A Gentleman's Daughter: A sweet, clean historical romance (Sisters of the Revolution Book 1)

by Diana Davis

They reached the coach and went to open the door, but it opened before they could touch it, and Uncle Josiah leaned out to lend them a hand. “Good evening, nieces.”

  This was a surprise. “Good evening,” they greeted him. He helped each of them into the coach and bid the driver to proceed toward home.

  “Look at my ladies,” Uncle Josiah mused.

  Indeed, they hardly looked like ladies now. Cassandra didn’t want to think of the amount of filth caked on her petticoats — nor the number of things she’d done in the last few weeks that no one of breeding could have imagined.

  “What brings you out to Germantown?” Helen asked the question that was on both of their minds. What could be so important that he couldn’t wait until they returned home for supper?

  “I just had an exciting conversation, and I wanted you two to be the first who heard.”

  Cassandra and Helen exchanged a mystified glance. Whom had he spoken to?

  Perhaps . . . Lord David?

  “I don’t suppose either of you know Dr. Drinker, do you?”

  They shook their heads in unison. There wasn’t much use for doctors in Germantown. Aside from not sharing a language, there was little a doctor could do that they weren’t already doing. Tinctures and plasters notwithstanding, the smallpox simply had to run its course. Unless they wanted to bleed the patients. That was obviously beyond their expertise.

  “Well, I mentioned how you’d been helping in Germantown, and he was most intrigued. He said he had been wanting for an assistant to help with calls.”

  “As in a nurse?” Helen asked.

  Uncle Josiah nodded.

  “As a permanent position?” Cassandra asked.

  “Quite possibly.”

  No one did such a thing, but if she could continue helping people once the smallpox outbreak had finished its course? That was the best news she’d had in days. Probably since she’d been unceremoniously discharged by Lord David.

  “Not me, I’m afraid,” Helen said quickly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you’re much better suited to this, dearest.” Helen squeezed her hand.

  “Thank you.” At least, she thought it was a compliment. She could certainly understand why one wouldn’t choose this type of work, but it felt good to be useful.

  It was an altogether new feeling. They’d amassed such a reputation around Germantown that families who a few weeks ago would never have trusted them now welcomed their help with open arms.

  “I understand, Helen,” Uncle Josiah said. “You have worked hard, but I know this is not where your heart lies. Know that I’m very proud of you both,” Uncle Josiah said. His serene confidence seemed to convey that even more. “No matter what you choose.”

  “Thank you,” they both said.

  Cassandra silently consulted her sister. Choosing the same route would obviously be wise. They hadn’t undertaken this charity work with the intention of making it into a vocation.

  She could walk away from watching children die and go back to a comfortable life as a gentleman’s daughter, or at least a successful lawyer’s niece, and be perfectly happy.

  Well, not perfectly happy.

  To be honest, though, the idea of returning to the comfortable life she’d always known held so much less value when compared to pursuing what had come to feel like her calling.

  “I would like to work with Dr. Drinker,” she finally said.

  Uncle Josiah smiled at her. “I’m especially pleased that you might pursue such a singular opportunity, Cassandra.” In the silence between his words, Cassandra saw something she hardly recognized in his countenance: esteem. Not the kind of respect one received by virtue of one’s birth, but the kind of honor that could only be earned through sincere effort. “Puts me in mind of Elizabeth,” he finally finished.

  She reminded him of Mama? “Thank you,” she said again.

  “You know,” Uncle Josiah continued, “I was a little concerned when we first brought you home.”

  Cassandra snuck a peek at her sister, who wore a smile of amusement. “Oh?”

  “Well, you were dressed so finely, and clearly had the manners of . . . of someone raised in your circles.”

  Again, mentioning their birth. Had they not moved past that? Or worse, had they made Uncle Josiah feel awkward? She hoped not.

  “And then when you came to dinner that first day in your plainest gowns, I was worried you were . . . mocking us.”

  “Oh, we’re so sorry,” Helen said quickly. “We never intended —”

  “I see that now. Actually, with the way you treated Lord David, Cassandra, I guessed fairly quickly you wouldn’t have stooped to subtler means of mockery.”

  She pressed a hand to her cheek to hide her blush. She’d been fairly awful to him.

  And now it took all her restraint not to ask Uncle Josiah if he’d spoken to Lord David and ask how he was faring. She’d gathered that the smallpox hadn’t claimed him — at least she would have expected her uncle to mention that — but she had no idea if he’d recovered.

  It shouldn’t matter to her. It didn’t. He was a spiteful, proud popinjay, and he had been from the moment they’d met.

  Helen did her the favor. “Has he recovered?” she asked.

  “I believe he has,” Uncle Josiah said. He gave Cassandra a quizzical look, and she turned away, as if Helen required her attention at the moment. Lord David certainly didn’t.

  She needed to forget him. Plain and simple.

  And she would. Soon.

  Working with the Germans and hopefully Dr. Drinker could only help. Pursuing her vocation would heal more than just the sick.

  Or at least it would soon. She hoped.

  Lord David paced across his study from one tall bookcase to the other. He finally had the strength for the walking remedy Dr. Rush had recommended all along, but by now all he had left of the illness was new scars on his hands and wrists.

  Still, it was worth it if it meant that he would be safe from the smallpox for the rest of his life. If the inoculation hadn’t taken, he might have to endure the whole process over again.

  Did the idea of inoculation scare his mother, or would even that not be enough to roust her to care?

  That was uncharitable of him, perhaps. Or perhaps it was accurate.

  Westing stepped in to announce Josiah Hayes. It was his landlord’s first visit since he’d fully recovered, and Lord David could not remember the last time he’d been so eager to see a guest.

  Well, he could, but he certainly wouldn’t expect her to call again.

  “Lord David,” Josiah greeted him warmly. “So good to see you looking well.”

  “Thank you. Good to see you too.” Lord David gestured for them to sit on either side of his desk and miraculously managed not to ask after Cassandra right away.

  “Well, how go your business ventures?”

  Lord David frowned. “I’ve really been working to understand the businesses you’ve recommended, but I’m afraid I still can’t decide what to do.”

  “Ah. What have you tried?”

  He furrowed his brow. “Sorry?”

  “What have you done as you’ve tried to understand?”

  Oh. Lord David sat up, gesturing at the papers strewn across his desk. “I’ve had Westing go out and visit the various businesses, talk to the owners, and write up reports on how they’re faring.”

  “That’s a good start.”

  Start? He’d hoped it would be enough to finish.

  Clearly he didn’t know enough about business to attempt this on his own. Fortunately, he was talking with a man who’d helped businesses for twenty years. “What more must I do?” he asked.

  “Well, if you can’t understand a business’s character from reading about it, perhaps it’s time to actually visit the business.”

  What? But these were grocers and weavers — tradesmen and merchants. He had never — he didn’t — he couldn’t —

  Josiah continued to regard him with his usual equani
mity, but a slight spark in his eyes seemed to show he knew how much that was asking of Lord David.

  “Why is that so necessary?” he finally managed.

  “I find that it helps with my law clients when I visit with them and get to know them. Building that relationship helps me to understand and advocate for them better.”

  “Ah, interesting.” Lord David concentrated on his desk for a moment. Josiah did make a compelling argument, but . . . Josiah was a man raising five daughters in a single small house. Clearly their family was filled with affection and respect.

  Creating personal connection simply was not part of Lord David’s world. “I’m afraid that isn’t something the nobility are known for.”

  Josiah accepted his argument. “You must consider your purpose, naturally. If this doesn’t suit, you’ll find another way.”

  There it was again: his purpose. Was that personal connection so vital?

  He obviously lacked all talent in that area. It had not been a fortnight since he’d severed what was his longest standing friendship in the entire continent over a perception he was not even certain was entirely accurate anymore. “I shall think on it, thank you. How is your family?”

  “Well. My younger daughters are recovered from their inoculation, though it seems they took it a bit easier than did you.”

  “I should hope they did.” Lord David swallowed and tried to feign disinterest. “And your nieces? How are they adjusting to life in the colonies?”

  “Surprisingly well.” Pride shone in Josiah’s eyes. “May I confide in you?”

  Lord David looked up, touched that the man who was becoming his mentor would want that confidence in him. “To be sure.”

  “When my nieces arrived — even before they arrived — I was quite concerned that living here would be difficult. Any city is an adjustment compared to a country estate.” He paused and nodded to Lord David. “As I’m sure you well know.”

  Lord David acknowledged his point and gestured for him to continue.

  “I was worried they would find our home — our world — very . . . narrow. And that was most distressing, because when you disdain something, you seldom learn to appreciate and respect it.”

  Lord David tried not to shift in his chair. Was this supposed to be a confidence about Cassandra — and her sister — or was this a veiled lecture for him?

  “But my nieces.” Josiah paused to shake his head in wonder. “They have worked tirelessly to help Germantown through the smallpox. I thought, perhaps, two ladies might be a little more . . . overly indulged.”

  “That is admirable of them,” Lord David said. He already knew how talented Cassandra was at easing the pains and discomforts of an illness. It was enough to make a man wish she could always be there.

  A wish that was certainly in vain. He would never know such treatment again, not from her. He’d already sealed his own fate.

  “I respect the charitable acts that they’re doing now so much. I would have taken in my sister’s girls no matter what, but it is a singular blessing to have two people who work so hard in the service of others in my household.” He glanced around and leaned a little closer. “Some of my daughters can tend toward the ridiculous at times.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.” He hoped his smile conveyed the truth: it was impossible to miss that fact, even in his single brief meeting with them.

  “Don’t mistake me: they are very good girls, and I love each of them dearly. I simply hope they will learn a great deal from their cousins.”

  “Would that we all had such an excellent exemplar.”

  “Indeed. You shall have to visit our family again soon.” Josiah clapped, signaling he would be taking his leave momentarily. “Well, do you know what you mean to do next?”

  Cassandra had been using her talents to help the less fortunate. Could he find a way to do something similar?

  Lord David contemplated the papers on his desk. “I think I do. Thank you.”

  At the worktable in Dr. Drinker’s narrow kitchen, Cassandra craned her neck to watch him prepare a mustard plaster. They had only ever prepared oatmeal plasters, so to learn the scientific way of caring for the ill was quite thrilling. It had taken her almost a month to begin this version of an apprenticeship, once the outbreak in Germantown finally seemed more under control.

  At last, her life in the colonies seemed to have a future.

  Only one thing was lacking.

  She pointed to the bowl where he was mixing the mustard seed he’d ground with the pestle. “So you sieve the powder first, you said?” she asked.

  “Yes, I find it makes it easier to mix. Must be careful not to leave it on too long, naturally.”

  “Naturally.” Although she already knew the hazards of mustard plasters, Cassandra filed that information away with the rest of the knowledge she’d gained from two days in his tutelage. She wasn’t quite sure how that fit with the prevailing cold therapy she’d been taught yesterday: keep the room cool and the patient moving if they are capable. Most of the patients in Germantown weren’t able to get up, but her cousins had been ordered to move about a bit as the disease progressed, and that did seem to hasten their recovery.

  Was Lord David well enough to move about these days? She hoped so.

  “Miss Crofton?” Dr. Drinker addressed her. It must have been the second or third time, judging by the tone of the query. He was patient, and she was striving to learn quickly, but she’d already discovered he didn’t appreciate distraction.

  “Apologies. You were saying?”

  He continued with the explanation of the newest method of inoculation. Cassandra would certainly not be comfortable using that method herself — she was woefully unprepared to wield a lancet. Her cousins had both undergone the method with cuts in each arm and a thread with infection material on it left in the cuts for a few days.

  If this new method had rendered Lord David nearly incapacitated, it hardly seemed like a better alternative.

  Dr. Drinker took her hand to point out the proper incision site for the new method. She’d seen Lord David’s scar closely enough already.

  Perhaps it was her imagination, but for a moment, it seemed Dr. Drinker held onto her fingers longer than necessary. She pulled back first. As soon as Dr. Drinker turned away, she watched him for a long moment.

  He was young, perhaps not much older than her. With a fine nose and strong jaw, he was certainly handsome.

  But he was not Lord David.

  Cassandra startled at her own thought. Of course Dr. Drinker wasn’t Lord David. Dr. Drinker had done nothing but show her respect and kindness, two things Lord David had only bestowed upon her when he was brought low, nigh unto death. The two men were nothing alike.

  And yet her heart still yearned to see Lord David again.

  She shook off the thought and refocused on Dr. Drinker’s lesson. This was important, vital to her work among the Germantown patients and beyond, she hoped. This had nothing to do with Lord David.

  “Well,” Dr. Drinker finished. “I believe that’s all I’ll be able to teach you for today.”

  Had she gone distracted again? “Apologies. I just . . . remembered something.”

  “Well, it’s nearly suppertime. I should get you back to your uncle.”

  “Thank you.” Truthfully, it had been a long day, so this distraction hadn’t ruined a full day of learning.

  Dr. Drinker’s home was only two blocks from Uncle Josiah’s law office, so Dr. Drinker escorted her to the brick building. She would wait in the office until the coach arrived. She thanked Dr. Drinker at the front steps, but he insisted on escorting her inside. Cassandra couldn’t deny him the simple courtesy.

  Inside, the office was bustling. Both of the assistants and Uncle Josiah’s apprentice were hurriedly rushing from table to table, practically flinging books from one desk to another.

  “What about this decision?” one called. “From 1692.”

  The other two men ran right past Cassandra as if she wer
en’t there. Dr. Drinker took her arm in a protective gesture.

  She turned to thank him, but a movement behind him caught her attention: Lord David, descending the stairs from his apartment. He couldn’t have been going far without his wig or coat on.

  Cassandra wasn’t sure whether she should attempt to hide or march up to him and demand the respect he owed her. Fortunately, she was spared having to decide because she was quite rooted to the spot.

  Would he be angry to see her here? Did he presume he could banish her from her uncle’s office as well?

  Or was there some chance he might speak kindly to her?

  Lord David took in the chaos with only mild surprise and pivoted to go back upstairs — but he stopped suddenly and turned back to her. “Miss Crofton?”

  She bobbed a curtsy. “Lord David.”

  Lord David and Dr. Drinker regarded one another in obvious curiosity, so Cassandra introduced them.

  “Beaufort? Haven’t I heard of you?” Dr. Drinker asked.

  Lord David raised an eyebrow. “Have you?”

  “Yes, aren’t you the nobleman who’s been talking to businesses in the area? The filature and the tannery?”

  “Ah.” He glanced at Cassandra. Should she leave? “I suppose you have, then.”

  “What were you talking to businesses about?” Cassandra asked.

  Lord David looked to her. She couldn’t quite understand his expression, as if . . . as if he had something more he wished to say to her.

  Oh, she doubted she wanted to hear any more of what he had to say. What would he do, attempt to put her in her place as his inferior again? Reveal what she’d done for him to ruin her?

  Dr. Drinker would be the last person in the city to judge her for taking care of the ill, and yet Cassandra’s stomach quailed.

  “Business,” Lord David finally told Dr. Drinker, although Cassandra had been the one to pose the question to him. His smile was affable enough that the one-word answer didn’t seem dismissive.

  Was this the Lord David she’d known? She watched him for a moment. He looked like the same man, the same striking blue eyes, straight nose and handsome face.

  “Is that your purpose?” Cassandra asked. Somehow, after all the things they’d talked about, she’d hoped there would be more substance to his purpose. Businesses were fine — necessary, of course — but simply increasing his fortune hardly seemed as though it would have required him to leave England, his home.