”

  Bliss glared at him with critical regard. Eric chuckled and Penelope gave a watery giggle from her spot near the corner.

  “Well, if that happens, my friend, I will be the first in the room to eat crow,” Eric confessed still doubtful.

  Bliss nodded with a smirk. Penelope excused her maid and made a few minor statements to Eric about her upcoming ball in April. She told Eric that since she now knew there was a family connection of sorts, she would have an invitation sent for him to attend.

  “You are most gracious, my lady. Thank you,” Eric replied simply. “Now, since I fully concur with Dr. Marks’ diagnosis, may I reiterate his remedy?”

  “He actually offered no remedy. He merely said it was to be got through,” Penelope sighed.

  Eric’s opinion of Dr. Marks changed in that moment, but he smiled quickly and gave Penelope his advised treatment plan.

  “I think you’d do well to take a week and do nothing but rest. You are obviously fatigued, Lady Osterburg. You wouldn’t fall asleep if you were getting sufficient rest. And if you’re up at all hours in needs, then a little extra napping is appropriate to make up the deficit. Watch your intake of rich, salty and sweet foods, too. That can only help. Stick to a firm regimen and schedule and you’ll be spry again in no time.”

  Eric took Penelope’s hand and bowed over it just before turning to leave. Bliss walked him to the door.

  “That was the most horrible diagnosis you have ever given in your life. I’m seriously beginning to doubt your education was successful,” she teased as soon as they were out of earshot.

  “And I think your prediction is wishful thinking. You know, you really should consider who it’s affecting when you say things like that. Lady Osterburg is emotionally fragile about her aging. Even a fool can see that! Continuing to say it is pregnancy when it’s not is cruel,” replied Eric in testy reprimand.

  “That has nothing to do with aging. Pregnant women often weep over the most minor dilemmas. I’m not worried about her emotions. She’ll be the happiest woman in England in less than a month. Of that, sir, I have no doubt. You’ll rue the days you ever mistrusted my judgment.

  “And as for my former inaccuracies, you should also remember that if I ever had a failure in predicting a date or a time correctly for an event, it was usually resolved at a similar time the day afterward. I’m human, and many of my visions don’t come etched with calendars or clock faces!” Bliss said angrily, mostly at herself for allowing the situation to frustrate her.

  Eric stepped back to look at her with an expression of disbelief.

  “What?”

  Bliss realized she had never shown him the temper she usually had no trouble controlling. She saw a ghost of a smile tempt to dimple his cheek for a moment. The emotion vanished as abruptly as it had arrived.

  “Nothing. I just don’t believe I’ve ever heard you utter the word ‘visions’ when referring to your strange intuition before. Tell me, Bliss, do the visions come or do you fashion them to suit your desires? Perhaps your suggestions allow the ideas to take root and that somehow brings about the acts or consequences anyhow,” Eric countered, his tone awash with sarcasm.

  “However it happens is of no concern to you. It would make my life so much easier, though, if you could learn to trust me. It would really move things along more smoothly,” said Bliss with a sigh.

  Eric shook his head and began pacing the foyer. Bliss watched him carefully, not wanting to disrupt the scene. It was a tense three minutes for her.

  According to her most recent vision, chances were fifty-fifty whether Eric might kiss her again. But as if she were expecting it, Eric suddenly turned and gave her a wordless stare of utter astonishment. Then he took three steps back from her, nodded his head so curtly it wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone not expecting it, and murmured goodbye as he left in a manner suggesting panic.

  Bliss didn’t go to the door to look out after him. She merely sighed and returned to the sitting room to assist Aunt Pen in catching a reluctant embroidery nap.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Eric, from Bristol to London and back, Late March 1811

  Having avoided Bliss for more than a week, Eric decided to go to London. It was clear that if he stayed anywhere in her vicinity he could not avoid seeing her. Every time he came near her, thoughts of wanting to strip her naked and kiss every square inch of her assaulted his willpower, his judgment, even his sanity!

  He knew he’d go mad if he stayed within walking distance of her. After all, it was nearly impossible to avoid running into someone with an impeccable sense of foresight. The decision to go came when Eric crossed paths with Lord Osterburg.

  The man introduced himself, saying that somehow his niece knew they would see one another. The man seemed more uncomfortable about that than Eric, which was saying something. Eric asked how long Bliss would continue to stay at Whisper Chase.

  Lord Osterburg nearly dropped his coffee. After spluttering and wiping his forehead with a table napkin several times, Lord Osterburg cleared his throat.

  “Ahem, Uh, Lady Bliss is staying through the post-Easter Ball to help my wife organize it. She’s been suffering a lot these last few months. Honestly, I don’t understand it. She went from being vibrant and lively less than a year ago, to being like a worn-out dowager in less than five months!

  “I’ve been asking her to seek medical advice oftener than she likes, too. I suppose my interest is selfish, though, doctor. It’s difficult when your personal intimacies go from being heady and spontaneous to non-existent, if you get what I mean?” Lord Osterburg’s hints that his wife had sworn off physical lovemaking weren’t uncommon in husbands with wives reaching the cusp of being past their prime.

  “Don’t get me wrong, sir. I would never pretend to say a word to your private relations. But you might consider the physical changes in a woman whose body is moving into a new chapter. It’s a very difficult time for them. Not unlike a pregnancy, if you know the truth,” Eric replied cautiously.

  “Well, that’s the strange part. She was always such a willing and adventurous lover, except for her bout with illness last summer—which was a little before these issues began. She was dreadfully sick night and day for almost a month. Then she felt some better, but her appetite didn’t recover.”

  Lord Osterburg’s description gave Eric a tingly feeling in his chest. The sound of
the symptoms put that way suggested something a bit more sinister than aging, and that made him nervous for Bliss’s diagnosis for some reason.

  But then he recalled how robust Lady Osterburg had looked and thought perhaps it was just an exaggeration that she wasn’t eating well according to her husband. Suspending judgment for the time being, Eric listened more attentively as the older gentleman continued his testimonial.

  “Then she was normal or more so around November and December! I’ve never seen her so ... er, never mind. But following that she has begun a steady decline in health. It’s been pointed out by many of her friends to their husbands. They’re worried, which has me worried as well. So I suppose unloading this in your lap is unfortunate, but perhaps I just figured you could give me some hope, Dr. Benchley,” Lord Osterburg finished speaking with genuine tears in his eyes.

  “Sir, I saw no glaring signs of any real illness when I examined her a week ago. She just needs to allow her body time to rest, Lord Osterburg. Many women are reluctant to accept that their body requires a different schedule at first.

  “She’ll come around eventually and be just like her usual self when she does. If this continues for more than a month, give me a shout, and I’ll do a more thorough examination to see what we can discover at the root,” Eric assured him.

  As Eric got up to go, Lord Osterburg asked if Eric would be attending their ball.

  “I’ll do my best, barring any immediate emergencies at the hospital or with my patients,” Eric told him with a rueful smile.

  “Yes, I know a bachelor’s life is full of better things than match-making balls. My wife sincerely hopes to see our younger son settled, though. I can’t for the life of me figure why a man of two and twenty is desperately in need of a wife.

  “I think Penelope just worries he can’t take care of himself well enough to suit her, so she thinks a wife could do better! She actually has Lady Bliss in mind! If anyone is up to the task of managing Maxwell, it’s her! That girl needs something to occupy her!” Lord Osterburg said with a chuckle.