Kissed at Twilight

by Miriam Minger

  “Forgive me, Dr. Philcup was in quite the hurry to depart for northern Italy,” Dr. Whitaker said with another glance in Linette’s direction, although this time he was focused upon Estelle lying so still in the bed. He shifted his black leather bag in his hands and looked back to Donovan. “He thought some months in the Alps might help his gout rather than suffer further in England’s damp climate. In fact, he informed me he might not be back. Is that my patient?”

  Donovan still hadn’t moved or spoken, but now he uttered a low expletive as if he’d endured quite enough surprises for one day. Corie laid her hand gently upon her husband’s arm.

  “Dr. Whitaker, if I might ask you,” she began with a sideways glance at Donovan. “How long have you been engaged in the practice of medicine?”

  “Certainly you may, madam, forgive me for not offering my credentials to you at once. I began an apprenticeship with a general surgeon at eighteen years of age, passed my apothecary exam at twenty-one, and just completed medical school two months’ past at Guy’s Hospital in London. I’m twenty-four now, and most grateful to Dr. Philcup for this opportunity to assume his practice—”

  “Did you say twenty-four, sir?”

  Linette gulped at Donovan’s incredulous query, which didn’t sound promising for the young and most likely inexperienced Dr. Adam Whitaker. Surprisingly, he held his ground and stared eye-to-eye with Donovan, both men very near the same height although Donovan, at thirty-three, had him in bulk by a well-muscled forty pounds.

  “I assure you, Your Grace, I take the practice of medicine most seriously and have pledged my life to that calling. My only desire is to assist your sister-in-law today in the best way I know how. She came near to drowning, I believe was your urgent message to Dr. Philcup’s address, where I’m currently residing at his gracious insistence.”

  “Yes, Estelle suffered quite a shock,” Corie answered softly, her hand still resting upon Donovan’s arm. “If you would be so kind as to examine her and hopefully set our minds to rest. She also suffered bruises while pummeled by the waves and a grievous bump to the head. A stranger saved her, though he and his companion remain unknown to us at this time, and must have seen to her injuries first before they deemed her well enough to bring home.” Corie sighed heavily, glancing toward the bed, and then back to the young doctor. “If you’ll excuse my husband and me, Dr. Whitaker. My sister Linette and Miss Biddle, our housekeeper, will remain with you during the examination. We’ll await your assessment downstairs in the library.”

  His broad shoulders stiff with tension, his expression somber, Donovan clearly looked unconvinced although he acquiesced to Corie’s suggestion and followed her from the room without another word. With a heavy thud, the door closed behind them, leaving Linette to rise awkwardly from the chair to make room for the new doctor.

  She didn’t know what to say, or if she should say anything at all, and she seemed to be forgotten as he moved directly to the bed with his full concentration now upon Estelle.

  Finding him even more handsome than she remembered from the church, Linette chided herself that she would even think such a thing when her beloved sister was in such a terrible state. Estelle had opened her eyes, which filled with tears as Dr. Whitaker set his bag upon the chair that Linette had just vacated.

  “My dog…” she began feebly, to which Adam Whitaker nodded.

  “I heard about Luther,” he said with such sincerity that Linette felt her throat tighten at how he would seek first to soothe her sister’s aching heart before beginning the examination. He enfolded Estelle’s small hand in his larger one. “I’m sorry, Miss Easton. Truly.”

  So deeply grateful at that moment that this empathetic young doctor attended to her sister rather than Dr. Philcup, who wouldn’t have given Luther’s demise a second thought, Linette drew closer to Miss Biddle at the foot of the bed.

  “All will be well,” the housekeeper said in a whispered aside, perhaps sensing that Linette needed comforting, too. “I’m certain of it now. All will be well.”

  ***

  “You did a fine thing, my lord, to save the young lady’s life, but I agree it’s wise that we leave here at once. We’ll find lodging in Porthleven and await the earliest ship to take us north. Yes, a very sound plan, indeed!”

  Valentin Chevalier said nothing as Robert Benoit, his long-time valet, hastily packed their belongings into a pair of leather satchels. Instead he sighed heavily and turned to stare out the rain-spattered window of their leased cottage, which was situated at the top of a bluff.

  From this same vantage point he’d seen a sight earlier that day like no other, a young woman of unsurpassed beauty and high spirits running along the beach below with her scruffy little dog.

  He’d smiled at the pair of them, marveling that she seemed so oblivious to the drizzle and wind. Sixteen perhaps, or just barely? He’d marveled, too, at a few precious moments of lightheartedness amidst the grim reality that faced him: His father, Prince Renaud, imprisoned in a castle tower or perhaps dead for all Valentin knew; himself a hunted fugitive; and the tiny principality of Bratavia, nestled between France and Belgium, now fallen under the traitorous rule of his uncle, Archduke Henri Chevalier.

  Yet those precious moments had suddenly turned into alarm when the young woman had plunged into the pounding waves after her little dog and soon floundered, flailing her arms. Valentin had never sprinted so hard in his life as from the cottage and down the steep sandy bluff to reach her, the water so cold it had stopped his breath when he tore off his boots and dove into the sea.

  She had disappeared, and for a terrifying instant he had thought her lost until he’d spied her bobbing upon a wave. He’d caught her and begun to swim with her to shore, while amazingly she’d fought him, thrashing and kicking and screaming her dog’s name.

  Yet once he’d dragged her onto the beach, an ashen-faced Robert there to meet them with the horses, Valentin knew she’d struck her head from the ugly lump forming. He didn’t think, only acted, and within moments he had ridden with his near-unconscious charge back to the cottage.

  He’d stripped her of her sodden clothing down to only her shift for modesty’s sake, and bundled her in blankets while Robert stoked a blazing fire in the hearth. Valentin had been forced to shout to ascertain her name, she’d stared at him so vacantly, her shivering response barely a whisper before she’d sunk into oblivion.

  Estelle Easton. Her brother-in-law Donovan Trent, the Duke of Arundale.

  When Valentin had leased the cottage along with the sturdy gelding a week ago, he’d been informed by the landlord, Squire Tanner, that his property bordered the Duke’s, a fortunate thing indeed when it had come time to take her home. He hadn’t dared to move her until he knew she wasn’t too badly injured, and he’d been ready to fetch a doctor if he had to, his own precarious predicament be damned.

  He knew full well Uncle Henri had sent out his minions to track him down and bring him back to Bratavia to imprison him…or perhaps murder him as the fiend might have done already to his father. Thank God his mother, Princess Simone, had not lived to see such an unhappy day—

  “The packing’s done, my lord. Shall we depart?”

  Valentin glanced at his valet and saw the anxious lines etched upon the older man’s face, Robert’s dark hair flecked with silver that he’d hardly noticed before.

  It seemed the terrible stress of these last several weeks—their narrow escape from Bratavia, a breakneck carriage ride across the north of France to Calais, and then passage aboard the first ship they’d found that had brought them to Cornwall—had taken its toll upon both of them. He felt older beyond years and sick at heart. Had he celebrated his nineteenth birthday only days before Uncle Henri’s treasonous coup? It felt like a lifetime since then.

  “Yes, time to go,” Valentin said quietly. He glanced one last time out the window as brilliant sunshine broke through the clouds and cast the beach below in a golden glow.

  The waves had calmed, the rough
wind subsided. If he hadn’t experienced it, he would never have imagined such a fearsome life and death struggle could have been fought on that beach only hours before—

  “By God, Robert, look down there! I don’t believe it.”

  “My lord?” came the valet’s confused query as Valentin lunged past him, grabbed his cloak, and made for the door. “My lord!”

  Valentin scarcely heard him but vaulted out of the cottage, his gaze riveted upon a tiny creature that had appeared shakily from the rocks at one end of the beach.

  A tiny creature that shook himself from head to bony tail and then leaned back his scruffy head and howled piteously.

  Luther!

  Incredulous, Valentin raced down the bluff and along the shoreline to reach the little dog that he’d been convinced had been swept out to sea.

  His amazement only heightened when Luther ran toward him, barking now and furiously wagging his tail as if he couldn’t believe he was no longer all alone on the beach. Valentin sank into the sand to swipe away a briny-smelling strand of seaweed clinging to the little fellow and gather him into his arms. He paid no heed to the dampness soaking the knees of his trousers or that Luther frantically licked his face with a warm, pink tongue.

  To Valentin’s relief, the bedraggled mutt didn’t appear injured at all, although his fur was stiff with salt and he was shivering. He could only surmise that somehow Luther had swum back to shore and fallen asleep with exhaustion amidst the rocks. Valentin wrapped him snugly in his cloak and then rose to his feet, while Luther perked up his ears and glanced around him, clearly searching the beach with his keen brown eyes.

  “She’s not here, boy, but I swear I’ll take you to her,” Valentin murmured, glad to see that Robert had ridden the gelding down from the cottage to meet him.

  As if reading his mind, the valet shook his head and stared in disbelief from Luther to Valentin. “My lord, surely you’re not thinking to—”

  “How can I not?” Valentin cut him off, signaling for Robert to dismount. “You saw that Miss Easton was heartbroken. What greater joy could I bring her on Christmas Day to make up for what she’s suffered?”

  “Take care, my lord, take care!” Robert beseeched him as Valentin mounted with Luther still snuggled in his cloak and thankfully, no longer shivering. “Promise me you’ll leave the dog at the front door and then ride back as fast as you can!”

  Valentin nodded, ignoring that Robert continued to shake his head and look doubtful, and directed the gelding toward the bluff.

  Nothing could diminish his elation at that moment.

  With a shout Valentin urged the gelding into a gallop, his only regret that he wouldn’t be able to personally deliver Luther to his lovely young mistress himself.

  Chapter 4

  “Miss Easton has suffered a shock, indeed, with that bump to her head and bruises, but nothing that will not physically heal within a week or so.”

  Linette felt overwhelming relief at Dr. Adam Whitaker’s pronouncement, while Corie flung her arms around Donovan’s neck to hug him tightly. Linette had guessed his diagnosis was a favorable one when he’d turned away from the bedside and given her a reassuring smile, which had warmed her as much as when he’d soothed her grieving younger sister with his kind words about Luther.

  “The loss of her dog is another matter,” Dr. Whitaker continued somberly, “but I believe in time, she’ll find comfort that she did everything she could to save him. She was courageous to swim out after him, which shows her strength of spirit. I believe that will help her as she heals.”

  If Donovan had appeared more than reluctant about Dr. Whitaker treating Estelle as their physician, now he looked only grateful, and came forward to firmly shake the young doctor’s hand.

  “You’ve restored our happy Christmas,” Donovan said with a glance at Corie, who came to his side to entwine her arm with his. “Stay with us for dinner, Whitaker—”

  “Yes, join us,” Corie interjected, while Linette looked down at the carpeted floor of the library, momentarily nonplussed. “If you’d not had such good news for us, we wouldn’t have celebrated at all, but the children have no idea what’s happened, well, other than Paloma. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go fetch her. It’s been a shock for all of us, but especially her. She loves her aunts so.”

  Corie turned to kiss Donovan on the cheek, and next gave Linette a quick hug, and then hastened from the room. Immediately she could be heard calling for the servants to light the candles in the dining room and to tell Cook in the kitchen that their Christmas dinner would be held after all. Corie’s voice sounded so lighthearted after the somber turn to their day that Linette couldn’t help but smile.

  “A brandy, Dr. Whitaker?” Donovan asked, his tone lighter, too, as he moved to the table where a full decanter sat surrounded by crystal glasses.

  “Thank you, sir, I will,” he answered, though Linette realized the doctor wasn’t watching Donovan pour him a glass. Instead, he stood as if transfixed, staring at her and the smile upon her face.

  Her breath caught, and she sobered at once, noticing for the first time that his eyes were a hazel more green than brown and filled with a warm admiration that made her cheeks flush with heat. Thankfully, Donovan interrupted the unsettling moment when he handed Dr. Whitaker a filled glass, the two men partaking in a draft of brandy while Linette began to move somewhat self-consciously toward the door.

  Yet her curiosity got the better of her when Donovan began to engage him in conversation about his impressions thus far of Cornwall, which made her stop where she stood.

  Curiosity not so much about what Dr. Adam Whitaker might have to say, but that their exchange gave her a chance to study him in a manner much like he’d done to her only moments before.

  She had already deemed him handsome, but he stood so confidently in Donovan’s presence as if he often conversed with the nobility…although his conservative and somewhat worn attire bespoke a man who had perhaps risen from poor circumstances to his higher calling. A brown overcoat over a lighter brown waistcoat, tan trousers, and deep brown Hessian boots that she saw now were flecked with mud, yet everything seemed to fit his tall, lean form as if tailored for him.

  Now that she stood so close to him, although he’d scarcely glanced in her direction since Donovan had engaged him, she saw his wavy brown hair had auburn highlights much like her own from the afternoon sunlight spilling through the tall windows. His face was clean shaven with closely cropped sideburns, his jawline strong and angular and his profile so very arresting—

  “Linette, did you hear me?”

  She gaped at Donovan, startled and deeply embarrassed not to have realized that he’d spoken to her while she was but staring so openly at Dr. Whitaker…oh, Lord.

  “I-I’m sorry, Donovan,” she began, but if he’d noticed her discomfort he gave no sign of it as he strode past her to the doorway.

  “The carriage I sent for your father has arrived,” he said over his shoulder. “He knows only that Estelle was hurt, and nothing of our recent good report. I want to allay his fears at once. Attend to our guest for a few moments, will you?”

  Donovan was gone from the room before Linette could answer, although a footman appeared right outside the door as if Donovan had indicated for him to stand there. So Linette wasn’t truly alone. She glanced from the doorway to Dr. Whitaker as he set his half-empty glass upon the table and gave her a gallant bow.

  “We haven’t really been introduced,” he began, coming closer although Linette found herself rooted to the floor. “You and I, anyway. I mean, we were upstairs together in your sister’s room for a time and you led me down here to the library, though with hardly a word—”

  “I understand what you mean, sir,” she murmured, flushing and yet doing her best to maintain her composure as he drew closer still. “Miss Linette Easton.”

  “French names, then, all of you? Your sisters, I mean.”

  “Yes, our mother was French…Adele. My eldest sister, Corisande
, and then there’s Marguerite, a duchess as well…and Estelle of course, the youngest…and me.”

  “And you,” he said after her, his voice holding a huskiness now that Linette found incredibly disconcerting. “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Easton. Dr. Adam Whitaker—”

  “Yes, of London, I believe you said,” Linette interrupted him as she glanced toward the door, wondering if she, too, should go to meet her father. Yet Donovan had said for her to attend to their guest… “Is that your home, Dr. Whitaker?”

  “During my formal medical training, it was, but now my home is here.”

  He stared at her again, not in any way that she would find inappropriate, but almost as if he studied the lines of her face as a sculptor might his model…with evident appreciation.

  “Y-yes, of course, but I meant where you’re from, your parents—”

  “No parents. I’m an orphan.”

  “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry,” she began, noting his expression had hardened as if she’d touched upon a subject he didn’t wish to discuss.

  “No need to be sorry, Miss Easton. It’s life, is all. Harsh for some and kinder to others.”

  For a moment she didn’t know what to say, until at last she blurted, “You’ll find the people friendly here, Dr. Whitaker, although it may take them a while to grow accustomed to you. We’ve known only Dr. Philcup for years. Yet they’ll come around, I’m sure. You’re our physician now, after all.”

  “So I am, and gratefully so, especially now,” he said simply, staring at her again as she found herself doing the same to him.

  For a moment a great stillness enveloped them as if the rest of the world had inexplicably fallen away. Then in the next instant, she blinked, and he cleared his throat, which left her wondering what she might ask of him next. She didn’t wish to touch upon another unpleasant topic for him—