by Merry Farmer
“Oh?” Dr. Miller’s expression brightened as though she’d treated him to an inviting smile instead of a threatening scowl. “And who have we here?”
“Tad, fetch Mr. Croydon at once,” Marigold ordered, stepping toward the door. “Get out, Dr. Miller.”
“Yes, yes.” Dr. Miller waved away her order. He glanced to Dr. Pearson and said, “Ladies form grudges so easily. They do not understand the inevitability of unfortunate medical conditions.”
Dr. Pearson narrowed his eyes, standing taller. “I know who you are, sir, and I know what you’ve done.”
For the first time since entering the room, Dr. Miller lost his smile. “I am the doctor, sir,” he said. “I’ve been called to treat a patient.” He inched closer to Lavinia’s mother. “Now, ma’am, what seems to be the problem?”
“I…what…that is….” Her mother gaped like a fish, glancing between Dr. Miller, Lavinia, and Dr. Pearson. “Who are you?”
“I’m Dr. Miller, and I’m here to make you feel better,” he answered.
“Oh,” Lavinia’s mother said, blinking in confusion.
“Get out,” Marigold repeated, pointing a shaking finger at the door. “Now.”
“Is that any way to treat the man who has been called to your house to treat the sick?” Dr. Miller protested.
“This woman is suffering from fatigue, if that,” Dr. Pearson said, moving in such a way that Dr. Miller was forced to back toward the door. “I have prescribed rest and nourishment.”
“And who are you?” Dr. Miller asked, attempting to assert himself even as he was forced to step into the hall. Lavinia followed, Marigold just behind her.
“I am Dr. Armand Pearson,” Dr. Pearson said.
A knowing grin came to Dr. Miller’s face. “I know you. You’re that puffed-up, accidental viscount who thinks he’s still a doctor.”
“I am still a doctor,” Dr. Pearson argued.
Dr. Miller chuckled. “A doctor with a title, but not a practice. Whereas I have just been appointed to a prestigious position in an exclusive, private practice in London.”
“You have?” Marigold asked, incredulous. “Who in their right mind would hire the likes of you?”
Dr. Miller was saved from answering as Mr. Croydon turned the corner from the staircase at the end of the hall. “Miller,” he shouted, his voice booming down the hall and making Lavinia flinch. “Get out of my house this instant.”
Dr. Miller flinched toward Lavinia. “I’m relying on you to save me, my dear,” he murmured.
“Me?” Lavinia yelped, taking a step away from him. That step knocked her squarely into Dr. Pearson, who was forced to grip her around the waist to keep her from tumbling over. His touch sent electric jolts of panic through her, but she couldn’t seem to move away from him.
Mr. Croydon marched down the hall like a general going to war. He didn’t stop when he reached their flustered group. Instead, he approached Dr. Miller, grabbing a fistful of his lapels and nearly wrenching him off his feet.
“Get out of my house and off my property this instant,” he seethed, eyes fiery with anger. “If I get so much as a whiff of you again, I will cut you into a thousand pieces and throw you into the fire, where you belong.”
Lavinia was convinced Dr. Miller was about to soil himself. His jaw flapped, and he glanced desperately around. His gaze fell on Lavinia. “B-but I was just making the acquaintance of this lovely lady.”
“You leave Lady Lavinia out of this,” Mr. Croydon seethed.
Lavinia hid her wince in her hand.
“Lady Lavinia, is it?” Dr. Miller seemed to perk up a fraction. “I love a red-head.”
Mr. Croydon responded with a growl as he jerked Dr. Miller off his feet and propelled him down the hall toward the staircase. “I am giving my staff orders to shoot you on sight,” he said as they turned the corner.
They could still be heard—Mr. Croydon threatening and Dr. Miller protesting—for a few more seconds before calm returned to the hall. Lavinia let out a breath, moving her hand from her face to her stomach. She wanted to hide again as soon as she realized Dr. Pearson was staring at her with narrowed eyes.
“You do have red hair,” he said, as if just realizing the fact, even though they’d seen each other a dozen times before.
Lavinia still wore her traveling hat, but she managed to touch the chignon at the back of her neck. “Unfortunately, yes,” she whispered, voice shaking. There were more important things to consider at the moment than the color of her hair, though. She turned to Marigold, who was still pale and shaking. “Are you all right?” she asked, moving to take her dear friend’s hands.
Marigold was silent and still for a moment before nodding slowly. “I will be. I need a cup of tea.”
“I’ll come with you,” Lavinia said.
They hadn’t gone more than two steps before her mother’s shrill call of, “Lavinia, get back here this instant,” snagged her.
Lavinia cringed. Of all things, Marigold smiled, some color returning to her cheeks. “Go on,” she said. “I’ll be in the garden with Katya and Mariah. Join us when you escape your dragon.”
Lavinia nodded, her gut churning all over again. She watched Marigold head down the hall as her mother called, “Lavinia,” once more. But when she turned around to face the inevitable, Dr. Pearson was still standing by the door, studying her with a frown.
Swallowing, hand still pressed to her stomach, she moved closer to him. “Please allow me to apologize for my mother, Dr. Pearson,” she whispered, darting a quick glance into her mother’s room, where she sat upright on the chaise. Lavinia banked on the hope that as long as her mother saw her speaking to Dr. Pearson she wouldn’t intervene. “She has ideas,” she continued, glancing up into Dr. Pearson’s eyes. My, but he was tall.
A faint smile touched his lips. “This is not the first time a meddling mama has tried to tempt me into bondage by throwing her daughter in my path.”
Lavinia’s cheeks burned with shame and she glanced down, mortified. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” he said with a cringe, reaching toward her, then pulling his hand away. “I didn’t mean to offend or embarrass you by saying that. I have a horrible habit of speaking out of turn.”
She risked looking at him once more. “Believe me, sir, it is not you who offend and embarrass me.” She cast another miserable look at her mother, who seemed to be straining to hear what they were saying.
“I’m sorry for that as well,” Dr. Pearson replied, a note of genuine sympathy in his voice. “It must be frustrating to be a woman at the mercy of her mother.”
A flicker of hope formed in Lavinia’s heart. Perhaps he did understand. “The thing is,” she confided, feeling bold but lowering her voice further, “I came here to escape her.”
“Oh?” He arched a brow.
“Mrs. Croydon, Lady Stanhope, and Lady Dunsford are three of my closest friends. We’ve hatched a plot to separate me from Mama so that I can, at last, be the independent woman I long to be.”
Dr. Pearson’s expression twitched to puzzlement. “You wish to be an independent woman?” When she nodded, he went on with, “Most women I’ve known wish to marry an important man and to be a mother.”
“Not me,” Lavinia said. She tilted her head to the side. “I wouldn’t mind being a mother, but not now. I want to taste freedom. I want to make my own decisions and stand on my own two feet for once in my life.”
Dr. Pearson met her declaration with an indulgent smile. Lavinia was instantly aware that she’d overstepped her bounds. Heat flooded her face once again, and she lowered her head and her hands started to shake.
“I admire your determination,” Dr. Pearson said, surprising her. When Lavinia glanced up, there was a distant, almost painful look in his eyes. “There are few things more important than determining your own path in life.”
“Yes,” Lavinia agreed. She smiled, the funny feeling that Dr. Pearson needed more smiles in his life growing inside her. He met her
look with kindness in his eyes. A spark ignited inside her, like someone striking a match to light a lantern that would show the way.
“Lavinia?” Her mother’s impatient snap doused the fire and the feeling. “Lavinia, come here at once. Whatever are you saying to Lord Helm?”
“I believe he prefers to be called Dr. Pearson, Mama,” Lavinia said with an apologetic look for Dr. Pearson. She stepped toward the door.
“Either will do,” Dr. Pearson sighed. “I suppose I should get used to ‘Lord Helm’. Or you could call me Armand.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that,” Lavinia said, ducking into her mother’s room and away from the odd feelings Dr. Pearson gave her.
She didn’t look back, but somehow she knew that Dr. Pearson walked away. “Would you like me to fetch some tea for you, Mama?” she asked, glancing toward Anne, the only servant who had stayed in the room.
“No, no,” her mother said, irritated. She paused, then looked to Anne. “On second thought, yes. That would be nice. Fetch me some tea, girl.” Anne jumped into action, leaving the room. “And shut the door behind you.”
As soon as Anne closed the door, Lavinia’s spirits sank in advance of the lecture she knew she was about to get. “Mama,” she started, crossing to the chaise.
“That was a golden opportunity, and you missed it,” her mother hissed. “I couldn’t have set things up for you more magnificently.”
“Mama, Dr. Pearson does not need a charity case like me throwing herself at him,” Lavinia said, plopping onto the corner of the chaise with far less grace than the way she’d sat while Dr. Pearson was there.
“Charity case?” her mother nearly shouted. “You are anything but, my dear. You are a beautiful young woman of intelligence and talent. Thanks to my instructions, you are perfectly suited for the life of a viscountess.”
“Mama, please don’t throw me at Dr. Pearson’s head during this house party,” Lavinia begged. “That’s not what I’m here for, not at all. In fact—”
“That is exactly what you are here for,” her mother interrupted her, eyes blazing with indignation. “And what is wrong with Lord Helm? He is unmarried, he needs a wife to organize his estate and run his social life, and he is friends with the husbands of your closest friends. It is an ideal match, if you ask me.”
“But I don’t want to marry,” Lavinia sighed, shoulders slumping.
“Blasphemy,” her mother gasped.
Lavinia rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to marry right now. I want to experience life first. I want to—”
“You will want what you’re told to want, Lavinia,” her mother snapped. “I have not gone to all this trouble and expense to bring you up right, clothe you fashionably, and ensure that you have made well-placed friends so that you can end up a spinster on a dusty shelf.”
“But Mama—”
“Mrs. Croydon is hosting a ball tomorrow night to inaugurate her house party,” her mother blazed on. “Along with her guests, half the wealthy, titled people in the country will be in attendance. You do not have to endear yourself to Lord Helm—though I think he is by far the best choice for you—but you will engage yourself to someone by the end of the month or I will not be responsible for my actions.”
Her mother’s voice took on a pleading, suffering shrillness at the end of her speech, so rather than argue, Lavinia simply sighed. “Yes, Mama,” she said, not because she was inclined to follow her mother’s dictates, but because she couldn’t go on protesting without developing a serious megrim.
“Good,” her mother said, patting her hand and smiling once more. “Now, go take tea with your friends. I’m sure they’d counsel you on the same course of action as I am.”
Lavinia rose without the heart to reply to her mother. She headed for the door, but once she was in the hall, she leaned against the wall with a heavy sigh. Already she could see that her Winterberry Park holiday wasn’t turning out to be the glorious bid for freedom that she’d hoped it would be.
Chapter 3
The day after the official start of the house party was as beautiful as anyone could have hoped for, with sunny skies, balmy temperatures, and not a hint of rain in the air. Armand was a fool for not being able to appreciate it, but the gnawing restlessness that had been growing in his gut wouldn’t leave him alone.
He was in no mood to socialize with the other guests, or even his friends, as the ball that would draw close to a hundred people from across Wiltshire got underway. The letter that had arrived for him that morning had started a clock ticking in his head and put hope back in his heart.
“Dear Dr. Pearson.” He remembered the words as though etched on his soul. “I am eagerly awaiting your response to the offer for employment at Mayo Hospital. My ship departs from Exeter in a fortnight, and I sincerely hope you will be aboard. I cannot stress the importance of a speedy and definitive reply to this offer as arrangements must be made at once. Yours, Dr. T. Maqsood.”
Armand sighed as he paced through the flowerbeds lining one wall of the tremendous hedge maze Alex’s gardeners had installed that spring. In just two weeks, his life could be restored to normal. He longed to send Dr. Maqsood an affirmative reply with every fiber of his being, but the looming sense of responsibility pressing down on him stayed his hand. Malcolm would likely sail to India after him to drag him home, the same way he’d tracked Basil to Cumbria and forced him to do his political duty. Perhaps there was a way to delay taking up the position in India until after whatever bill his friends needed him to vote for was passed. Though knowing them, once one bill was passed there would be another and another and another. But he had to practice medicine again. He had to.
The sun dipped toward the horizon in the west, and Armand felt his hopes sinking with it. He could cast aside the duties he’d never asked for in the first place and run away to a place where his calling took him and never be forgiven, or he could help his friends and wither inside. Neither choice was palatable.
“Lavinia,” he heard Lady Prior call somewhere around the corner of the maze. The sound of her voice made him freeze, lest she find him. “Lavinia, where are you? That doctor is looking for you.”
A shiver passed down Armand’s spine. He most certainly was not looking for Lady Lavinia. He launched into motion, slinking away into the maze and down a side path to get as far away from the meddling mama as he could.
Not that he had an issue with Lady Lavinia. In fact, he had found her to be surprisingly shrewd about her mother’s dealings the day before. He’d barely noticed her in all of their previous meetings. She was shy and lacked the confidence he preferred in women. He hadn’t even noticed how vibrant and pretty her hair was until the odious Dr. Miller pointed it out. Armand had caught himself imagining what Lady Lavinia’s flame-like hair would look like unbound and spread across his pillow as he’d settled in for bed that night. And, of course, those thoughts had led to others, which had made it impossible to sleep. But to be caught in a web spun by a marriage-minded mother? Not even flaming hair, enticing curves, and soft, pink lips were worth that price.
He rounded a corner of the maze, picking up his pace to outrun the arousing thoughts that nipped at his heels…and other places. But without looking where he was going, he smacked headlong into Malcolm Campbell. Both of them grunted with the impact and muttered a string of curses.
“Armand, what the devil are you doing out here?” Malcolm growled, his brogue thicker than usual.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Armand said. “Don’t you know there’s a party going on?”
“That’s precisely why I’m here,” Malcolm answered, lowering his voice to a dour grumble.
Armand couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “Katya giving you a hard time?” he ventured, falling into step with Malcolm as they wound their way through the maze and away from the house.
Malcolm sent him a peevish look but didn’t try to deny it. “That woman is intent on vexing me until I can’t see straight. She’s like a plague of locusts.�
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“Ah, so she hasn’t let you back into her bed yet,” Armand said, his lips twitching with mirth.
Malcolm stopped and glared at him. “I do not…this isn’t about…I wouldn’t if she were the last…shut up.” He hunched his shoulders and marched sullenly on.
Armand caught up to him, chuckling. “Maybe if you were nice to Katya. I hear flowers can work wonders.”
“I’m as nice to Katya Marlowe as she deserves,” Malcolm muttered. There was still enough light from the sunset for Armand to see his friend’s blush. “She needs to get down off her high horse and accept that there are some things a woman should do and some she shouldn’t.”
“This from the man who professes to be fighting for the rights of women,” Armand said, his voice thick with sarcasm.
Malcolm stopped, stepping just enough in front of Armand to force him to stop as well. “I’m doing far more to advance the rights of women than you are. Unless moping about and bewailing your good fortune is considered help these days.”
Armand’s good humor vanished. “I have nothing to add to the argument that you lot haven’t already put forth,” he insisted. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to put your time in with the rest of us,” Malcolm answered, a typically Glaswegian fierceness in his eyes. “And not run away to India so that you can avoid your responsibilities.”
“It’s not running away,” Armand insisted. “I could be of real use there.”
“You could be of real use here,” Malcolm said, then studied him with narrowed eyes. “You’re actually thinking of doing it, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am,” Armand said, louder than he should have. It grated that his friends might have thought his announcement was idle banter and not a serious consideration. “You all seem to forget that I have been, first and foremost, a physician for over twenty years now. Medicine is all I know, all I love.”