by Bree Wolf
Rolling his eyes at his sister’s foolishness as well as her tendency to be overly dramatic, Richard snapped, “And this is your reward.” Again, he gestured at the small bump under her hand. “This is what your irresponsible behaviour brought you, a child in your belly from a man you cannot even name.” He took a step toward her, his gaze fixed on hers, wondering if he would ever be able to understand her motivations. Richard doubted it very much! “You acted like a stubborn child, not like a well-brought up, young lady. At least, William Montgomery had the sense to recognise his mistake. You, however, allowed yourself to be inebriated and bedded by a man you did not even remember the next morning. Now, you have a price to pay, and you cannot blame anyone but yourself. Countless times I warned you, counselled you to amend your behaviour, but you would not listen. Now, your circumstances are direr than I ever would have thought possible, and if you are to have any chance at making a suitable match, then no one can know that you are with child. Do you understand me?”
Lost in his own anger, Richard had not noticed the change in his sister. Only now did he see her quivering lower lip and the way her hands clenched around her upper arms as though she feared she would break apart if she were not to hold tightly to herself. “I do understand,” she mumbled, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I do understand that all you see are my mistakes.”
Swallowing, Richard refused to allow the hint of guilt that rose in his heart to influence his actions. After all, he had done nothing wrong, and there was no reason for him to feel as he did. Quite on the contrary, it was his sister who ought to learn how to suppress her wayward emotions and allow reason to govern her actions. “Can you truly fault me for it?” Richard demanded. “All I am trying to do is guide your feet back onto the path set out for you, but you fight me at every step. I do not understand you; nor do I believe that I ever shall.” Ignoring the paleness of his sister’s cheeks, he continued, “You will stay far away from society until your child is born. Then you may return to London, and I pray that you will be able to procure a suitable husband as fast as humanly possible. I tell you honestly, that I will not mourn the day when I will no longer be responsible for your actions.”
Swallowing, Claudia nodded, her pale eyes barely looking into his. “That is all I am to you,” she whispered, “a responsibility that you wish you could rid yourself of. Tell me, dear brother, am I so unlovable?”
Confused by her question, Richard chose to ignore it. “Indeed, since father’s passing, I am responsible for you,” he stated, wondering why she would ask such a thing. “And you cannot fault me for wishing it were otherwise considering the immense effort it takes on my part to ensure that you do not ruin yourself for good.” He shook his head, eyes narrowing as he watched her face, wondering if she truly did not see her actions as unreasonable. How was this possible?
For a moment, Claudia’s gaze remained fixed on his, her eyes unblinking. Then, however, her lids closed once, only to open for the barest of moments before her eyes rolled up and all tension left her body. Within the blink of an eye, her body sank toward the floor, and Richard had to lunge forward to catch her before she hit the ground hard.
“Claudia,” he whispered as her limp body hung in his arms, her head hanging backwards, her eyes closed. Swallowing, Richard felt his heart beat quicken as a hint of fear swept through his body. He did not care for it, not in the least, and so he pushed it aside and focused on what needed to be done.
“Maxwell!” he called, knowing that the young footman would not be far. Although he had only been in their employ a little over a year, he showed great dedication to any task given to him, which had been precisely the reason Richard had sent him to guard his sister’s movements.
“Yes, my lo–” Maxwell’s voice broke off as he stepped over the threshold, his eyes going wide as he watched Richard lift his unconscious sister into his arms.
“Take the carriage and fetch Dr. Procten from the village immediately,” Richard instructed, settling his sister securely in his arms before striding out the door. “Tell him that it’s urgent and that I ask him to attend to my sister immediately.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Maxwell darted away.
Carrying his sister upstairs, Richard could not prevent his thoughts from drifting to Dr. Procten’s headstrong daughter and the last time they had spoken. After his father’s death, his mother had been inconsolable, taking to her bed, her cheeks white as a sheet and her eyes red-rimmed for weeks on end. It had been Evelyn Procten who had sat with his mother hour after hour, and after Lady Ashwood had finally recovered, she had voiced her delight at having had such a capable, young woman tend to her in her time of need.
Naturally, Richard had to admit that Miss Procten’s presence had helped his mother. However, that was a far cry from possessing medical expertise. Nonetheless, it had been Miss Procten who–quite unnervingly–had instructed him to call on her instead of her father in case of another medical situation. Ever since her father had begun to involve her in his work, allowing her to tend to patients alongside him, she seemed to be thinking of herself as a doctor as well.
What nonsense! As though women had the necessary calm and faculty of reason to hold another’s life in their hands. Looking down at his sister, Richard sighed. If that were the case, he would not be in this predicament.
Still, despite his justifiable reasons for calling on the doctor himself instead of the man's daughter, Richard could not shake the small tremble that gripped him as he thought of her deep brown eyes and the way they looked into his.
Always had she upended his rational thoughts.
And he could not allow that to happen. Not now. Not when his family needed him to make the right decisions for all of them.
No, it would be better for everyone if Miss Procten were not to return to Farnworth Manor…
…as much as his traitorous heart longed to see her.
Chapter Two – A Woman's Plight
Tamworth Village, 2 miles from Farnworth Manor
Surveying the trembling young man before her, Evelyn Procten inhaled a slow breath. Sweat stood on his forehead and his jaw was clenched in pain, his right hand wrapped protectively around his left arm. “Your shoulder is dislocated,” she said, her voice gentle but steady, her eyes holding his without flinching. “It needs to be pushed back into its socket.”
Young Tom Harvey, barely eighteen years of age, shifted on the small stool he sat on, instantly gritting his teeth and sucking in a sharp breath when the movement caused another stab of pain to shoot through his shoulder. “When will Dr. Procten be here?” he asked through clenched teeth.
Evelyn sighed, well aware that most people did not think a woman capable of such work. Certainly, women knew how to take care of other women as well as children when it came to childbirth or little scrapes and bruises. However, resetting a bone or relocating a shoulder was a man’s work. Hating that her gender kept her from being the doctor she knew herself to be, the doctor her father had passed on his knowledge to, Evelyn tried to remain calm. After all, an emotional outburst would only discourage the man sitting at her feet from bestowing his trust in her.
After all, the fact that he would not meet her eyes, suggested that he disliked insulting her by asking for her father instead of allowing her to help. It was not much, but Evelyn was determined to seize this opportunity.
Leaning forward, she met the young man’s reluctant gaze. “Soon,” she said, her voice gentle as before, but with the same strength of conviction she had heard in her father’s tone all her life. “However, the longer we wait, the greater the pain. I advise you to allow me to reset it now without delay.”
His hand tightened on his injured arm, and he pressed his lips together tightly as his green eyes searched hers. “Have you done this before?”
Evelyn nodded. “I have.” Only once though, for lack of another opportunity. “May I take a closer look?” she asked, hoping to gain his permission to treat him step by step.
Inhali
ng a slow breath, Mr. Harvey nodded.
“I need you to remove your shirt,” Evelyn said, her face trained to show no emotion, simply professional determination.
Mr. Harvey swallowed, and she could see a hint of doubt in his eyes.
“Here, I’ll help you.” Before he could change his mind, Evelyn urged him to relinquish his claw-like hold on his injured arm. Then she unbuttoned his shirt, aware that the young man’s face turned a darker shade of red. Pulling his good arm out of the sleeve, she stepped behind him and moved the shirt around to his injured shoulder, gently easing it down the arm. Then she ran her fingers over his skin, feeling for the bones underneath.
At her touch, he flinched, then groaned in pain.
“As I said,” Evelyn remarked, ignoring his reaction to her proximity, “it’s dislocated.” Her gaze found his once more, and her brows rose in question.
A moment of silence stretched between them that had Evelyn’s nerves wound tight. Still, she forced herself to wait calmly and not pressure the young man into making his decision. After all, a doctor needed to treat not only the body but the mind as well.
Finally, Mr. Harvey sighed, his gaze darting to her, before he nodded his head.
Pride swelled in Evelyn’s chest, and she could have hugged the young man for putting his trust in her, for allowing her another opportunity to feel like a doctor. However, that would have been far from professional, and so she merely cast him an appreciative smile and set to work.
Pulling up another stool, Evelyn placed it right next to Mr. Harvey’s injured shoulder. “This will hurt,” she warned, noting the way his muscles tightened even more. “However, it will be nothing compared to the pain you’ve endured so bravely thus far.”
Mr. Harvey exhaled a slow breath, and she could see a touch of pride in the way he lifted his head. “I’m ready.”
“Good.” Setting her foot on the stool, thus bringing her knee level with Mr. Harvey’s left shoulder, Evelyn gently put her hands on his arm. “Try and relax your muscles. It will be much easier and faster this way.”
Swallowing, Mr. Harvey did as he was asked, or at least tried to for his jaw was still as clenched as before.
When she lifted the man’s arm and placed it over her knee, Evelyn saw beads of sweat pearl up on his forehead. His jaw was locked tight, and yet, a small groan escaped his lips. “It’s almost over,” she whispered, positioning one hand on the man’s shoulder and the other on his upper arm.
The moment she was about to apply pressure in order to encourage the bone to slide back into the socket, the door to her father’s examining room flew open, revealing Mr. Bragg in its frame.
As her father’s official apprentice, Mr. Bragg had been living in Tamworth Village for about a year, training to take over as her father’s health was beginning to fail. Unfortunately, the man felt no calling for the profession of a healer. Still, that did not prevent him from walking about the village with an enormous ego and the ill-conceived idea that he knew all there was to know.
His eyes widened as he found her beside a half-clad patient, the man’s arm laid across her knee, a fact which instantly turned the bewildered expression on his face into one of scandalised outrage. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded as he stepped into the room, closing the door with an unnecessary loud thud that made Mr. Harvey flinch, causing him needless pain.
Meeting Mr. Bragg’s accusing gaze with a determined one of her own, Evelyn replied with a calm voice, “Treating my patient.” Then, before her father’s apprentice could interfere, she simultaneously pushed down onto Mr. Harvey’s shoulder and upper arm, feeling the pressure of the man’s taut muscles against her hands. Still, a moment later, the bone relented, sliding back into place with a soft pop.
Instantly, Mr. Harvey slumped forward, a groan escaping his lips, as his muscles relaxed. His right hand came up to curl around his left shoulder, a small smile of relief on his red face. “It feels better,” he mumbled as though to himself. Then his gaze met hers. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Evelyn replied with a smile, determined not to look at Mr. Bragg and allow him to ruin this glorious moment for her. “I’ll put your arm in a sling to promote healing. You mustn’t move it for at least a week.”
Mr. Harvey’s face darkened, and she knew that idleness was nothing he was accustomed to nor ever would be. Life was far from easy, and most men needed two good arms, legs and a strong back to provide for themselves as well as their families.
After tending to Mr. Harvey, Evelyn sent him on his way, aware of the dark presence behind her. Still, she refused to look at Mr. Bragg, instead busying her hands by tidying up the small room.
“Have you lost your mind, Woman?” Mr. Bragg’s voice was low and almost menacing as though she had wilfully insulted him. Slow steps carried him closer, and Evelyn could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise in resistance to his words and their meaning. When had the term woman ever been used as an insult? Still, with each day, Evelyn felt that it was one. The worst one. The one that kept her from her rightful place.
Straightening her shoulders, Evelyn turned to meet the man’s hateful glare. “Not at all,” she replied evenly. “I merely tended to a patient. He had a dislocated shoulder, and I–”
“I saw what you did!” Mr. Bragg spat, taking a threatening step closer. “What you did was indecent. He was half-clad, and you had your hands on his naked skin.”
“I’m his doctor,” Evelyn objected, doing her best to hold back the anger that boiled within her. “Would you not have asked him to remove his shirt? Would you not have touched him?”
“You’re a woman,” he sneered.
Evelyn shook her head, annoyed that every discussion always reverted back to the same argument. “That does not signify,” she insisted, hands on her sides as she leaned forward, meeting Mr. Bragg’s stare with an unflinching one of her own. “My father trusts my skills. He–”
“I do not!”
“Well, that is your problem then, not mine.”
With steam coming out of his ears, Mr. Bragg stepped forward, his breath brushing over her face. “You might think you’re a doctor, but you’re wrong,” he hissed. “No one would allow you to treat them if it weren’t for your father’s reputation. You’re nothing without him.”
Evelyn swallowed, knowing Mr. Bragg’s words to be true, and yet, she could not surrender. Would not. Not ever. “Simply because people do not trust in my abilities does not mean I do not possess them,” she told him. “People can be wrong in their assumptions…as you must know.” Although Evelyn rarely succumbed to hidden insults, she could not help herself in that moment. Mr. Bragg’s overbearing attitude riled her, and she could not in good conscience bow her head to him.
A hint of shock came to his eyes when her meaning sank in, causing his face to turn dark red. “You harlot!” he hissed, and his hands curled painfully around her upper arms. “Your father ought to have taught you how to behave as a woman.”
Ignoring the touch of fear that crawled up her spine, Evelyn glared back at him. “He taught me how to be a doctor.”
A growl escaped Mr. Bragg, and he yanked her against him. “Once you’re my wife, you will learn how to–”
“I will never!” Evelyn objected, fear finally urging her to shove against him. Unfortunately, he was right about one thing: her strength was no match for his.
A satisfied smile curled up the corners of his lips when she struggled against him unsuccessfully. “You will,” he sneered. “Once your father is gone, I will be your only chance to get anywhere near a patient.” Suddenly, his gaze dropped from hers, lower, and she understood his intention the moment he crushed her against him, his mouth seeking hers.
Averting her head in disgust, she felt his lips brush over her cheek. Her leg pulled up of its own volition, like a reflex triggered by his attack, and her knee connected with his groin.
A howl escaped his lips, his hands falling from her as he bent in pain, cursin
g her under his breath.
Swallowing the panic that still coursed through her, Evelyn stepped back and brushed her trembling hands down her dress. “Someone ought to teach you how to behave like a gentleman,” she said as she stepped around him, eager to leave this room.
Closing the door behind her, she inhaled a deep breath and then crossed through the kitchen, hoping that her father had returned from his walk. She needed to speak to him about Mr. Bragg. There was no way around it. Unfortunately, her father had been wrong in his assessment of the man. Not only did he not possess the skills or dedication needed in order to heal others, he also had a backward way of looking at women. Even if she married him–as had been her father’s suggestion–he would never allow her to work as a doctor as he had made unmistakably clear only a moment ago. They would have to think of another solution.
“Ah, my dear, there you are,” her father greeted her warmly as she stepped into the small parlour. Sitting in his favourite chair, Whiskers curled up on his lap, purring contentedly, he smiled at her, his white hair almost blinding in the sun streaming in through the window.
“Hello, Father.” Approaching, Evelyn did her best to forget about her encounter with Mr. Bragg and focus on the more important occurrence that morning. “Mr. Harvey allowed me to relocate his shoulder.”
A smile came to her father’s face. “That is wonderful. The young are not as stern in their ideas as those that have seen more winters.” He chuckled, patting the armrest of the chair next to him.
Sinking onto the seat, Evelyn exhaled a shuddering breath, noting the way her hands still trembled.
“Is something wrong?” her father asked, his watchful eyes gliding over her. Decades of treating patients had given him a keen insight into human behaviour. “You seem out of sorts.”
Evelyn sighed, “Mr. Bragg objected to me treating Mr. Harvey on my own. He was quite adamant.”
