First Comes Scandal

by Julia Quinn

  He looked so serious; it made her smile. It made her want to make him smile. She reached up and touched his cheek. “Surely more than pleasant?”

  He paused before saying, “It can be difficult for a woman the first time.”

  She stared up at him. Could he be speaking from experience? “But you haven’t . . . I mean . . . Not with a woman who hasn’t . . .”

  He shook his head. “No. No, of course not. But I . . .” He cleared his throat. “I’ve spoken with people.”

  Georgie touched his cheek. He looked terribly embarrassed, and she loved him for it. She supposed some women wanted a husband with leagues of experience. Leagues of experience with leagues of women.

  Ugh.

  She liked that Nicholas had not been with many women before her. She didn’t want him comparing her to other women. And after the way society had treated her following the whole Freddie Oakes affair, she’d decided that if it wasn’t good for the goose, the gander could damn well do without too.

  “Georgie?” Nicholas said with soft amusement. “Where’d you go?”

  “Hmm?”

  He kissed the corner of her mouth. “You look far too serious right now.”

  “Just thinking.”

  “Thinking, eh? You shouldn’t be thinking.”

  She could not help but smile. “No?”

  “If you have the capacity for thought, I must not be doing a very good job of this.”

  “No, not at all, I—Oh!”

  His hand continued to do devilish things to the back of her knee. “Like that, did you?”

  “Where did you learn this?”

  He grinned and shrugged. “Making most of it up as I go along.”

  Georgie sighed, then sighed again. Because this was really just the loveliest way to pass a long carriage ride.

  And lucky for them, they had all day.

  Chapter 17

  By the end of the day, Georgie was in a mostly wonderful mood.

  Mostly.

  Cat-Head’s hammock had held for a stunning five hours. Five glorious, lovely hours of kissing, then napping, then kissing again. And somewhere in the middle of all the napping and the kissing, Nicholas treated her to an incredibly detailed, thoroughly exciting, gruesomely recounted tale of the previous evening’s compound fracture.

  Georgie was riveted. She wasn’t quite as immune to the gore as she might have liked—her stomach lurched when Nicholas described how he slid the bone back into place, but only a little, and she was sure it was something she could get used to with a little practice. She said so to Nicholas, and he admitted that he felt the same way when he was first beginning his studies. Some of his classmates had even fainted. They had taken a ribbing, but apparently it was all quite normal and to be expected. Almost a rite of passage for any new group of medical students.

  Georgie was not used to tales of men fainting. Whenever someone gossiped about someone swooning it always seemed to be a woman. She’d long suspected, though, that this had less to do with a so-called weaker constitution and more to do with corsets. As someone who knew quite intimately the sensation of losing one’s breath, Georgie could not imagine who had thought it was a good idea to strap people into garments that squeezed the ribs, compressed the lungs and generally made it impossible to do anything that required energy or movement.

  Or breathing.

  The case of her sister and the fire at court was a prime example. Billie was the most athletic and coordinated person Georgie knew, male or female. She had once ridden a horse backward, for heaven’s sake. If she couldn’t manage to walk through a room in hoops and a corset without setting someone on fire, Georgie could not imagine who could.

  Very well, hundreds of girls had made it through presentation at court without committing accidental arson, but Georgie was sure that not a one of them had been the least bit comfortable in her gown.

  At any rate, no one ever talked about men fainting, so Georgie was not-so-secretly delighted to hear that more than one of them hit the floor the first time they saw a body cut open.

  It seemed wrong to her that women could not be doctors. Surely a woman doctor could do a better job treating female patients. She had to have a better familiarity with the female anatomy than a man did. It was simple common sense.

  She’d said as much to Nicholas. He’d looked over at her with a considering sort of expression, then said, “You’re probably right.”

  Georgie was already leaning forward, girding herself for an argument. When none came, she sat back, momentarily speechless.

  “What is it?” Nicholas asked.

  “It has just occurred to me that most of the time, adages become adages because they are true.”

  This made him grin, and he turned more directly to face her. “What do you mean?”

  “You took the wind right out of my sails.”

  His smile grew. “Is that a good thing?”

  “It is for you.” She, on the other hand, didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

  He laughed. “Did you expect me to argue that women should not be allowed to become doctors?”

  “I didn’t expect such a wholesale capitulation.”

  “It isn’t capitulation if I was never on the other side of the issue,” he pointed out.

  “No, I suppose not.” She thought about that for a moment. “I’ve never heard you express an opinion on the subject, though.”

  “It’s not something to which I’ve given much thought,” he admitted with a shrug. “It doesn’t affect me directly.”

  “Doesn’t it?” She frowned. His statement bothered her, although she could not precisely put her finger on the reason why. “If you worked alongside women,” she said, thinking aloud, “you might view your patients differently. You might see the entire world differently.”

  He regarded her for a long moment, then said, “This conversation seems to have taken a very serious turn.”

  She nodded slowly, looking down at their hands when his fingers found hers. He gave a little tug, and she let herself be pulled into his embrace.

  “I don’t want to be serious right now,” he murmured.

  Nor did she, not when he was whispering naughty words against her neck.

  And that was how the morning went. Kissing and conversation, conversation and kissing. It was enough to make a woman think that a two-week journey by carriage might actually be something to look forward to.

  But all too soon it was midday, and the traveling party came to a stop. And so did everything wonderful—including Cat-Head’s success in the hammock.

  Georgie had to take him out. It would be unconscionable to leave any living creature like that for more than a few hours at a time, no matter how comfortable he seemed to be.

  All three cats had a little break, as did most human members of the traveling party, and then they all piled back in to their respective carriages. Judyth and Blanche curled up in their baskets (Blanche only after being bribed with an extra piece of cheese), but Cat-Head was having none of it. The sound he made when Georgie attempted to put him back in his hammock . . .

  “Good night,” Nicholas exclaimed. “Are you gutting him?”

  Georgie turned and glared, even as Cat-Head pushed against her forehead with his right front paw. “Do you want to try?”

  “God no.”

  Georgie moved the paw from her forehead and slid it through the appropriate hole in the hammock webbing, only to be rewarded with a yowl and another paw, this one under her chin. “I don’t know why he’s making such a fuss,” she grunted, dislodging the second paw from her person. “He was perfectly fine this morning.”

  Nicholas rubbed his chin. “Do you think he can remember that far back?”

  The look Georgie gave him was not particularly warm.

  “You yourself said he’s not very bright.”

  “He’s bright enough to remember this morning,” she retorted.

  Nicholas did not look swayed.

  And thus began the s
econd half of the day’s travel.

  After suffering through nearly an hour of ungodly howling, Georgie finally found a position that Cat-Head seemed to sanction, and she spent the next three hours rocking him like a baby. At one point Nicholas offered to take over for her, but Cat-Head had clearly decided it was Georgie or no one, and after five minutes, it was agreed that it was best for everyone’s sanity if Georgie took him back.

  By the time they reached their designated stopping point in Alconbury, Georgie’s arms were so tired her muscles were shaking. And if the physical discomfort wasn’t enough, she was full of inner turmoil. Every time she looked at Nicholas she remembered how they had spent the morning. She shouldn’t have felt shy, but she did, and—

  No. She didn’t feel shy. That’s not what this was.

  She waited for another burst of clarity, another eureka moment that might define this strange, conflicted feeling in her chest, but none was forthcoming.

  All she knew was that she had feelings.

  About Nicholas.

  For Nicholas?

  No. That was impossible. She’d known him her whole life. It was illogical to think that everything between them would change just because they’d placed rings on their fingers. It had only been a day, for heaven’s sake.

  “Georgie?” the man in question murmured.

  She looked down. He’d already exited the carriage and was holding out his hand to help her disembark. He looked tired, although not nearly as tired as she felt.

  “Let’s get something to eat,” he said as she put her hand in his.

  She nodded, letting him help her down. Her feelings—whatever they were—were going to have to wait. Firstly, because she could not be certain of the nature of his feelings, and she was not prepared to ponder the possibility of one-sidedness, and secondly—and more urgently—she was so hungry she would have happily eaten an entire cow.

  Cooked, of course. She wasn’t a complete savage.

  It was late enough when they arrived that everyone decided to eat right away, and she and Nicholas were led to what was clearly the second nicest spot in the dining room, at the end of a long table, scarred by use, but thankfully clean. A sour-faced couple and their sour-faced son sat at the other end of the table, which was closer to the fire. They looked to be almost done with their meal, but Georgie was too tired and hungry to wait for them to vacate their seats. She’d be warm enough at the far end of the table.

  “Are you hungry?” Nicholas asked as he held out her chair.

  “Famished. And you?”

  “The same.” He took his seat across from her and set his hat on the table beside him. His hair was askew, with bits and pieces sticking out in unexpected directions. It would never do in a formal drawing room, but here on the road she found it charming.

  “I’m half ready to eat the meat off their plates,” he said with a tip of his head toward the family at the far end of the table.

  But when a youth came by with cheese and a basket of bread, Georgie watched Nicholas stop following the food with his eyes as soon as he got a glimpse of the boy’s forearm.

  “That’s a nasty burn,” Nicholas said. He reached for the boy’s sleeve. “May I?”

  The boy started to snatch his arm away, but he couldn’t due to the bottle tucked under his arm. He quickly set it on the table, then tried to pull his too-short sleeve down as he took a step back.

  “It’s nothing, sir,” the youth said, shooting a look over his shoulder. “I’ll be back with the rest of your food in a moment.” He gave a quick bow, said a “sir” and a “ma’am,” and fled.

  Georgie watched Nicholas fix his gaze on the doorway through which the boy had disappeared. She watched him take a deep breath, look at the spread before him, hungry eyes flitting from the bread, to the cheese, and to the bottle of wine.

  And then again at the door.

  And back to the bread, which he started to reach for, then stopped. It was as if he only had enough energy to do one thing, and thinking about the boy meant he couldn’t figure out what to do with the bread.

  He looked hungry . . . and resigned.

  Georgie wanted to kiss him.

  “He’ll be back in a moment with soup,” she said. Though to be honest, she had no idea if soup or the boy would be forthcoming. They waited, inexplicably leaving the food untouched, until a nervous-looking young woman came with two steaming bowls. She set them on the table and turned to leave, but Nicholas caught her with a “Mistress?”

  The woman had to stop and turn. “Sir?” She bobbed a quick curtsy to Nicholas, but she looked as if she wanted nothing more than to run.

  “The boy who was just in before you,” Nicholas said. “His arm—”

  “He’ll bide, milord,” the woman said quickly.

  “But—”

  “Please, sir,” she said, her voice dropping to a nervous whisper. “Mr. Kipperstrung, he don’t like us tending to nothing but work until after the meal’s been cleared away.”

  “But the boy’s arm—”

  An older man—Mr. Kipperstrung, Georgie presumed—emerged from the door to the kitchens and made great show of planting his fists on his hips. The young woman turned back to the table and made more of a show of slicing the bread that sat between Georgie and Nicholas.

  “Martha!” Mr. Kipperstrung gruffed. “Dinnit be justen thand.” His words made no sense to Georgie, but his intent was clearly to summon Martha away from their table.

  “Martha?” Georgie said quietly. “If you please, how did the boy burn his arm?”

  Nicholas looked at Georgie and for the life of her she couldn’t tell if he was being stern, encouraging, or something else entirely. All her life she’d felt confident that she could read him, or at least his general mood. Now that she’d gone and married him, it was as if he was a stranger.

  “Please, ma’am,” the woman practically begged while making a mess of the bread. “We’ll be turned out.”

  Georgie tried to meet her eyes, but Martha turned back to the bread, slicing another two ragged pieces before setting down the knife.

  Georgie then looked at Nicholas. Was he going to say something? Should she say something? Was it even their place to do so?

  Nicholas let out a breath, and for a moment he seemed to sink further into his chair.

  Then, with a weary inhale, he stood up.

  “Milord?” Mr. Kipperstrung called out. “Did Martha make a mess of the dinner? She’s as useless as her—”

  “No, no,” Nicholas said, and Georgie watched him spread a smile across his face that did not reach his eyes. He patted Martha on the shoulder as he stepped deftly around her. “She’s neat and quick. My wife and I are most grateful.”

  The burly man did not look convinced. “You need only tell me and I’ll have ’er—”

  Nicholas did not let him finish. He held up a hand, then turned to Martha and said, “If you please, my wife is hungry and tired. Would you see her to her room and make sure she has whatever she requires?”

  And before Georgie could say, “Now wait just a moment,” to Nicholas, he’d started for the door.

  “My good man,” he said in a tone that Georgie thought almost pompous, “I am a doctor, and the boy I saw a moment ago has a burn on his arm in which I am quite interested.”

  Mr. Kipperstrung let out a loud snort. “’Tis but a scratch, milord. He’s a clumsy boy, and he’s lucky I keep him. He needs to learn his job proper and he won’t get hurt.”

  “Nevertheless,” Nicholas said, his voice just slightly clipped. “I haven’t treated a burn of that nature in quite some time, and I could do with the practice. After all, it’s not like we can go and burn people for the purpose of healing them later.”

  Georgie choked on a highly inappropriate bubble of laughter. That last sentence had been for her benefit, of that she was sure.

  Mr. Kipperstrung seemed not to know what to say, especially as Nicholas was already walking smoothly past him. In fact, he only seemed to regain
his power of speech once Nicholas had already disappeared through the doorway, and even then, all he could do was splutter and stomp after him.

  Several moments of extended silence followed. Georgiana blinked. Then she blinked again. Had she just been completely dismissed?

  “What just happened?” she said out loud.

  Martha eyed her warily, clearly not sure whether the question was rhetorical.

  Georgie set down the spoon she only just realized she was still holding. She looked up at Martha.

  Martha managed the weakest of smiles. “Should I take you to your room?”

  Georgie shook her head, murmuring to herself, “I can’t believe he just left me here.”

  “I . . . ah . . .” Martha wrung her hands, watching the kitchen door as if she expected flames to shoot forth at any moment.

  “I could help, you know,” Georgie said. She looked at Martha. “He didn’t even ask.”

  “Ma’am?”

  Georgie stood.

  “Ma’am.” Now Martha sounded a little panicked.

  “Please take me into the kitchen.”

  “What?” Martha’s face drained of color. “I mean, are you sure?”

  “Entirely so,” Georgie said in her best I-am-a-woman-of-means-and-I-shall-not-be-crossed voice.

  It was a somewhat new voice for her, but she’d had very good role models.

  “But ma’am, it’s the kitchen.”

  “I assume that is where Mr. Kipperstrung just took Mr. Rokesby.”

  “You mean the doctor?”

  “The very same.”

  “Oh, no, ma’am,” Martha said. “You don’t want to go there.”

  Which made Georgie quite sure there was no place she’d rather be.

  Georgie held her smile firmly in place. “I rather think I do.”

  “But you’re a lady.”

  This didn’t seem to be a question, so Georgie did not answer it. Instead she started to make her way around Nicholas’s now abandoned chair. Martha looked fit to cry.

  “If you please, ma’am, my lady.” Martha scurried forward, practically throwing herself between Georgie and the door. “The doctor—your husband, he said—”