by Sharon Page
Julia didn’t know why that was what she thought of as they swept through the foyer and were escorted to a table, surrounded by London’s Bright Young Things. Perhaps it was because it was in all the newspapers, or because she was worried about Diana, or because she was thinking of Sarah Brand—where had she vanished to? They passed a group of laughing women and Zoe murmured, “That one is the Prince of Wales’s latest.”
Julia recognized her. “She’s married,” Julia whispered back.
“He appears to like them that way.”
Julia thought of Diana, in love and pregnant by a man who was married. Her faith in modernity wobbled a bit. Was the frenetic pace of modern life simply a way to be too busy to be unhappy?
Zoe ordered champagne cocktails, but barely touched hers. “I was told it is not good for the baby. Dr. Haliwell does like to give orders. He also insisted the best man for Brideswell Hospital can be found at the London Hospital. Not Dr. Campbell, but another young, promising surgeon by the name of McLeod. Shall I go and interview him?”
Julia smiled. She knew Zoe was trying to spare her. But she could see Dougal without pain. “I inquired at a few of the other doctors’ offices during your appointment. I was also advised to talk to a doctor also at the London Hospital—Dr. Fenwick. So we’ll both have to go and compare.”
“What if you see Dr. Campbell?”
“Then I shall say hello.”
Zoe lifted a brow. “You’re remarkable, Julia. You look barely troubled at all.”
“It’s the breeding. Inside, I feel a mess of nerves.”
“The Earl of Worthington said you’re obviously very passionate on the inside.” Zoe tapped a perfectly manicured nail—clear at the tip and the half-moon at the base, then red for the rest—against her lip. “I wonder how he knew.”
Julia felt a blush creep up. “He claims he could tell just by looking at me. I am certain he was making that up. Simply to tease and unsettle me.”
Zoe laughed. “The earl unsettles you?”
“We argue and debate constantly, Zoe. Hardly promise of a companionable marriage.”
But Zoe’s eyes sparkled. “But that isn’t what you really want, is it? Nigel used to drive me crazy at first. We seemed to be on the opposite sides of everything. It made it all the more passionate. And the way Worthington looked at you in the corridor of the train, especially when I told him someone else is in love with you—”
“You shouldn’t have fibbed. And there will never be anything between Worthington and I. I agree with my mother and grandmother—I think a companionable marriage, where a man and woman’s passion hasn’t turned to utter hatred, is a much more sensible arrangement.”
But she was lying. Completely. Trying not to show that in her expression, she finished her champagne. What was the point in feeling desire for a man who blatantly said he would offer nothing more? Who didn’t even bother wooing with pretty words? She admired honesty but she didn’t think she could embark on an affair in such a cold-blooded way...
But as Zoe elegantly signed the check—“Zoe, Duchess of Langford”—Julia couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to see the world. With Cal. To see all those exotic things he’d whispered about. See them at his side.
“Julia, you’re blushing. What are you thinking about?” Zoe asked. She was “Your Graced” by all the staff as they left, all the way to the doorman who opened the door to their car—the Daimler kept at the London house.
“Not a thing,” Julia said as she slid into the car, and it took Zoe and her to the London Hospital, a charity hospital on Whitechapel High Street.
They halted on the road outside the front entry. The street was filled with carts pulled by ponies, even oxen. Julia looked up at the long brick facade, the arched entries, the people shuffling up the front steps. Would she see Dougal here? Her heart gave a quick, fast step, as if it was actually trembling with nerves.
With Zoe, she marched up the front steps and walked into the reception room of the hospital, crowded with patients. A nurse saw them and gaped in surprise. Their clothes and Zoe’s announcement she was a duchess got them immediate attention. In moments, she and Zoe were being ushered to the ward where Dr. Fenwick was doing his rounds.
The ward was a large space with a surprisingly tall ceiling. Summer sunlight came in the arched windows and fell across the simple white cots that lined all the walls. Women lay on their beds. One young woman was sitting up and feeding her infant. A nurse in a skirt that swished low on her calves busily made her way from bed to bed with medicine.
Then she saw him as he straightened from the bed of a patient. He wore a white coat with a stethoscope draped around his neck, and carried a chart in his hands.
Not Dr. Fenwick. It was Dougal.
For a moment, she couldn’t speak. All she could do was watch him work.
Auburn-haired and handsome, Dougal was so at ease with his patients. He even drew a laugh from a woman who lay on her back and had been groaning in pain. It was as if just hearing his voice had made her feel better. The woman clasped his hand. “Bless ye, Dr. Campbell.”
Julia had thought the same herself so many times when she watched him help people at the Brideswell Hospital.
After a few minutes she realized he was happy here. His patients adored him. He was surrounded by people recovering—by people he’d helped. And he discussed their illnesses with the interest of a man driven to find cures. Dougal Campbell’s compassion and skill left her awestruck. This was a true modern man. He spent his days pushing his capabilities, his knowledge—the knowledge of medical science.
The hospital, with its nose-tingling scent of carbolic, with the life-and-death drama, was Dougal’s place. This was his place in the world. His work here, in London, must be exciting.
He had found his place.
Her heart felt as if it had plummeted to her toes. Watching him work, she realized how much good they could have done together. How she would have been in awe of what he did every day.
What was more important—being with a man you admired or a man who made the whole world stop, but in an unrequited way?
Or maybe the only solution was to have neither man.
She had been raised and trained to be the mistress of a great estate. But that was never going to happen. She could run off to Capri or Paris like Sebastian and become an artist. She was joking—or was she? She remembered the thrill she’d felt when Cal had forced her to put paint on his canvas.
“Lady Julia.”
She knew the deep, husky voice, the trace of Scottish burr. She couldn’t retreat now, even if she wanted to. Dougal looked startled at first. Then happy. Yes, definitely happy.
Seeing that glow in his dark eyes made her heart twist.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Campbell.” She had never faced a man whom she had once loved and now must no longer love. It was an awkward sensation.
“What are you doing here?” he asked quickly. Then he corrected himself. “I mean, I’m surprised to see you at the hospital, Lady Julia. But it’s an honor to have you here. A great pleasure.” A blush touched his high cheekbones, and as he stumbled over his words, she smiled. But inside, she was remembering that they had kissed once. A polite kiss. At the time, it had been breathtaking. It had been sweet and it had set her heart soaring.
What a thing to think of. She must be serious. Not thinking of his sweet kiss. Or Cal’s hot, melting kisses—that Cal gave just because he was bold and he was trying to shock her. Dougal had never tried to shock her. He had always...treated her as an equal. Not as a lady, not as a sexual plaything, but as someone with an intelligent mind.
“We are here to find a new doctor for Brideswell Hospital.”
“We?”
“Dr. Campbell,” Zoe acknowledged as she stepped forward—rather cautiously for exuberant Zoe.
&
nbsp; He bowed to Zoe, fast and startled. “My apologies, Your Grace. I—I didn’t see you there.”
“No, I could see that,” Zoe said, her eyes twinkling. Julia felt Zoe look at Dougal, then at her, and she knew Zoe was appraising them.
But there was nothing between them now. A past, but now only politeness.
“Your replacement at the hospital, Dr. Hamilton, has been a disaster,” Julia explained. “He wants to be a fashionable physician. To force him to treat a farmwife on the estate who had trouble in her labor, I had to threaten to have my brother fire him. And he absolutely refused to recognize that women could suffer shell shock. Hysteria, he insisted, and he wouldn’t recommend any—” She broke off. She was saying far too much. And not very coherently.
She knew she was blushing.
And Dougal couldn’t seem to take his gaze away from her. Probably because she was making a fool of herself.
“We were given recommendations of doctors who work here,” Zoe finished. “We were given two names, and assured either man would make an excellent head of the Brideswell Hospital.”
Dougal nodded. “I see. You want to interview the men, Your Grace. You need a quiet place for that. Follow me.”
That was Dougal—rather blunt in his conversation. Nothing flowery, as if he didn’t have time to waste.
He took her and Zoe to the generously sized boardroom used by the directors of the hospital when they met. Portraits of austere gentlemen adorned the paneled walls and leather swiveling chairs were placed the length of a polished oak table. They took seats, Zoe turned things over to her and Julia explained their hope that either Dr. Fenwick or Dr. McLeod would prove to be good for Brideswell.
Dougal leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Both are excellent doctors. My recommendation is McLeod. Young but dedicated. Lives and breathes the work, eager to tackle any case. Good with the patients. He’d appreciate the opportunity to be the head of a hospital. I would be available to consult by telephone, if he needs an outside opinion or finds a problem that stumps him.”
“That’s very generous of you.” Julia met his gaze. She still admired this man and her heart was warm with gratitude toward his offer. Impulsively she said, “You appear to be very happy here.”
“Coming to London changed everything for me. My surgical skills and knowledge have expanded threefold. There are surgeries I have done here that I would have never dreamed of attempting at Brideswell Hospital.”
“Oh. I am so very glad.”
Her heart gave a sharp pang. In that moment, she knew how happy she could have been as Dougal’s wife. She would have come to London with him. She would have kept his home for him, and been there to support him when he returned from the hospital, exhausted and carrying worries on his shoulders—
But then she thought of Cal casually draping his shirt around her, then standing behind her and holding her hand as she held the paintbrush. How much she had admired him when he promised to help Ellen Lambert, when he spoke to the Toft children.
Cal knocked her off her feet. He did something to her when she was with him. She felt—even when they were arguing—she felt she crackled with life.
But surely being happy and useful was much better. Companionship, as she’d said to Zoe.
Then Dougal took her and Zoe on a tour of the hospital, explaining the strengths of both men, and also their weaknesses, as they went through the wards. He stressed attributes that he believed would make each man suitable for a small country hospital, and their limitations. Truly, he did make McLeod sound the perfect candidate.
In that afternoon, she was transported into his world again. His world of medicine, and inquiry, and saving lives. She remembered how much she had wanted to be part of that world, to be of use, to do work of importance.
She had never felt so confused—so uncertain.
As he finished, Zoe said, “Dr. McLeod sounds perfect and your recommendation carries a lot of weight, as does your offer. Julia and I will interview both men. If Julia is in agreement, then we will make a decision.”
That was Zoe. In matters of business, Zoe knew what to do and she would never simply take a man’s advice. She would weigh it.
“Yes, I do agree.”
Dougal took them back to the boardroom. “I’ll fetch them then.”
“Thank you,” Zoe said.
“It is the least I can do, Your Grace.”
Julia saw how awkward he looked. The only moments he appeared to relax were when he was showing them the wards.
“Congratulations,” she added quickly. She didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. She didn’t want awkwardness to be the last emotion between them. “I should have said before—I am so pleased you are to be married.”
“You’re very gracious,” he said.
It was kind, so why did that word bother her so? Aging queens were gracious. Her grandmother could be gracious.
Cal had called her passionate. But he’d done it to tease her.
“I’ll summon McLeod,” Dougal said. He stood, gave a brief bow and left to find the two doctors.
Within the hour, the business was settled. After speaking with both men, Zoe concurred with Dr. Campbell’s opinion. Julia agreed. Dr. Robert McLeod was to be Brideswell’s new doctor. Julia felt something good had been accomplished. She and Zoe left, walking briskly down the steps toward the waiting car. Once in the rear seat, she looked back toward the hospital. Would she want that life—or did she want Cal? And did it matter, when she was to have neither man?
She had to decide. What did she want to do—?
She gasped. Dougal had come out onto the top of the steps. He lifted his hand in a brief wave and she waved back, startled he had come to watch her go.
* * *
The Earl of Worthington’s London house stood on Berkeley Square. A four-story mansion of stone built in the early eighteenth century, it took up half the street. From the drawing room windows, one could see the square—the paths shaded beneath arching branches, the trimmed lawns that stretched within the wrought iron black fences. The park filled in the afternoon with strolling couples, elderly gentlemen taking their constitutional, and a veritable army of nannies and perambulators.
Cal was not in—he had sent word that he wouldn’t come back for dinner. But Diana led Julia into the music room. By the window, with sunlight pouring in, Diana exclaimed, “You must come with me tonight. The Black Bottom is London’s newest jazz club. It’s modeled on a seraglio and most of the women go dressed in Turkish attire. I absolutely have to go.”
“I can guess why. Diana, I wish you wouldn’t.”
“I must! I’m going to force him to make a decision, once and for all. He keeps telling me he yearns to be with me, that he wants to find a way to leave his wife. But then—then nothing happens. The days are ticking by and I know I don’t have much longer. Just come with me and let me resolve it. Either I’ll know he’s going to divorce his wife for me, or I will know it is over.”
With a sinking heart, Julia could guess what would happen. Diana would need a friend there for her. “All right. I’ll go.” Zoe knew Julia was going out to a jazz club, but she’d elected to go to bed early and rest. Pregnancy had made her tired, but she’d urged Julia to enjoy herself.
At the Black Bottom, Julia expected to finally see the heartless wretch who had used Diana so terribly. She didn’t expect to see Cal—Cal seated at a table, talking to a black-haired man who dressed just like an American gangster.
She had walked in with Diana, drinking in the smoky atmosphere. The only lighting came from lamps made of metal with decorative cutouts, like those she had seen in pictures of Morocco. The tables were low, surrounded by cushions. The whole place looked like an opium den. Sultry, naughty-sounding jazz music wound silkily through the gloom.
Julia saw several women in embroide
red jackets and voluminous harem pants, smoking cigars. She gasped at the sight of two girls, wearing only a strip of fabric over their breasts, along with diaphanous skirts that pooled on the ground. They wore veils, and black kohl rimmed their eyes. Their feet were bare. They looked exotic—except they both spoke with a London accent.
When she saw Cal, her heart gave a leap of surprise. When she looked at Cal, the band ceased to play. The girls serving drinks stopped in midmotion. A stream of champagne stopped in midpour.
The man sitting across from Cal leaned forward and spoke quietly. Cal’s expression blackened into one of anger.
A lady shouldn’t stare, but at the dramatic change in Cal’s face, she did.
The man looked like one of the famed gangsters. She had seen pictures in the newspapers of them. Reputedly Al Capone insisted that there was no excuse not to be well dressed. This man wore clothes just like she had seen in a photograph of Al Capone—a white suit jacket over a black shirt, tie, but a white waistcoat. Gold flashed on his wrist as he lifted a cigar to his lips.
The man leaned close to Cal, muttered something, then straightened with a triumphant smirk. Cal’s hand shook as he lit a cigarette—it took him two tries with his silver lighter. Cal’s expression was positively thunderous for a moment, while he faced away from the man. Then Cal smoothed his face into a look of jaded boredom, and said something to the man, who didn’t like what he heard. He shouted back at Cal. Julia caught two words right at the end. “I’ll talk.”
Talk about what? Was he threatening Cal?
“See you later, Julia,” Diana said.
What? She jerked around, just in time to see Diana disappear behind a diaphanous curtain with a tall man. Damn! She’d hoped to find out who the gentleman was. Then she was going to tell him to stop stringing Diana along. She feared he had no intention of doing right by Diana—and that would leave Diana with two choices.
Two heart-wrenching choices.
“Care to dance?”
Startled, she looked up—to find Cal beside her. He’d slicked his blond hair back and he wore a gorgeous evening suit that emphasized his broad shoulders. It was black, setting off his tanned face. Sultry music slithered through the smoky interior.
