Capturing the Heart of a Cameron (Farthingale Series Novellas)

by Meara Platt

  “When you fail,” he insisted, because he was growing too attached to Frances and she was betrothed to his cousin, “it shall be without interference from others. I won’t have you bullied into giving up. You’ll fail all on your own.”

  “No, I won’t.” She cast him a look of disappointment that made him feel quite despicable. “I ought to have known you’d be just like the others.”

  And he ought to have known better than to gaze into her exquisite eyes.

  Lord, why did her eyes have to be so beautiful?

  Why did she have to be so beautiful?

  Worst of all, why did his nightly dreams have to be filled with visions of her?

  He turned to study her, determined to find a flaw. Little ears with a funny curl to them? Lips a touch too full? Breasts ample enough to fill a man’s hands? Bollocks. None of those were flaws.

  There was nothing wrong with the girl. Not her looks. Not her intellect. Nor her compassion.

  It would take him a long while to forget her.

  A very long while.

  CHAPTER 7

  “VI, THIS IS a mess. What am I to do?” Frances lifted her arms to allow Viola Brazelton’s maid to unfasten her gown. She was now settled in one of the quaint, but unmistakably elegant, guest rooms in Vi’s townhouse. “I’m exhausted. I don’t ever want to hear mention of another ball or dinner party. Do you think you could impose on your many royal connections to have all such affairs banned until the end of the month?”

  “Nonsense, girl. You’ll be fine. All you need is a good night’s sleep.”

  Frances couldn’t wait to burrow under the sheets. The bed linens were fresh, a fire blazed in the hearth, and a jug of warm apple cider garnished with cinnamon rested upon her night stand. She could grow to like this, if it weren’t for the fact that she had to rise at the unholiest of hours and spend the next twenty-three days scrubbing floors and cleaning after the sick.

  “The room is yours for as long as you wish, of course. I’ve sent two footmen to retrieve your belongings. Your mother and sisters will pack everything you need.”

  “Father will stop them from doing so. He won’t allow anyone to help me. He wishes to make things difficult for me.”

  Vi shook her head and sighed. “Men can be such fools. If he interferes, I’ll buy you a new wardrobe.”

  Frances shook her head in surprise. “That won’t be necessary. You’ve already been so generous with me, helping me when no one else will.” Indeed, Vi had taken excellent care of her, even provided a hearty supper which they’d shared in the quiet of Vi’s quarters.

  The old harridan had a good heart, but often covered it with bluster and bravado, as she did with her next comment. “Nonsense, child! I’ll make back double the expense when I cash in my winnings.”

  She eyed Vi curiously. “Why are you so certain the men will lose?”

  “Fee,” she said gently, caressing her cheek, “this is about you. I’m confident you’ll win because of who you are. You’re a rare treasure, a pillar of strength. I’ve known it for years, watched proudly as you grew up and became one of the finest women I know.”

  Frances cast her a weary smile. “Oh, Vi. You’re the only one who believes in me.”

  “So what?” She gave a casual shrug. “I’m always right. But I’m not the only one who has faith in you. You’re forgetting about Robbie.”

  Frances paused with a handful of pins in one hand and a hairbrush in the other, her breath catching at the mere mention of his name. “Now I know you’re jesting. He can’t wait to see me fail. He’s told me so himself.”

  “But you won’t fail, will you? And if I know Robbie, he’s hoping that you’ll give him a good run for his money. If you survive the month, you’ll earn his respect. He’ll keep true to his word and support you on the hospital board of trustees, for he’s honorable that way.” Vi patted her hand. “Now hop into bed and go to sleep. I fear I’ve kept you up too late.”

  Frances slipped out of her gown. “You’ll hear no protest from me. I’m exhausted.” Wearing only a thin chemise, she fell onto her bed with a sigh and reveled in the feather soft mattress. “Aah, heavenly.”

  “Sweet dreams, Fee. I’ve left instructions for Chessie,” she said, referring to her maid, “to wake you at cock’s crow.”

  Frances groaned. “I hope your cock sleeps late.”

  “Sorry, my dear. He’s up at the crack of dawn and so shall you be.”

  “Oh, Vi. What have I gotten myself into?”

  She bent over and kissed Frances on the cheek. “Something more wonderful than you can ever imagine.”

  Frances seriously doubted it.

  CHAPTER 8

  “WHAT TORTURES HAVE you prepared for me today?” Frances asked Robbie, meeting him at the clinic door at seven the following morning.

  He barely spared her a glance as he marched up the stairs to his office and motioned for her to follow. “I see you’ve dressed appropriately today.”

  “I’m a fast learner.” Grinning, she glanced down at her simple gown of gray linen and her black leather boots. Of course, they were of the finest Italian leather and felt blissfully comfortable on her feet. “Perhaps not all that fast. It took me a full week to realize that comfort is more important than fashion.”

  She followed him into his office and watched as he crossed to a chest of drawers and opened the lower one. He withdrew a square of white linen. “Here, use the apron. Your gown is better, but still too fine for the work I’ll be giving you.”

  She took it from his hands and tied it around her waist.

  “The clinic doors open in one hour. Make sure the examination rooms are properly stocked, and then return here.”

  That sounded easy enough. “Anything else?”

  “Plenty, but that’s the priority.”

  She returned downstairs and inspected all three examination rooms, furnishing each with fresh towels, bandages, cod liver oil, and oat cakes, though Frances did not understand how oat cakes could be a cure for any ailments. “Oat cakes, indeed!”

  After finishing the rather simple chore, she returned to Robbie’s office, surprised to find lemon cake, a pot of tea, plates, and two cups set out on his desk. “We’ll be busy today.” He motioned for her to take a seat. “You won’t have time to eat later, so better do it now.” He cut each of them a slice of cake, set one on a plate and handed it to her. He poured her a cup of tea. “Do you like chamomile tea? I find it’s gentle on the stomach.”

  She accepted it with a nod, amazed at his resourcefulness. Not that boiling water and slicing cake were particularly difficult tasks, but she’d never seen them performed by a duke before. Indeed, she’d never been served by a duke before.

  She liked it.

  She liked him, too.

  “You’ll act as my assistant today,” he said when she’d finished her cake and a second cup of tea.

  Frances arched an eyebrow in response, pleased by the promotion. Her hands ached from scrubbing floors all week long. “What are my responsibilities?”

  “To watch and learn. You’re not to touch the patients until I say you may.”

  “Why can’t I touch them?” She posed the question out of curiosity, not out of a desire to disobey.

  His expression turned somber. “Because they carry diseases, some of them deadly.”

  Her eyes widened, for his words were an ugly reminder that their so-called dare was no game. She shouldn’t have been surprised at all, for the living conditions in any city were poor for most residents. Few, other than the nobility or landed gentry, lived in the lap of comfort. “But you touch them.”

  “I do so very carefully and wash my hands thoroughly after every patient. My medical coat is boiled in lye and water, and I have the training to tell which patients even I cannot touch. Will you promise me to be careful, Frances?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I promise.”

  He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, seemingly relieved by her compliance. “Working her
e can be dangerous. I’ll teach you to tell the difference between hives and cholera.”

  “Cholera?” She clutched a hand to her heart. Indeed, what had she gotten herself into? She studied Robbie’s mirthless expression and knew he was thinking the same thing. She was his cousin’s betrothed, and though she irritated him, he did not wish to see her dead.

  He leaned against his desk and sighed. “Yes, I fear there’s an outbreak in one of the less fashionable parts of town.”

  “I see.” She sank back in her chair.

  He came around his desk and strode to her side, placing his hands on the arms of her chair. “Frances, if you wish to leave, just say so.”

  She scowled at him. “I don’t.”

  “No need to be stubborn. You shouldn’t give a damn about this blasted wager.” He leaned closer, his lips mere inches from hers. She remained still as a frightened mouse, for the slightest movement and his mouth would be on hers. She refused to consider how much she wanted his warm lips on hers. They’d kissed once like that. She could never allow it to happen again. “You’re getting married soon.”

  She stifled a groan. Right, how could she have forgotten that small detail? She was marrying his cousin. Charles. A wonderful man. A good and decent man. “It isn’t just about the dare. It’s also about the good you do. The wretched of this city come to you hoping to be cured. Some won’t be because they’re too ill, but many will be saved by you and that’s the most wonderful thing imaginable. You save lives, Robbie. You save families. I’m honored to play a part in these daily miracles, as small and insignificant as my part may be.”

  He eased back with a groan. “Frances, just be careful. Neither your father nor my cousin will ever forgive me if you’re harmed in any way.”

  Her scowl faded and she cast him a tender smile, liking this protective side of him very much. “I won’t be happy about it either. Shall I allow the patients into the waiting room now?”

  He took another step back as she rose. “Aye, I’ll be down in a moment.”

  Robbie waited until Frances’ light footsteps faded down the stairs, and only then did he release the breath he’d been holding.

  What was he to do about the girl?

  She did something to his insides.

  Oh, she definitely turned him upside down.

  He’d never met any female quite like her before, never felt quite so out of control over his heart before. For his own salvation, he wanted to dislike her, but he couldn’t.

  She was beautiful and intelligent.

  Passionate and caring.

  Nor could he find fault with her desire to contribute something to the world. Didn’t he feel the same way? Indeed, ever since his parents and siblings had died from disease he’d been obsessed with saving lives, as though each life saved could somehow ease his loss.

  He wished he had met her sooner, before Charlie had claimed her for his own, but he hadn’t and there was no one to blame but himself. After all, the girl had been pounding on his door for months and writing him letters about the new hospital wing. He should not have ignored her letters or refused to meet with her.

  More fool he.

  He’d missed out. What might have happened had he met her first?

  Bah! He was allowing his thoughts to run wild.

  She wasn’t right for him. And what could she contribute to the discussion about the new hospital wing? She had no medical training, no knowledge of construction or design, no experience working with the poor, the homeless or sick. And from what Charlie had indicated, she couldn’t even run a household.

  That failing bothered Charlie.

  Robbie shook his head, recalling Charlie’s griping about his bride-to-be’s lack of domestic aptitude. He laughed softly. One night of passion—and Frances was a woman capable of exquisite passion—would chase the disappointment right out of any man.

  An image of Frances lying naked in his own bed came into his mind, her auburn-red hair tumbling wildly over her shoulders and her beautiful, emerald cat eyes smoldering with desire.

  Her nipples would be rosy. And perched atop perfect, creamy breasts.

  Bollocks! What was he thinking?

  He wiped away the beads of sweat formed on his brow.

  Obviously, he wasn’t thinking at all.

  Being Robbie’s assistant was infinitely more enjoyable than serving as his scullery maid, Frances decided, doing her best not to gaze upon him in abject worship.

  “Keep him warm, feed him oat cakes and broth. He’ll be better in five days’ time,” Robbie told a mother who had brought in her young son, a handsome lad of three. The boy had golden hair and bright blue eyes, the intensity of the blue heightened due to his fever, which had lasted four days so far.

  “How do you know he’ll be better in five days?” Frances asked after mother and child had departed.

  He arched a dark eyebrow. “It’s nature’s way. A fever takes up to nine days to run its course. The lad has had a fever for four days now, so he’s midway through his ordeal. It’ll be over within another five days.”

  “What if it isn’t over by then?” She wished she had a pad and pencil in order to take notes. He was one of the smartest men she’d ever met.

  Robbie frowned. “Then he won’t survive.”

  She nibbled her lip in consternation. “Isn’t it cruel to give the mother hope? What if he doesn’t survive?”

  “I’m certain that he will. The lad had no cough, no rashes, no abdominal aches, no swelling or stiffness in his neck. ’Tis a simple fever he caught and he’ll fight through it.”

  “And survive?”

  “I expect a full recovery. Those who cannot overcome a fever in that time usually have something else seriously wrong with their bodies. We don’t have the knowledge yet to cure most infections, but we will someday.”

  “That’s what motivates you every day, isn’t it?” She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Vi told me about your family. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  He turned away with a grunt.

  She slipped her hand off his now tense shoulder. “Feel free to tell me to mind my own business at any point, otherwise I shall continue to prattle. I’m fascinated by all you do, how much you accomplish in the span of a mere day. You’re quite special, Robbie.”

  He grunted again. “So are you.”

  She laughed softly. “When I said you were special, I meant it as a compliment. I don’t think that’s what you meant about me. But I don’t mind. I know I’m different and I’d rather be that way than allow my mind to become as bland as boiled potatoes. What is the most unusual disease you’ve ever encountered?”

  He stared at her a long moment, then cast her a slight grin and shook his head. “It isn’t so much the diseases, but the implements I’ve found on occasion lodged up… well, suffice it to say that people do the oddest things.”

  He cleared his throat. “Come, Miss Cameron. Let’s wash our hands before we see the next patient.”

  Frances spent the next eight hours following him in and out of the examination rooms, marveling at his competence and ability. He pulled a marble out of a toddler’s nose, assured a young woman that her stomach ailment was not an ailment at all but a baby due to come into the world in about three months, fixed numerous scraped knees, stitched gashes, applied a poultice of fenugreek to a burn, and sent three patients home with enough medication to numb a horse and bring it to its knees. “They’ll need it,” he said, turning to her with a glum expression on his face after they’d left. “Those three won’t make it.”

  He appeared distressed. She silently berated herself for every wicked thing she’d ever thought about him. She had considered the duke cold and arrogant at first. He wasn’t that way at all.

  He was wonderful.

  Gentle and caring. Goodness! She already thought him incredibly handsome. She was in great danger of liking him very much.

  Too much.

  “What have we here?” he asked, looking in on his last patient.
She was a young woman of similar age to Frances, but the years had taken a harsh toll on the poor thing.

  “I fell down the stairs, Yer Grace.” She gazed at her feet as she spoke.

  Frances noticed a subtle change in his demeanor, an unexpected tension washing over him, and there was no mistaking that he was angry. “And where was your husband when you fell, Mairee?”

  The woman eyed him nervously. “Me ’usband? Och, he had nothin’ ta do with it.”

  “Is that so? How often do you fall down the stairs on your own?”

  “About once or twice a year… er, I’m a clumsy creature, that’s fer sure.”

  “Especially when your husband has been drinking,” he muttered, his lips thinning as he strained to control his temper. Frances knew it wasn’t aimed at Mairee, but at her oaf of a spouse.

  “Men drink,” she said with a shrug, as though accepting her lot and realizing no one had been deceived by her story.

  “That’s no excuse,” Frances said, unable to hold her tongue. “Where is he now? We can call the authorities and—”

  Robbie turned to her with a frown. “Keep out of it, Miss Cameron.”

  “But—”

  “Whatever happened is between Mrs. Cranshaw and her husband.”

  “Are we to do nothing and allow him to beat her? We can help put a stop to it.”

  Mairee began to fret. “No, Miss Cameron. The doctor’s right. Confronting ’im will only make matters worse. There ain’t no need for it. He’s a good man, really. He always feels terrible about what he’s done when he sobers up in the mornin’ and then he promises never to do it again.”

  Frances shook her head in dismay. “And you believe him?”

  “I do. I know he loves me.” The young woman shrugged. “I ’ave to. Are ye done, doctor? I had better get home to start supper.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Cranshaw.” He sighed. “Do you have any friends or relations who might take you in if matters take a turn for the worse?”

  “Permanent like? Och, no. And I wouldn’t want ta go to ’em. I married Mr. Cranshaw to get away from me own family. It’ll be all right. He’s a good man, as I said. I love him, sir. Good day ta ye. And ta ye, Miss Cameron. Bless ye for caring.”