The Doctor's Little Ward

by Ava Sinclair

  Wife.

  When she’d arrived, so spiky, so belligerent, he’d thought that he’d have to wait to marry Abigail—wait until she’d grown obedient and malleable. Now he realized her anger had been defensive, a product of her pain and neglect. She was already showing such progress. He’d not had to punish her since the day he’d caned her in the parlor. And she’d been so sweet when he’d tested her boundaries, so passionate. She was the perfect blend of sensual womanhood and innocent allure. She would be the perfect bride.

  He picked up a quill as he looked out over the city. The lamplights were starting to go out as the sun rose through the haze of grimy air. He frowned. London was full of illness and disease. Consumption abounded, along with a hundred other maladies. Before Abigail came, he’d been willing to assume the risk of treating patients in his home. Now he feared contagion for her sake.

  Perhaps, he thought, it was time for more than just one change. Perhaps in addition to taking a wife, it was time to leave the city. He imagined himself as a country doctor in some little village, a place where the sunrises were clearer and the streets did not run with sewage.

  Simon had been judicious with his earnings as a doctor, determined not to bow to his family’s pressure to marry, even if such a decision would vastly improve his financial situation. He’d saved some money, and decided that even with making payments on Malcolm Barrow’s debt he may be able to afford a modest house in the country with room for a family of his own. He smiled as he imagined Abigail’s sweet face turned toward a baby that suckled at her breast. His little innocent Abigail with an innocent of her own. He would have two to love then—a child-wife and the child they made together.

  So with the sun rising over the grime of London, he wrote a note to the magistrate and the local priest, informing them of his intention to wed as soon as possible. Simon put the notes together with a letter he’d penned to Hugh Brownlow accepting an invitation to his house in the country. He planned to be wed to Abigail by then; the weekend at Brownlow Manor could double as their honeymoon.

  He ate a small breakfast in the dining room as he read the paper. Overhead he could hear Nurse Trinket moving about, likely preparing to wake Abigail so she could start her day. Simon wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood. He would go up before he left to say goodbye to his little one before he started his day. He frowned. It was going to be a long one.

  “I’m sorry, madam… you can’t barge in!” His housekeeper’s voice floated up to him from the lower floor, and Simon’s first thought was that an insistent patient had violated rules by barging in without permission. He headed downstairs, his face grim with worry over what illness may have just been carried through the door.

  But when he entered the foyer, he stopped in his tracks, trying not to let the annoyance he felt show.

  His aunt Helen had all but muscled her way past the housekeeper, trailed by his cousin Susan Henley. The cab driver entered after them, carrying bags that indicated their unannounced stay would be an extended one.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Simon strode forward.

  “Is that any way to greet your aunt and cousin?” Aunt Helen’s pinched face became even more pinched. “It was vexing enough getting here. And now this cold greeting?”

  “Forgive me, Aunt Helen,” Simon said. “It’s just that your arrival is unexpected.”

  “I sent a letter,” she said.

  “And I wrote back,” he said, “informing you that I could not accept visitors.”

  “Well, I never got that letter.” The older woman focused on her gloves as she removed them. Simon recognized this evasive gesture as a sign the woman was lying. She’d no doubt gotten the letter and had just ignored it. “Aren’t you going to greet your cousin? She’s been so looking forward to see you.”

  Simon turned to his aunt’s traveling companion and was reminded of why his family was so keen on the match. Susan Henley was placid and pretty with just enough education to make her a good conversationalist without outshining a potential husband. She was fairly religious, which ensured she’d see to the moral development of their children. And if she were as prolific as her sisters, she’d present her husband with a child nine months to the day after their wedding night.

  The notion of such an ordinary wife turned Simon’s stomach, especially when the image of his little Abigail flashed through his mind. But still, he was a gentleman, and managed a smile.

  “Cousin Susan,” he said cordially. “Auntie is right. I forget my manners. How are you?”

  “I’m well,” she replied congenially. “But I feel positively distressed that we weren’t expected. If it is too much trouble, we can find a hotel…”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Consumption is rampant in London again. It was one of the reasons I had requested my aunt delay her visit. But now that you’ve arrived, you’re better off here.” He paused then, thinking of Abigail. With so much illness, even the thought of visiting relatives made him nervous. “Did you share a coach with anyone?”

  “Goodness, no,” Aunt Helen interjected. “I’d not dream of it.” She looked toward the staircase. “However, I am tired from the journey. If someone can take my bags up, I’ll rest.” She looked at Susan and Simon knowingly. “And you two can catch up.”

  Simon stepped forward, deciding that this was the best time to break the news about Abigail. There was no easy way to dash his aunt and cousin’s hopes, and part of him hoped the disappointment might be enough to end the visit before it began. But before he could, she was already commandeering a young man carrying firewood to the parlor and enlisting him to haul her bags up to one of the bedrooms as she followed, her wide hips swaying as she walked up the stairs.

  “I suppose this means we’ll just have to catch up on our own, Simon,” Susan said with a pleasant smile.

  “Yes,” he replied. “But there’s something you should know, Susan. I was going to announce this by letter, but your arrival circumvents that.” He took a breath. “I’m recently engaged.”

  She blinked rapidly for a moment, but beyond appeared to suppress any reaction. “Engaged?” The smile she gave him was shocked, forced. “I… well… congratulations, Simon. Of course we had no idea. I take it that this decision was of a sudden nature?”

  “Yes. My betrothed is the daughter of a man I served with. He asked me to take her in as my ward, and seeing that she was unmarried I have placed her in the care of my old nurse, Madge. As you know, it is customary for young unmarried ladies to remain in the care of a nurse until they are wed.”

  “Is she even of age?” There was a hint of indignation in his cousin’s tone.

  “Yes, of course she is,” Simon said with more patience than he felt, and with a bit of indignation at this intrusive line of questioning.

  “Well, then.” Tears came to Susan’s eyes and she turned away. Simon could see her lift a gloved hand to her face. When she turned back, she was composed.

  “Congratulations, cousin,” she said. “I look forward to meeting your fiancée. And I’m sure that your aunt Helen will be as… joyful as I to hear your happy news.”

  Simon bowed his head. “I should hope, cousin.”

  “You know, I find myself suddenly tired,” Susan said. “I believe I will rest as well.”

  “The housekeeper will ready a room for you,” Simon replied.

  He watched her walk up the stairs. When the door to her room clicked shut, he ascended the staircase himself and headed to the nursery, where he found Nurse Trinket laying out clothes for Abigail, who was still asleep.

  “What’s wrong?” Nurse Trinket asked when she saw the doctor’s worried face.

  Simon ran his hand through his hair.

  “We have unexpected company,” he said. “My aunt Helen has arrived with my cousin Susan.”

  “Oh, dear.” Nurse Trinket shook her head. “I suppose she’s here to press the issue.”

  “I’ve put paid to it already,” Simon replied. “I told Susan of my e
ngagement to Abigail.”

  “And your aunt?”

  “She does not yet know. She took her leave to rest as soon as she got here. But I’m sure she’ll get the news soon enough.”

  “So how did your cousin take it?” Nurse Trinket asked.

  “Well, you know her. She’s not one to wear her emotions on her sleeve. She kept her composure. But I think this will likely be a short visit. However, I can hardly expect them to leave without meeting Abigail. And I have patients to see.”

  “What would you like me to do?” Nurse Trinket asked.

  Simon looked over at his sleeping ward. “Explain the situation to Abigail and arrange an afternoon luncheon for the three of them. Assure my ward that Susan is no threat and that I am making arrangements for us to be wed tomorrow. Caution Abigail to be on her very best behavior during lunch, as is befitting my ward and future wife.” He paused and turned away. “Oh, that I could be here…”

  Nurse Trinket put down the clothes and walked over to stand in front of her employer.

  “Now, you listen to me. I will handle this. You cannot neglect your patients to stay here and protect Abigail from your aunt. I will handle things. I’m sure all will be well.”

  Simon looked over at his sleeping ward, his fiancée, his little treasure. “I certainly hope so,” he said.

  Chapter Seven: The Runaway Bride

  “It’s the cousin who he was supposed to marry, isn’t it?” Abigail felt a surge of dread as Nurse Trinket explained the situation later that morning.

  “It is,” the nurse responded. “But your guardian is seeing to your marriage certificate today. He loves you, Abigail, to the extent that a guarded man like Simon can love anyone. Do not let this woman threaten the security you feel.”

  Abigail turned so that Nurse Trinket could button the back of her dress. The hastily arranged lunch necessitated the need for a more appropriate dress. Now a more mature version of herself stared back at Abigail from the mirror, a more acceptable version. But as much as she wanted to heed the nurse’s advice, inside she still felt every bit the insecure little girl.

  Entering the dining room around noon did nothing to improve her confidence. Simon’s aunt and cousin were already there. The older woman appraised her with cool disdain, the younger with competitive resentment.

  Nurse Trinket made the introductions, and then reluctantly excused herself when Simon’s aunt Helen insisted on the three of them dining without—as she put it—‘the encumbrance of staff.’

  “We were surprised to hear of the engagement,” Aunt Helen said when the last of the food was brought in and they were alone. “Very surprised. Tell me, how is it that my nephew knew your father?”

  “They served together on the Orient, aboard the Havoc. My father saved Dr. Abbott’s life.”

  “He must have felt very indebted to the man to agree to marry you,” Susan said tightly. With a night to stew on the loss of Simon, and without him there to moderate the conversation, her spite was coming to the fore. “I do hope you have a large dowry.”

  “No, ma’am. None at all.” Abigail said, dipping up a spoonful of soup.

  “I’m not that much older than you that you should call me ma’am,” Susan said tightly.

  Abigail raised an eyebrow. “No. Of course not.”

  The women ate in silence for a moment before Helen spoke.

  “With no dowry, I can only assume your parents were not of means. How did they see to your education?”

  Abigail felt her face flush with heat. “When I was small, I had a tutor for reading and for some math.”

  “Some?” Susan raised an elegant eyebrow. “A doctor’s wife is expected to entertain, to hold conversations, to be active in the community. She should have more than a remedial education. What does Simon have to say about your… deficits?”

  Abigail felt her heart begin to pound. “We’ve not discussed it.”

  “Oh, my,” Helen said. “He’ll pay for his haste in marrying you when you reveal yourself to be ill-equipped to mingle in polite society.” Beside her, Susan snickered.

  “I suppose this is why he took you as ward before wife,” Susan remarked. “He sees you as a child and not as a woman. Not as an equal. But a man like Simon Abbott does not often realize what’s good for him. And it would take a selfish child indeed to take advantage of his offer to marry him when she knows deep inside that she’ll be little more than a hindrance.”

  “Not just a hindrance,” Simon’s aunt said. “But a burden.”

  The comment was a knife in Abigail’s heart. She closed her eyes, trying to recall Simon’s reassurances that she was not a burden.

  “That’s not what he thinks,” Abigail finally said by way of defense.

  “And you know this to be true, do you?” Susan asked coldly. “You know him well enough to know who he is and what he needs? Do you know where he grew up, how many siblings he had, where he went to university?”

  “I do not,” Abigail replied, flustered now. “But papa has assured me…”

  “Papa?” Helen said, and the two women looked at each other before Simon’s cousin turned back to Abigail. “Is that how you see him, as a replacement for your father? And you expect this to work? The man is in want of a wife, not a child to trip along at his heels. And you cannot be both. How can you relate to him as a husband if you see him as a father? It’s… unnatural! It’s unhealthy! It’s one thing to take advantage of the shelter he provides, young lady. It’s quite another to consign him to an unfit relationship that will damage him socially. I can hardly imagine the embarrassment he’ll feel.”

  Aunt Helen stood. “I quite agree. I find this all so unsettling that I’m going to have to retire to my room. I cannot possibly maintain an appetite amid such worry for a beloved nephew.”

  Susan stood, reaching out to coddle her aunt. “Oh, poor dear. I know this must be distressing given that you’ve always had our dear Simon’s best interest at heart.”

  “How will I tell his mother?” Helen dabbed at her eyes. “She’ll be crushed by this unfortunate match. A penniless waif as wife to her son? A woman with no pedigree? She would never endorse it.”

  “Of course not,” Susan said. “And it will cost poor Simon the inheritance he was set to secure upon marriage.” She turned back to Abigail, an expression of scorn on her face. “I’m sure he’s not made you aware of this, but his inheritance has been held in trust until he enters into a marital union blessed by his parents. His father is dead, and that leaves only his dear ailing mother.”

  “Yes,” Simon’s aunt Helen interjected. “And the union between my dear Susan and your guardian is one his mother has long hoped for. He already forsook the wealth and security of his family once by becoming a doctor instead of ceding to his father’s wishes and going into law. Would you have him risk all now for the likes of you?” She pursed her lips disapprovingly. “I hope this union you’ve obviously wheedled with my nephew will be worth whatever you plan to gain, child,” she said. “Especially considering what your marriage will cost my poor Simon.”

  She cast an angry glare back at Abigail as she and Susan left the room. “You stay here. I’ll send your nurse to fetch you.”

  It was only then that Abigail realized her hands were shaking from the pent-up rage that had been building since the women had begun their dual attack. She’d promised Simon that she would be on her best behavior, remembering how he’d spanked her for losing her temper the day they’d met. She’d wanted to make him proud, so she’d borne up under the spiteful criticism of his aunt and cousin. But now she was left with a helpless rage and something else—a terrible sense of guilt.

  She had glanced at Susan as she’d spoken, taking in her cream-colored dress, her carefully arranged hair, her impeccable table manners and good speech. She spoke with such knowledge of Abigail’s guardian regarding his past, his needs. By comparison, Abigail was an unsophisticated stranger ignorant of Simon’s past. They had not had one conversation with him that was
not about her and her needs. She knew nothing of his financial situation other than he’d promised to pay off her father’s debt. To think that resistance to their marriage may also jeopardize his inheritance filled her with shame. He’d told her she was not a burden, and she’d wanted to believe him. But perhaps it was easy to believe what one wanted when one was living as a child instead of an adult—an adult who had to make hard decisions, selfless decisions.

  Abigail didn’t realize she was crying until she felt a tear fall from her cheek and land on the bodice of the simple adult dress she’d donned for the ill-fated luncheon. Hastily wiping her face with her hands, she stood and looked around the room. Simon’s home was so comfortable, so different than the drab, austere, and loveless environment she’d left behind. In the short time she’d been with him, her handsome guardian had given her a glimpse of paternal love and of adult passion. She knew she would never be satisfied again if she left. But she believed if she stayed he’d end up resenting her for the very reasons Susan had stated.

  No. It wasn’t right. This other woman—this suitable woman, this adult woman—she wanted him. It was the right match for him, and perhaps Simon would realize it once she was out of the way.

  Abigail could hear the sound of Nurse Trinket’s approaching steps as she ran from the room. The housekeeper was nowhere to be seen, and the cook’s back was to her as she quietly moved past the kitchen and opened the back door.

  The little courtyard behind the house was tidy, with a small kitchen garden and a woodpile. But through the garden gate was a different world. The cobblestones were wet with the light mist that had been falling all day. The smells of the city were strong even at this hour; smoke from factories along the nearby Thames mixed with the sickening sent of sewage wafting from the London underground.