If he was being brutally honest with himself, had he ever found the real Clarissa interesting? Conversations about ribbons and parties were dull. Yet he enjoyed her sister’s questions and observations and had also enjoyed more than one dream in which her shapely bare legs were tangled in his rumpled sheets. Last night, after seeing her dark eyes fired with excitement and her hair loose, his fevered dream about Bella had been outrageously vivid. All that glorious straight dark hair fanned over his pillows, mussed from where his fingers had tangled in it. Her pink lips plump and swollen from his kisses. Her lovely eyes darker still from passion rather than wary. His mind desperate to know exactly what was going on in hers. Burning lust and curiosity. Those intense feelings were uniquely about Bella, and the more he got to know her, the more she interested him and the greater he lusted.
Perhaps she had seen that yesterday and his blatant lust had got her dander up? It was possible. He had found his eyes wandering to her as she worked alongside him. He had sought excuses to touch her and hold her. It was feasible he had held her too close and for a moment too long. And he’d asked her to call him Joe—because he had wanted to be Joe for her. Joe the man rather than the more formal Dr Warriner. He had even intentionally removed his spectacles as he’d drawn the curricle outside his office, in a pathetic attempt to appear less scholarly and more...what? Handsome? Attractive? He might have come across a tad desperate. Perhaps, in his rampant enthusiasm, he had overstepped the mark, especially if she was not at all interested in him that way. Something as likely as it was humbling.
Should he apologise in case he had offended her or ogled or lingered? Should he set the record straight and tell Bella his infatuation with Clarissa had been a silly phase and one he had quickly grown out of? Which, of course, all his infatuations had been, so why should this one be any different? Dare he suggest he preferred Bella now that he had got to know her? Only an idiot would admit that truth. Aside from the fact it made Joe sound fickle and indecisive, her father had forbidden both of his daughters from associating with the entire Warriner family, so this foolish attraction was also doomed from the outset, too, and he would do better to leave it well be. That would be the sensible course of action as he wasn’t entirely sure what he was feeling any more or if his sudden attraction to Bella was as transient as it had been for her sister. All his previous infatuations had been short-lived, why on earth should this one be any different?
Although this did feel different.
Bella had flaws. She was hot and cold. Her erratic stand-offish behaviour, for example, was annoying when Joe had done nothing to deserve it. And she could be snippy and downright insulting when she had a mind to be. One minute they got on like a house on fire and the next she bolted as if she was scared of him. Scared of him! Joe. The most placid and soft-hearted Warriner. It didn’t make sense. Yet he still liked her. Her other attributes more than made up for her unpredictable mood swings. She was clever, resourceful, kind and brave. She was actively disobeying her father to continue to work with him, which showed she had the courage of her convictions and cared deeply about their patients. Bella was dependable. Scholarly. Inquisitive. Practical. Had a beautiful smile. A gloriously naughty laugh, lovely eyes and those legs... All real attributes rather than imagined. His feelings more human than courtly.
And still ultimately pointless.
Regardless of what he was feeling, Bella had never once given him the impression she reciprocated them and he sincerely doubted she was similarly struggling with a sorry case of inappropriate lust. After yesterday’s tense and uncomfortable end to their carriage ride, he wasn’t entirely certain what the blasted woman was thinking. But he still wanted to kiss her. Good lord, he wanted to kiss her so badly, the pain of wanting a bit like a toothache. Constant. All-consuming.
Yet he still did not know what to do about it!
He huffed out a sigh, earning him curious glances from the two brothers sat with him at the breakfast table, and pretended to be engrossed in his newspaper. Joe turned the page and wished he hadn’t.
Chapter Eleven
He stared at the headline with a sinking feeling. Smallpox was in Nottingham. Although that was nearly forty miles away, it was still far too close for comfort as far as he was concerned. The Great North Road joined the towns together, which meant the disease could easily travel in a carriage and wreak devastation. Definitely something serious enough to take his mind off the vexing Bella and his own maddening confusion.
‘You look like the sky is about to fall down.’ His eldest brother, Jack, dropped his own newspaper to stare at him. ‘Why are you huffing and frowning? You’ve been doing it all morning.’
Joe turned his newspaper around so it could be read from across the table. ‘Smallpox.’
‘Ah. I see. Not good.’ As always, his big brother tried to reassure him. ‘But as you’ve insisted on us all suffering that vaccination stuff, we have nothing to fear. Do we?’
‘No. Of course not. Everybody in this house is protected against the disease. But it’s not this house I worry about. It’s all the others. Don’t you remember the ruckus Dr Bentley created when I tried to offer it when I first set up my practice here? He put the fear of God in people.’
Quite literally as it turned out. As soon as the old fool got wind of Joe’s plans to treat the whole of Retford with cowpox—a harmless disease which was proved to repel smallpox—Dr Bentley had declared it a scandalous travesty. Cowpox was a bovine disease infecting the skin and udders of farmyard creatures, after all, and therefore not human. To suggest wilfully infecting the entire parish with a bovine disease on the off chance it would keep them safe from the dreaded smallpox was outrageous, when everyone knew the best way to prevent it was to be inoculated by subjecting the people to a weakened version of smallpox itself. A human disease for human patients.
Joe had tried to be the voice of reason, explaining that the new cowpox vaccination held less of the risk of inoculation—which sometimes erupted into full-blown smallpox regardless—but he was a newly qualified physician, and a Warriner to boot, so his calls fell on dubious ears.
Then the consistently Warriner-hating Reverend Reeves had thrown his oar in and issued a blistering sermon from the pulpit quoting Corinthians. ‘“All flesh is not the same flesh, but there is one kind of flesh of men, another flesh of beasts.”’
At the end, the parishioners were left in no doubt that mixing the flesh of a cow and a man in any way was the work of Satan and that Joe was one of Satan’s own warriors.
Few took up Joe’s kind offer of free vaccinations, preferring to wait for Dr Bentley to call his trusted inoculator, a man who would treat you with the crusty old flesh of a diseased smallpox victim for a price. Something the Reverend condoned as it was human and thereby sanctified by God himself. In the end, the trusted inoculator had charged an arm and a leg for his cure, so only those with a fat enough purse were able to benefit. Huge swathes of Retford remained dangerously unprotected and vulnerable still.
‘Perhaps now the threat is so close, I should try again. I have a better reputation now in some quarters. We all do. Maybe the people would listen this time.’
So far silent, Jake snorted across the breakfast table. ‘You are a glutton for punishment. It’ll serve the fools right if they catch it and then they’ll wish they had listened to you in the first place.’ A comment which earned him a stern look from the eldest Warriner.
‘We rise above the nonsense, Jacob, and we do what is right. We are not our father.’ Jack regarded Joe seriously. ‘If you think the situation warrants it, then you should offer it again. As you say, we have come a long way in the eyes of the locals in the last few years. Your patients have enough faith in you to trust what you prescribe. You’ve helped enough of them to earn their respect and the rest of us will reiterate your message. Just as last time, Letty and I will cover the costs.’
‘It’ll be expensive.’ The cowpox vaccination was made by one man, the brilliant Dr Edward Jenner, who
had worked on his cure solidly for two decades. Joe had met him once and they corresponded occasionally. ‘And I’ll have to travel to Gloucestershire to get it. I’m not sure I can spare the time to ride a hundred miles and back just yet.’ The logistics of balancing such a journey with his myriad responsibilities would be difficult. He could trust Bella to do what was necessary at the foundling home, but his other patients were spread far and wide. Some needed regular monitoring. The long trip would eat up at least five days. Possibly more, when Joe could rarely spare five minutes.
‘I would offer, but I don’t want to leave Letty.’ Jack’s third child was not due for another two months, but he was constantly fussing over his wife, due largely to the fact she could not be trusted not to take too much on. With Jamie’s wife, Cassie, also in an advanced state of pregnancy, he was also unlikely to want to be away for the better part of a week. Both Jack’s and Joe’s eyes fixed on the youngest Warriner expectantly.
‘Oh, for goodness sake! I’ll go.’ Jake folded his arms sulkily. ‘Heaven forbid I should enjoy my holiday at home uninterrupted.’
‘Your whole life is a holiday, little brother.’ Jake’s life in London was a bit of a mystery and a great cause of concern to his brothers, who all believed he was worth more than the gallivanting he was widely reported to be doing. ‘Maybe it’s time to consider a profession like Joe rather than swanning about town in the pursuit of pleasure?’
‘Whilst I’ll admit to the swanning, it’s certainly not all pleasure.’ He grinned rakishly, looking decidedly pleased with himself. ‘But it is significantly more pleasurable than your constant nagging, your lordship.’ Jake stood, clearly unoffended, and as usual wouldn’t be drawn on the subject further. ‘I find I am suddenly looking forward to a jaunt to Gloucestershire. The sun is shining, the birds are singing and a few days entirely free of criticism appeals. So much so, I shall leave this afternoon. How much of your dreaded pox do I need to procure?’
* * *
Bella’s nerves had been on edge all day, meaning she jumped at the slightest sound in the sunny, near-empty infirmary. It wasn’t fear or the usual anxiety which caused this state, it was embarrassment. After a pleasant and enlightening afternoon mixing medicines, a fabulous and daring ride in his curricle, she had succumbed to irrational panic because she had assumed he wanted to kiss her and she had wanted to kiss him right back. Then she’d run.
Run!
Exactly like the irrational and addled girl she did not want to be. With hindsight, she was mortified and totally ashamed of herself. Lord only knew what he thought when she now realised he probably had no intention of kissing her at all. She had seen with her own eyes the way he had gazed upon Clarissa. The Incomparable. The charming, beautiful Incomparable all men preferred. Thinking he would want to kiss her instead, the bookish and broken Beaumont, was laughable, except Bella couldn’t find it funny. She had wanted to kiss him though, for a fleeting moment she almost had, then remembered she was terrified of the thought of kissing. With hindsight, she had no right to have panicked.
She knew he was a good man. A wonderful kind-hearted, clever and lovable man. He had done nothing to make her think otherwise, behaving like the perfect gentleman throughout all their encounters, and he deserved a grovelling apology for being treated like a lecher after a perfectly lovely day in his company. The poor man must think her the rudest, most ungrateful and peculiar of women. Totally irrational and probably mad. There was no avoiding an explanation for her horrendous behaviour. For hours she had been mentally rehearsing an apology, trying to find exactly the right words to explain away her unwarranted reaction to a good deed after a perfectly pleasant, incident-free afternoon. Bella was dreading his arrival and yet wishing the whole thing already done. All in all, the waiting was excruciating.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Giles.’
At the sound of his voice on the landing she nearly leapt out of her skin. She slowly inhaled and exhaled in a failed attempt to calm her hammering heart and wished she knew what words would adequately convey her disgust at her own behaviour without enlightening him about the humiliating truth of her addled mind. Nothing she had rehearsed felt right. When he strode into the empty ward looking about as gorgeous and windswept as it was possible for a man to be, she also apparently lost the ability to talk in cohesive sentences.
‘Dr... Joe... Good afternoon.’ She would apologise in a bit, once the power of speech returned.
He paused midstep and regarded her warily. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Isabella. How are our patients today?’
He was back to being formal—who could blame him after she had sprinted away from him as if her corset was on fire?—yet she hated the formality at the same time. ‘As you can see, all is quiet.’
‘Something we should make the most of. Have you seen this?’ He unclasped his bag and pulled out a folded newspaper, which he handed to her on his way past. Clearly he was not going to be the one to bring up what had happened. He was far too polite. Or annoyed. ‘Smallpox is in Nottingham.’ The matter-of-fact delivery suggested he preferred to keep things professional and detached. Both bothered her immensely. She didn’t want to forget all of yesterday, just the tragic ending, yet he obviously did. She should apologise now and just get it over with.
‘Surely Nottingham is far enough away that we do not need to worry?’
Coward! Coward! You make me sick.
The real her inside was jumping up and down with frustration, yet as much as Bella wanted to draw a veil over her atrocious reaction and end the brittle atmosphere, that would require admitting things. Embarrassing things. Grossly personal things. Her toes curled inside her slippers at the thought.
‘On the contrary, epidemics of smallpox have been known to travel much greater distances in a very short period of time. I am worried. Very worried. I estimate at least half of the population hereabouts are unprotected against the disease. And it is summer. Something which all my reading suggests appears to have a bearing on the spread of such illnesses. With the virulent nature of smallpox, it would take only one or two cases to pass through here to potentially trigger an epidemic.’
She could tell by his expression he wasn’t exaggerating and his obvious concern worried her. It also gave her a pathetic excuse to avoid apologising for a little bit longer. ‘You think it that dangerous?’
‘When I was studying in Edinburgh, I witnessed first-hand the devastation smallpox can cause, especially in the poorest areas of the city. No matter what we did, it passed from house to house in a matter of days. It killed hundreds and we were powerless to stop it. I would avoid that tragedy here at all costs.’
‘How do we do that?’
‘With smallpox, prevention is better than cure. We need to offer widespread vaccination.’
‘I’ve read about it.’ Bella also knew it was controversial and vastly unpopular. ‘You think this is the best method of prevention?’
‘I do. I’ve already sent my brother on a quest to fetch enough of Dr Jenner’s cowpox to protect the whole parish. When he returns, I intend to offer it to as many people as I can. We’ll start here in the foundling home, as children are particularly susceptible to the disease. Some healthy adults can survive smallpox, but like many plagues, it devastates the very old and very young. Those that have been here a few years have already received the vaccination. I made sure of it. The old inoculation is too unpredictable, and whilst it works in a great majority of cases, there is less risk using cowpox to ward off the disease as it is harmless to humans. Most suffer no ill effects whatsoever. The old way of inoculating the patient with smallpox—no matter how weakened a strain it is—carries too much of a risk. Some patients develop the disease itself rather than build resistance against it, often with disastrous consequences. I do not want one case of smallpox. Not one. Therefore, the only sure way of protecting Retford is to use the new vaccination now.’ He glanced at her and frowned, and Bella knew that frown was all about yesterday and not at all about the potential threat o
f an epidemic. His lips compressed into a flat line and he looked away, perhaps in disgust, and the weight of her shame hung heavy. ‘Mrs Giles should have a list.’ He was already busying himself reading the day’s notes, effectively dismissing her from his presence, but Bella was not ready to be dismissed. She still needed to apologise.
‘Then I shall ensure I audit the list thoroughly and make a new list of all those in need of it. I presume you also would like me to make enquiries amongst the staff?’
Just say the words. Stop putting them off. Make this awful tension go away.
‘Indeed.’ He didn’t look up. ‘Stress that any person not protected endangers the lives of the children.’ Bella could sense he did not really want to prolong the conversation. His tone was curt. Clipped. Who could blame him? He had probably expected an apology and when none was forthcoming felt justifiably aggrieved.
‘I will need the vaccination.’
His head snapped up and he glared at her. ‘You’ve not been inoculated?’
‘None of my family have...Doctor.’ Bella hated the formality. Hated the wall of tension between them. Enough was enough. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday. Running away like that... I...’
Face your fears, Bella, and talk to him.
‘I panicked... You see...’ She was not ready to talk about what had happened in Vauxhall Gardens. That wall inside her mind was too big to tackle today. ‘I’m not good with men.’
The lungful of air she had not realised she was holding came out in a whoosh. He merely blinked back at her, his clever eyes magnified by the lens of his spectacles. After a few seconds she realised he was waiting for her to continue and explain why. Nerves made her next words garbled. ‘I panicked. Sorry... I thought you were going to kiss me...’ Oh, Lord, she shouldn’t have admitted to that! ‘Which I know is preposterous...because you much prefer Clarissa...and ours is an academic friendship. Professional...for the foundlings. As I said, I’m sorry.’
A Warriner to Tempt Her Page 12
