by Wendy Vella
“Max... Mr. Hunter?” He saw the flare of joy as her eyes ran over his face, and then it was gone, replaced by confusion. “Why are you here?”
“You look beautiful,” he said, not wanting to give her an answer. He’d let her deliberately believe he had nothing to his name. No money or house, when the truth was very different.
“I-I— Thank you.” Her eyes ran over his clothes, taking in the cut of his jacket and shine of his boots. He saw the moment she came to the right answer.
“Y-you’re Mr. Huntington?”
“Essie, I never told you about my life because—”
“Mr. Huntington, this is Miss Sinclair and the Duchess of Raven.”
Silver interrupted him as he made his way to where Max and Essie stood. At his side was Eden, Essie’s sister.
“Your Grace.” Max bowed low, and when he rose he saw the hurt and anger on Essie’s face.
“You are Mr. Huntington?”
“I am.” Max watched her expression as she slowly came to the realization of just who and what he was.
“Is this your warehouse, sir?”
“Essie—”
“Please answer the question.”
“It is.”
“Y-you played me for a fool.” The whispered words made him wince.
“I never denied or confirmed your words, Essex. You came to the conclusion I was penniless on your own.”
“You told me you had no one and nowhere to go. You told me your name was Mr. Hunter. That is a lie!”
Max winced. Yes, he had said those words.
“If you will just give me some time to explain, I—”
“I have had more than enough of men making a fool out of me to stand here and listen to more lies.” She was furious now the shock had worn off.
“Essie, what is going on here?”
This was the sister she believed outshone her in every way. Yes, she was pretty, but her beauty could not compare with Essie’s.
“What is going on is that we are leaving, Eden. Come along,” Essie said.
As Max was standing in her way, she could do nothing but glare at him.
“Please move.”
“Let me talk, I deserve that much.” He touched her simply because he could not do otherwise. The shock traveled up his arm as their skin connected, and then she was stepping back and away from him.
“There is nothing to discuss, Mr. Huntington. Good day.”
So cold and polite; all the fire had gone from her. The lovely healer was treating him to the disdain that he deserved. You took her innocence and left. How is she meant to behave?
Before Max could stop her, she’d turned and was dragging her sister by the hand down the row of trestle tables. They then came back up the next.
Frustrated, and yes, aroused from just seeing her, inhaling her scent, Max spoke. “I never believed you a coward,” he said as she drew level.
“I call it self-preservation, sir.” She looked at him briefly; her eyes were no longer expressionless, they were now charged with the heat of anger. “You see, I tend to trust on short acquaintance, and the results are never in my favor.”
“Essie, I just want to talk.” She seemed almost unreachable, miles apart from the woman he had met at Oak’s Knoll, the gentle, kindhearted healer. In fact, she looked just like him on any given day. Everything shut away, no weakness showing.
“There is nothing we need say to each other, Mr. Huntington, and please call me Miss Sinclair.”
Max was used to getting what he wanted. He rarely, if ever, failed, but looking at that elevated chin, he thought that perhaps he was going to have work a great deal harder with Miss Essex Sinclair. It surprised him that he wanted to do just that, especially as any path that led to her would surely spell trouble for him.
“I will leave if you wish to purchase your supplies, Miss Sinclair.”
“No, thank you.”
“Stubborn to the point of stupidity,” he snapped, his own temper tweaking. “I had thought you more intelligent than that.” Max resorted to needling her to get a response. He knew he had no right to feel the bite of anger and frustration, and yet he did. “A healer does whatever they must for their patients, I believe you once said to me.”
She looked at him briefly; he saw the flare of emotion, and then she had closed herself away once again.
“A healer must also do what it takes to keep themselves safe, sir.”
“I am no threat to you!”
“As you will never be again, Mr. Huntington.”
With those words she continued on down the row and out the door, leaving Max alone, as he’d always been, only this time it was not by choice.
Chapter Twelve
“To hell with that!” Max roared, stalking after her. He reached her carriage as she did.
His hand stopped the door from opening.
“I need your help.”
“I do not want to help you ever again, Mr. Huntington. So please step away from the carriage.”
“I have a boy in there,” he pointed to the warehouse next to the one she had just left. “He is sick, and unless I can get him help, he will likely die.”
The duchess was looking from Max to Essie, eyes wide as she tried to understand what was taking place.
“Call a doctor.”
“Essie!” Her sister looked horrified.
“I am not asking you to speak to me. I merely want you to look at Peter. He struggles to breathe, and today he is worse. I want to help him, as I’m sure do you, but unlike you I do not know how.” Max knew her soft heart would never allow her to walk away.
“How do I know it is not another lie on your part?”
“I would never lie about something as important as this, as you very well know.”
She faced him. “I know nothing about you, and do not care to.”
“Then care for the boy and leave.” Max knew he’d won when her shoulders slumped.
“Very well, take me to him, but I have nothing with me to tend him.”
“As you see, I do,” Max said, which made the sister’s lips twitch, but not Essie’s.
“Do you wish to stay here, Eden?”
“Not on your life,” the duchess said, taking her sister’s arm. “Lead on, Mr. Huntington.”
No one spoke as he led the way into the second building. Peter, he knew, would be seated down the end, sorting supplies. He could do little else, as his strength let him down, and while Max continually told him he need not work when he was feeling unwell, the boy insisted upon it.
Max was proud of what he’d achieved, and usually happy to walk through his warehouses, but not today. Today he wanted to turn and look at Essie, soak in her beauty and see her smile at him again. Something that was not looking likely in the near future.
He located Peter, and the boy struggled to his feet as they approached. The wheeze in his breath made Max feel helpless.
“Don’t rise, boy.” Max laid a hand on one bony shoulder and settled him gently back in the seat. Small and thin, Peter had pain etched in every line of his face. He was twelve years old, and his eyes were those of a much older person.
“You t-told me I cannot sit in the presence of ladies, Max.” His speech was labored, his breathing choppy.
“I know, but as one of them is here to look at your chest, you’ll just have to sit when she tells you to, so you may as well stay there,” Max reasoned with him.
“One of them’s looking at my chest?” The boy looked worried. He’d suffered far too much pain in his life already for one so young. “But that doctor you took me to last week said he couldn’t help, and that was after he’d taken more blood.”
“I know, Peter, but I think Miss Sinclair may be able to.”
“Hello.” Max stepped aside as Essie moved closer. “Will you let me help you, Peter? I know quite a bit about tending people, and I promise you there will be no more bloodletting.”
The smile she gave the boy made the muscles in Max’s stomach tight
en.
The boy nodded, still looking wary.
“Does it hurt to inhale, Peter?”
The boy nodded. “It’s hard to breathe sometimes.”
Max watched as she dropped to her knees beside him. She tore off her gloves and threw them to the floor beside her, uncaring where they landed or in what.
“I’m going to lift up your shirt now, dear, and look at your ribs.”
Peter’s body was painfully thin, and Max cursed again the man who had mistreated him. He watched the skin suck in between his ribs with each breath he struggled to draw.
“Is your breathing worse when it’s cold, Peter?”
He nodded.
“And when you are sick, or have the sniffles?”
He nodded.
“Is it always clear fluid that comes from your nose?”
The boy nodded again, although color had ridden high in his cheeks. Max could hear the rasp of his breathing as he tried to draw air into his lungs.
“Blanket, please,” Essie said, lifting her eyes to look at Max, cool and impersonal. “And a length of soft material that he can wear around his neck. It needs to be long enough to wrap around twice.”
“I’ll get it, Mr. Huntington.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Floyd,” Max said to the woman.
“Now, Peter, I want you to get on your knees and lean on the chair. Can you do that for me?”
The boy looked to Max, who in turn nodded. So he struggled to rise, with Essie’s help, then got to his knees. She positioned his arms as she wanted them.
“You see, the problem is, Peter, that when you tense your body and hunch your shoulders, you are closing your chest, and then it is harder to breathe. In this position, you have opened the airways.”
Max saw instantly that Essie was right, and wondered again how she could not believe she was special, not believe she was an angel.
“Now this is the tricky part, Peter, but between us we will get through it. I am going to rest my hand on your stomach, and I want you to breathe deeply and push it out. Because what is happening is that you are only taking small, shallow breaths, when in fact you need to be taking big deep ones, right through your body.”
“How do you know my sister, Mr. Huntington?”
Max looked at the duchess, who had moved to his side. She had gray eyes, unlike her sister, and they were narrowed and focused on him.
“Pardon?” Max kept his expression carefully blank.
“My sister knows you, Mr. Huntington, and I want to know from where,” she whispered. “Her reaction to you was instant, and her behavior tells me she is not happy with you. Tell me why?”
“I’m sure if your sister wishes you to know the details she will tell you, your Grace.”
“She’s terribly closemouthed,” the duchess said, surprising him. “And getting information out of her that she is unwilling to share usually takes a great deal of skill and bribery.”
That surprised a snort out of him, which he was immediately ashamed of.
“Forgive my rudeness, your Grace.”
“Mr. Huntington, I have three brothers and three sisters. None of them, I assure you, would give a thought to snorting in my presence, therefore there is nothing to forgive... unless of course you have upset my sister in any way I find unforgivable. Then, I assure you, snorting will be the least of your worries.”
Max shot the duchess a look to see if he’d heard her right. She was smiling, but not with her eyes.
“For pity’s sake, Mr. Huntington, smile, and don’t show my sister we are conversing in any but a polite manner.”
“Most would be surprised were I to smile,” he muttered, doing as she asked.
“Now, tell me how you know my sister.”
“Can we perhaps leave it that we do know each other, but it is up to her to tell you how?” There was no use in denying it, as Essie had shown her hand when first they met.
The duchess did not look happy with Max’s answer.
“I’m with child, Mr. Huntington. Surely you can see how easily I am upset. My nerves, you know....”
Max couldn’t help it; he snorted again.
“Now, your Grace, that may work on your husband, however it will not work on me. But please, allow me to offer my congratulations for the happy event... whenever it may be.”
Her mouth pursed, and there was definitely a sparkle in her eyes, which she tried to blink away.
“How frustrating.” She sighed. “You’re not related to my husband, are you, as he is not easily manipulated either.”
“I don’t think there is a duke in my lineage, no.”
Her eyes studied him for long drawn-out seconds, and Max resisted the urge to shuffle his feet at the intensity of her gaze.
“Very well, I shall have to resort to bribery to get the information I want.”
“It’s probably your best bet,” Max added.
“Peter is not pleased to have someone else examine him, but my sister has a way about her that soothes people. He is already telling her what she wants to know.”
Max couldn’t hear a thing from where they stood, as Essie had her head lowered and Peter was whispering, but he knew how gentle Essie was when she was caring for someone.
“I have excellent hearing, Mr. Huntington.”
“So do I, normally.”
She smiled, and he saw Essie in the look.
“Clear the table, please, and lay the blanket on it.”
Essie didn’t look at the man behind her, she focused all her attention on the sweet little boy who was struggling to breathe. Max, she would think about later, when she was alone in her room.
“Does your breathing feel easier now, Peter?”
He nodded, and she could hear it was, although it was still loud and raspy.
“Now, I am going to lift you onto the table, Peter. I assure you what we are about to do is no less taxing than what you have done, so there is no need to worry.”
“I will lift him.”
“Your injury?” Essie said as Max moved closer.
“Is healed.”
Max lifted the boy gently into his arms, and held his free hand out to her. Not taking it would be churlish, which was exactly how she was feeling. Rising unaccompanied, she directed Max to put Peter down.
“Your breathing is better, Peter,” Max said.
She watched as he rested a hand on the boy’s forehead, looking down at him. The boy looked at Max with hero worship, and Essie wondered about their relationship. In fact, she wondered about all the boys she had seen in here.
Not that I care. Scoundrel. How dared he mislead her as to his situation! The man likely had more money than her family.
Picking up her gloves, she tucked them together into a ball, and opened her reticule and put them inside. She then lowered it to the boy’s stomach.
“I am going to show you an exercise, Peter, and I wish you to do it as often as you can. At least at night before you close your eyes, and in the morning when you open them.”
The boy nodded.
“I want you to breathe deeply, and in doing so lift my reticule into the air, and then lower it.”
The first breath was too shallow.
“Push your stomach out with the inhale, Peter, and in when you exhale.”
By the fourth he was doing it.
“Well, that is impressive.” Eden clapped her hands as she moved to Peter’s side. “You have picked that up a great deal faster than my sibling, Dorrie. She took at least a week.”
“There, you see, Peter, you have impressed a duchess,” Essie said, moving closer to Max.
“May I have a private word with you, Mr. Huntington?”
“Of course.” He took her arm and led her to a room that was used to store supplies. It had a door, and a window on the outer wall.
“I shall return shortly, Eden. I need to speak with Mr. Huntington.”
“Go.” Her sister waved her away.
Max ushered her into the room; once they wer
e inside, he closed the door behind them.
“Please open the door. I merely wish Peter not to hear us converse.”
“Your hands are shaking, Essex. You have no need to be nervous around me.”
She pushed them behind her back when he reached for them. She never wanted this man’s touch again.
“Miss Sinclair, and I am not nervous around you, my worry for the boy made them shake.” Essie cursed herself for a fool for saying the words. No one knew how scared she sometimes became treating patients.
“Why?”
“Be quiet and listen, please. I wish to discuss the boy.”
“But I wish to discuss why your hands are shaking. Does this happen often? Or is it when you treat very sick people?”
No one knew how she sometimes reacted after dealing with a very ill person, and she did not want this man to be the only one.
“If you will not tell me that, then let me say I did not deliberately mislead you, Essex.”
“Miss Sinclair, and that has no bearing on the boy.”
He moved closer to where she stood, and she took a backward step.
“I left Oak’s Knoll—”
“What are Peter’s living conditions?” she interrupted him, her eyes on his left shoulder. “It is imperative that he not live in a damp, moldy room.”
“As of two weeks ago, warm and dry.”
“Good, and is there plenty of nourishing food? Fruits and vegetables?”
“There is.”
Essie nodded, hating that she was so aware of him, this man she knew nothing about—actually, that wasn’t true, she now knew he was a wealthy merchant. Her brothers or uncle could likely fill in the rest of the gaps, were she to ask them, as they knew a great many people just like him.
“Essie, I left because—”
“I don’t want you to speak about that. I want to hear no more lies, plus my sister has excellent hearing, so please lower your voice.”
“She can surely not hear from where she is standing?”
Yes, she can, but Essie did not say the words out loud.
“My sister-in-law runs a house for children who live on the streets. If at any time Peter is not able to have those things I spoke of, please let me know, and I will send him there.”