The Bargain

by Mary Jo Putney

  “I suppose not.” She brightened as a thought struck. “I’ll stop by his surgery to settle the account with him. He lives only a few blocks from Launceston House.”

  “Lady Jocelyn has already taken care of what Kinlock assures me was an outrageous bill.”

  “That doesn’t seem right. We should pay it.” Sally bit her lip. “Though I would have to use the money Lady Jocelyn gave me.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with you, but I’m not up to arguing with her at the moment. You may quarrel with her about the bill if you wish.” His eyes drifted shut.

  She shouldn’t be tiring him with trivial matters. “No more fighting. Besides, I find that I object to her ladyship’s generosity much less now that I’ve made my peace with her.” She kissed her brother on the forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  Sally turned left to Hyde Park when she exited Cromarty House. The Launcestons believed that during the summer the children should have lessons only in the morning, so she didn’t need to return to work. She was very fortunate in her employers. Nonetheless, now that she had a choice, it was only a matter of time until she gave notice. There was much she had enjoyed about being a governess, but she was ready for something different. What, she didn’t know.

  Despite the beauty of the summer day, as she strolled through the park’s green expanses she brooded about the sharp pang of regret she’d felt when David said that Kinlock would not return. Why had she reacted so strongly? Miss Sarah Lancaster was a paragon of the practical virtues, without a romantic bone in her body.

  To be sure, she kept thinking of the doctor’s powerfully muscled figure, the large hands that could move with such delicacy, but that was merely admiration for the surgeon’s strength and skill. And while the image of his prematurely white hair and its contrast with his dark, shaggy brows kept recurring to her, that was only because his appearance was so striking.

  She gave a snort of exasperation. Who did she think she was deceiving?

  Her steps had led her to the Serpentine, so she found an unoccupied bench and gazed unseeing over the placid waters of the little lake. She was not in the habit of hiding from unpleasant truths, so she must face the fact that Ian Kinlock appealed to her in ways that had nothing to do with his remarkable skills. She liked the man. Liked his passionate commitment to his work, liked his rough tongue, and deuce take it, liked the way he moved, the quick, impatient strength of him.

  She sighed. How typical that the first man to take her fancy since she left the schoolroom was so inappropriate. Ian Kinlock lived for his work. As David had said, he had no interest in healthy bodies. And even if he did, plain brown Sarah Lancaster was not the woman to distract him from the serious business of saving London from the Reaper.

  Was that one of the reasons she had resented Lady Jocelyn, whose beauty and charm even the good doctor noticed? Sally twisted her gloves into knots as she realized that envy had contributed to her hostility. How disheartening to admit that one was not really a very nice person.

  It had been gratifying to scorn Lady Jocelyn as a cold-blooded femme fatale, but based on the last few days, her brother’s wife was superior in character as well as in looks. That flawless society beauty had cared for David with her own hands, even though he was virtually a stranger. It was a sobering lesson in not being ruled by appearances.

  Sally flattened her gloves on her knee and tried to smooth out the wrinkles. Ian Kinlock might not find a plain brown governess attractive, but surely now and then he needed a friend. From what she had seen of his life, he continually took care of others. It was time that someone took care of him.

  Rising from the bench, she tried to remember his schedule. This was one of his days at Bart’s, and she had seen how exhausting that was. How might she help alleviate that?

  A moment’s thought told her exactly what to do.

  When Ian Kinlock returned to the grubby little cubicle that was his Bart’s office, he was so depleted he could barely open the door. After leaving Major Lancaster, he’d examined a roomful of hospital patients, followed by tragedy on the cutting ward as one woman had died under surgery. Another wouldn’t last the night despite his best efforts. At times like this, he wondered why he didn’t pursue a fashionable practice that wouldn’t demand such reserves of emotional and physical strength.

  As soon as he entered the room, he headed toward his desk and the locked whiskey drawer even though he knew that spirits were a damned poor antidote for what ailed him. He didn’t realize that he had company until a light, feminine voice said, “You’ll be able to drink more if you eat something first.”

  Blinking, he turned and discovered that Miss Lancaster was sitting in the only visitor’s chair. Setting aside the book she’d been reading, she lifted a basket. “I thought you would be hungry, so I brought some food.”

  Bemused, he pulled out the desk chair and sat down. “At the end of a day at Bart’s, I generally can’t remember when I ate last.”

  She handed him a meat pie still warm from the oven. The crust crumbled into rich flakes as he bit into it. Beef and mushroom pie. Delicious. He took another bite, and could feel strength returning. It was food that he’d needed, not whiskey. Nourishment instead of oblivion.

  As she produced a jug of ale and poured him a tankard, he said, “Aren’t you going to eat, too?”

  “I was hoping you’d ask me to join you.”

  Together they explored Sally’s capacious basket. Besides meat pies and ale, she had brought bread, cheese, pickled onions, and warm peach tarts. All were excellent and designed for easy eating.

  After finishing the last of his tart, Ian replenished his tankard of ale. “Now that I’m halfway human again, it occurs to me to wonder what you’re doing here.”

  Sally began to clear up the remains of the meal. “When David said you wouldn’t be coming back, I realized that I hadn’t properly thanked you for saving him.”

  “I like thanks that take a practical form.” He smiled, more relaxed than he had been in weeks. “What you said at the time was quite adequate. I was just the instrument, you know. I do my best, but healing comes from a level beyond my skills.”

  “I wouldn’t have expected such a mystical statement from a man of science.”

  “I may be a rationalist on the surface, but underneath I’m a wild, mystical Celt.” He surveyed her neat, well-groomed figure. “A respectable English lady like you wouldn’t understand that.”

  Sally closed her basket and got to her feet. “Watch whom you call English, laddie. My mother was Welsh, and as true a Celt as you.” She walked to the desk with a package. “I’ve wrapped the bread and cheese in paper so they should keep for several days. It wouldn’t hurt your patients if you ate now and then.”

  She was looking for a clear spot on the cluttered desk to put the food, not wanting the cheese to stain his papers, when her eye was caught by an envelope. Her brows rose as she read, “The Honorable Ian Kinlock.”

  She lifted the envelope and tilted it toward him. “Sorry, I couldn’t help seeing this. Are you sure you’re a wild Celt?”

  The surgeon actually blushed. She wouldn’t have believed it possible.

  “My mother insists on addressing me that way,” he explained. “My father is the Laird of Kintyre. My mother writes regularly to suggest that I give up this medical nonsense and come home to live like a proper Kinlock.”

  “So you can slaughter helpless animals and gamble away your fortune?” she remarked, remembering what he had said the night they dined at the tavern.

  “Aye, my brothers are a dab hand at that sort of thing. To be fair, none of them have actually gambled away a fortune, and they are very good fellows in their way. Two are army officers like your brother. But we’re as unlike as chalk and cheese.”

  “I can well imagine.” She was fascinated by this unexpected glimpse of the gruff doctor. “I should think that the gentlemanly life would cause you to perish of boredom in a fortnight.”

  “Exactly
. My mother has never understood that.” He sighed. “She is also convinced I’ll succumb to the charms of some hopelessly ineligible female. Bless her, she assumes that all of her five sons are irresistible. She’s never really accepted that I am out of leading strings, even though I’ve more white hair than my own father.”

  “She sounds rather dear.”

  “She is. Hopeless, but dear.” He tucked the food packet into a drawer. “Shall we go outside and find a hackney? I’m too tired to walk you home.”

  Not wanting to be a burden, she assured him, “You needn’t concern yourself. It’s still light out, and I’ve lived in London for years.”

  “I may have no talent for being a gentleman, but I certainly won’t let a lady walk home in the dark.” He grinned. “Besides, you only live three blocks from me.”

  “Yes, Dr. Kinlock,” she said demurely, though inside her pulse quickened at the prospect of more time with him. Just breathing the same air made her feel more alive.

  “Call me Ian. Hardly anyone does anymore,” he said as he ushered her outside. “Sometimes I get very tired of being Physician and Surgeon Kinlock, one very long step removed from God.”

  “Just as I grow weary of being Miss Lancaster, paragon of virtue and highly qualified governess.” She gave him a slanting glance. “By the way, what does a Sally look like?”

  He chuckled as they stepped into the mild summer evening. “Look in the mirror, lass, and you’ll find out.”

  He flagged down a hack and handed her into it. As she settled on the dingy seat, she felt well pleased with her expedition. There was nothing loverlike in the surgeon’s attitude and probably never would be, but he seemed willing to be friends.

  As they rode through the London dusk, she unobtrusively studied the craggy face under the shock of white hair. He might be willing to accept her friendship—but would that be enough for her?

  Chapter 15

  Jocelyn’s lawyer called the next day. She gave him credit for nobly refraining from saying “I told you so” about the trouble caused by her impetuous marriage, though his expression was gloomy. The lawyer brightened when David outlined his thoughts on annulment. When he discovered that the major had read law, his expression became positively approving.

  “I shall have to discuss the situation with a proctor—that is, a lawyer licensed to practice in the ecclesiastical courts,” Crandall said thoughtfully. “I believe that the canon law covering this situation requires that the suit be brought by you, Lady Jocelyn. You must cohabit for a time first to . . . umm, verify that the problem is permanent. However, once the process is started, an annulment could be granted in five or six months, since the suit will be uncontested.”

  The better part of a year before she would be free? That would raise merry Hades with her plans, but she supposed it could be worse. “Very well, Mr. Crandall.”

  With a return of gloom, he said, “You understand that while your legal position is secure, an annulment will leave you vulnerable to a lawsuit claiming that you were never really married, and hence have not fulfilled the terms of your father’s will?”

  “I’m aware of the potential problems.”

  “Though you should win any such suit, the legal fees would be considerable, and there could be unwelcome notoriety.” He peered at her over his spectacles. “You would not consider remaining married? It would be by far the simplest solution.”

  Patience at an end, she said briskly, “Simple answers are seldom the best, Mr. Crandall, especially in regards to something as important as marriage.”

  With a sigh, the lawyer left. After the door closed, Jocelyn asked, “Do you suppose he became a solicitor because he’s glum by nature, or that being a solicitor has made him glum?”

  The major smiled a little. “Some of both, perhaps. The practice of law is sobering, since one tends to have to always be dealing with life’s problems.”

  “Then I’m glad you chose the army. Risking death seems to be much better for the disposition than drawing contracts.”

  A knock at the door heralded the arrival of Richard Dalton. After greeting him, Jocelyn excused herself to leave the two men together.

  As Richard lowered himself into a chair, David rose and began to move restlessly around the room. “Don’t mind me—after meeting with Lady Jocelyn’s lawyer, I feel the need for activity.” He stumbled and had to make a quick grab at the nearest bedpost to save himself from falling. “I’ll have to see if Morgan can find me a cane to use until I regain the knack of walking.”

  “Good idea.” Richard offered one of his crutches. “In the meantime, take this. Jocelyn will be most displeased if you break yourself while I sit idly watching.”

  The crutch helped his balance considerably. He fell into a regular circuit around the room, grateful for the chance to use his weakened muscles.

  With less of his concentration on staying upright, David noticed that his friend looked strained. “Is something wrong?”

  Richard grimaced. “I decided to visit your miracle-working surgeon to see if he can do more for my blasted leg than the surgeons at the hospital have managed. Kinlock says he might be able to help, but the procedure he has in mind would be an experiment.”

  “Even with Kinlock, I’m not sure I’d volunteer to be a test case,” David said with a frown. “What was his diagnosis?”

  “The bones in my leg were badly set after the battle. No surprise, I suppose, given how overworked and exhausted the surgeons were.” Richard surveyed his twisted right leg without enthusiasm. “The leg is so crooked that I’ll be seriously crippled for the rest of my life. If I’m very, very lucky, I might be able to manage with a cane instead of crutches on a good day. And . . . it hurts like hell.”

  David winced. They’d never discussed Richard’s injury, and he’d assumed it was only a matter of time until his friend recovered. “What does Kinlock suggest?”

  “Break the bones where they’re crooked and reset them. It’s a radical approach, but he thinks there’s a good chance that the leg will heal straight enough to allow me to walk and ride and be reasonably active. Though he makes no promises of eliminating all the pain, there would probably be significant improvement in that area as well.”

  David swore under his breath. Kinlock’s suggestion made sense, but surgery was always a risk, and even if it was a success, Richard would have to endure long months of difficult convalescence. “Are you going to do as he recommends?”

  “Yes. God knows that I’m not looking forward to the process, but Kinlock is the first surgeon to hold out any hope that I might get rid of these damnable crutches,” Richard said vehemently. “Another operation, maybe two, and a few more months in hospital are a small price to pay for the chance to live something close to a normal life.”

  David was shamed by his own lack of perception. Over these last wretched weeks, Richard had always been there with a ready hand, a quip, or undemanding silence as required. He’d accepted that steadfast good nature at face value, never really thinking about his friend’s private anxieties about his future.

  Resolving that over the next difficult months he would be as good a friend to Richard as the other man had been to him, David said reassuringly, “Based on my experience with Kinlock, your leg will be perfect by the time he gets through with you.”

  “It needn’t be perfect. I’ll settle for ninety percent or so.” Dismissing the topic, Richard continued, “What about you? You seem a bit blue-deviled for someone who has just stepped into a fairy tale complete with a miracle and a beautiful princess.”

  David walked to the window, leaning heavily on his borrowed crutch. “Fairy tales end with ‘happily ever after.’ The real world is a good deal more complicated.”

  “Meaning?”

  Needing to unburden himself to someone who would understand, he replied, “Meaning that I find it vastly frustrating to be married to a fairy-tale princess who sees me as a brother, and who is pantingly eager to disentangle herself as quickly as possible.”


  “I’ve wondered if you might be falling in love with her,” Richard said quietly. “Jocelyn is a lovely woman, as kind and intelligent as she is beautiful.”

  David gave him a sharp glance. “Are you in love with her, too?”

  Richard shook his head. “No, but I can tell quality when I see it.”

  When David looked skeptical, Richard said apologetically, “I realize that not falling in love with her shows a dreadful lack of judgment on my part, but there it is.”

  David had to laugh. “From what I have heard about her winter in Spain, you were one of the few officers who didn’t offer for her.”

  “Probably true.” Richard’s expression turned pensive. “That may be why she and I became friends. She seemed to—not exactly despise, but at least not take seriously—the men who became besotted. She’d tease them about being volatile, saying they’d fall in love with another woman in a fortnight. I actually spent more time with her than any of her suitors. Perhaps she’s been courted so often that she’s bored by it.”

  “That doesn’t bode well for me,” David said, trying to keep his tone light. “As soon as I saw her, I was ready to lay down head, hand, and heart, just like all her other volatile suitors.”

  “You’re not volatile. If you feel that strongly, it’s not mere infatuation.” Richard hesitated. “Do you remember the wedding toast I made? When I said that you seemed to belong together, it wasn’t mere rhetoric. I think you would suit each other very well.”

  David stared at him. “Good Lord, you have a devious mind! You couldn’t possibly have foreseen how this would turn out.”

  “Of course not. You seemed unlikely to survive the week.” Richard shrugged. “It just seemed right to bring you together, like one of those battlefield instincts that says when to duck.”

  “I should have ducked sooner this time.” David ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair. “Lady Jocelyn never bargained for a live husband, and it would be dishonorable to try to hold her against her will. Her lawyer is already looking into the procedure for annulling the marriage.”