An Eternity of You

by Sophia Garrett

  One large hand drifted to her cheek. Calloused fingers grazed across her skin. “What have I done to offend you so?”

  The ridiculousness of his question jerked her out of her stupor. She twisted out of his grasp. “I don’t think it’s that hard to understand. Pardon me, Andrew, but I must be on my way.”

  Again, confusion clouded his handsome face. “Wait a moment, and I will retrieve the carriage. I have not hired the necessary staff yet and my driver is with the smith. Presently, I have only a gardener and a housekeeper.”

  Rebecca shook her head vigorously. Already descending the stairs, she called over her shoulder, “It’s not that far. I’ll walk.” He wasn’t a stupid man by any means. How dare he act so obtusely ignorant! Did he truly believe that six years would erase his broken promises, his false words of love, and he could come back here and things would be as they had before?

  Breaking into a jog, she huffed to herself. The nerve! Lofty titles and elevated status had certainly gone to his head. He was nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothes.

  …

  Andrew watched the lane through his study window long after Rebecca’s departure. The same old ache burned inside him, making him restless and more than a little foul-tempered. Thankfully, Alice had not called for him, and when he checked on her she still remained sleeping. He was in no mood to focus on being a father.

  What the devil had crawled beneath Rebecca’s skin? She had been disappointed he was leaving to assume the responsibilities of the earldom in Sussex until his father turned over Sharrington. True, he hadn’t confided the real reason he was leaving. But then, confessing he was in love with her wouldn’t have made a difference. With his father living, he hadn’t held the power of a duke, nor the status to do as he pleased. His and Rebecca’s stations were too different, and he did not dare to chance the consequences that would follow if he stayed here. He would have had her in his bed and ruined her completely.

  So he had done the only honorable thing he could think of—he left. He tried to force her out of his heart by doing what was expected of him and marrying. Despite his father’s failing faculties, he tuned out every bit of news related to Sharrington to bury that affection. And when snuffing her out proved impossible, he had stayed away for honor’s sake.

  Andrew pushed a hand through his hair and blew out a hard breath. He tore his gaze off the window, tried to focus on the reports Mr. Landess had left behind. But the columns and the numbers blurred into nonsensical mush. Not that he didn’t comprehend them—he had always been keen with estate management. Right now, he simply wanted to focus on other matters. Alice. Christmas. And Rebecca. Not necessarily in that order.

  When Rebecca teased Alice, for the first time in eight months Alice laughed and truly meant it. He’d glimpsed the carefree four-year-old she’d been before cholera nearly claimed her life and made off with her mother. And Rebecca… When had she become so good with children?

  The burn behind Andrew’s ribs took on a sharp, painful edge. What in the name of the heavens had he done to warrant her cold, unfriendly demeanor?

  He had half-hoped that today would spark a reunion of sorts. That her family and his might holiday together. Surely she would be married by now, though he had not observed a wedding ring. He despised the notion of seeing her with a husband, but if that was the only way he could experience the sweet heaven of Rebecca’s smile, he would suffer it a thousand times.

  Fortescue entered, his faint knock barely preceding him. “Your Grace, I hate to trouble you.”

  Andrew sat forward, gestured at a chair. “Have a seat, old man. The company might do me well.”

  “No, I am much too old for these late hours.” With a raspy chuckle, he tugged at his waistcoat hem. “I was wondering if you might see fit to conduct a few interviews tomorrow? Lady Alice will need more care than I should give. It would not be fitting for me to attend her in the bedroom.”

  “Right.” Andrew pursed his lips. He’d hoped to put off hiring a governess for Alice a little while longer. While he dare not admit it, he cherished not being forced to turn her care over to someone else. “I will have Reginald drive me into to the village tomorrow to make a few inquiries.” The venture would give him a good excuse to speak to the butcher and insure his directive on the hogs was received.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” He reached for the door, then paused. “It was good to see Miss Rebecca. Did she tell you Isaac passed?”

  Andrew blinked. “No. She said nothing. Her father is dead?”

  Fortescue nodded.

  “Did she mention how?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. It would appear she is Sharrington’s surgeon now.”

  I’ll be damned. Pride burst through Andrew. It didn’t surprise him Rebecca had chosen such an unconventional path, but at least that answered why no wedding ring adorned her hand. Few men would tolerate such willful labor in a wife. They would see it as insulting, disrespectful, and a challenge to convention. Precisely what Rebecca Rycroft was.

  “I always knew she would follow her father’s ways.” Fortescue leaned a bony shoulder on the doorframe. “She worked miracles with you when you came down with typhus. And at such a young age.” Affection lit his eyes. “She is an angel.”

  Andrew chuckled softly, memories of that illness blending with the vivid dreams he’d suffered when fever blinded him to reality. If Rebecca knew the indecent pleasures he had fantasized, she would have run in terror.

  Instead, he had run the moment his fever abated.

  He pushed down regret with the clenching of his hand. “She was the only one immune. Do you recall how quickly Mother and Father fled to London?”

  Laughter rasped in Fortescue’s chest. “Indeed, Your Grace. Your mother was never very courageous, I’m afraid.”

  “No, that she was not. But her heart was immense.”

  Fortescue nodded in silent agreement. “Yours is not so dissimilar. But I wonder if you’ve considered expanding it to include another.”

  “Another?” Andrew threw him a quizzical frown.

  Fortescue inclined his head toward the staircase behind him. “Lady Alice would benefit from a mother.”

  “I know.” But one loveless marriage seemed one too many to suffer in a solitary lifetime. At least when he knew how beautiful love could feel. Once again, Andrew’s gaze strayed to the window and the empty road that led to Rebecca’s home. If only class had not divided them. Now, it seemed too much time had passed, given her cold demeanor. If only he could discover why, perhaps he could undo the years that separated them.

  “Very well then, Your Grace. If you have no further need of me, I shall take my leave for the night.”

  “Go on, Fortescue, old man. Rest,” Andrew commented quietly. “I will go upstairs and keep watch over Alice for a while.” It would be many hours before his mind would find peace enough for sleep.

  Chapter Three

  “Daddy.”

  Alice’s faint, hoarse call invaded the sweet heaven of Rebecca’s lips against Andrew’s. He jerked upright in his bedside chair, blinking off the fog of dreams. It took a moment for him to realize where he was, what he was doing, and that he’d fallen asleep watching his daughter rest fitfully.

  “Daddy?” she called again.

  “I’m here, angel.” Leaning forward, he scooted closer to the bed. Sunlight trickled through the window. Outside, birds twittered merry greetings to morning.

  She twisted her head to look at him. “I’m thirsty.”

  He reached out a hand to tuck her curls away from her sweaty brow, then rested his wrist against her forehead. Her skin seared into his. Fever. This couldn’t be good. “Hold tight, Alice. I’ll fetch you some water.”

  Fighting back irrational worry, he told himself fever wasn’t always fatal. Had Rebecca warned she might suffer a bout of it? Andrew couldn’t remember. His daughter was sick; no logic would quell the uneasy tightening of his gut.

  He made his way to the kitchen for a pitcher of wat
er and a glass. En route to fulfill Alice’s request, he stopped to knock on Fortescue’s door. He hated waking the old man but he refused to leave Alice, and he wanted Rebecca to examine her.

  “Yes, Your Grace?” Fortescue called from within.

  “Forgive me, Fortescue, but could you please send the coach for Rebecca again? Alice has a fever.”

  “Of course.”

  Satisfied, Andrew trekked up the stairs, set the pitcher on the dresser, filled the glass, and seated himself beside his daughter once more. He passed her the drink; she eagerly gulped it down. For two seconds she remained completely motionless.

  On the third, she vomited all over the bed.

  Andrew jumped to his feet. “Fortescue! Hurry. She is ill!”

  Dear Lord, what more must he endure? He had come here to reclaim their lives, to give her happiness away from all the sorrow that pervaded Sussex. Yet it seemed God intended for her to suffer.

  He shoveled both hands through his hair, wrapped one arm around her slight shoulders, and guided her into his embrace. “Easy, Alice. Daddy’s here. You’ll feel better soon.”

  “It’s come again,” she whimpered. “I have the cholera. I’ll miss Christmas.”

  “No, sweetheart. It’s just from your broken arm.” He hugged her more tightly. “You’ll have your Christmas, angel. I promise.” Please God, let it be so.

  …

  Rebecca tied a clean apron around her waist before exiting her treatment room. Other surgeons used the stains of their handiwork like a badge of honor. She, however, found the streaks of blood and other contaminants unsightly. She might have been born her father’s daughter, but some lessons from her mother lingered—a lady should always look her reasonable best.

  “Mother, do you think my father would ever let me inside the great manor house?”

  Halfway across her bedroom, Rebecca halted. In all the conversations she’d had with Thomas about his birth and his father, not once had he ever seemed remotely curious about Andrew. One eyebrow arched, she slowly turned to look at her son. “Pardon?”

  “My father. Would he let me visit Sharrington Manor?”

  Completely unprepared for the question, Rebecca opened her mouth, closed it when words failed, then tried again. “I…”

  “I’ve always wondered what it looked like inside. It’s so big. Would he let me fish in the creek behind? Mr. Landess always ran me off.”

  He had gone fishing in the creek? Rebecca blinked again. “When did you fish there?” When had he learned to string a pole, for that matter?

  Thomas shrugged. “Last summer. I tried to catch bullfrogs.”

  That was marginally better than attempting to bait a hook when she knew of no one who had instructed him how. She let out a relieved breath. Really, it was past time to cut the hours she saw patients and spend more time teaching Thomas the things a six-year-old boy should know.

  “I have no idea, Thomas. I’m not about to ask him either.”

  “Why not?”

  Good question. She’d given him the impression Andrew’s departure was mutually agreed upon, not the slap in the face it had truly been. She puffed out a breath that stirred the escaped tendrils of her hair. “We’ll talk about this later, Thomas. There are four men outside waiting on me.”

  “Is that seven already?”

  “Yes.” Out of habit, she dipped her hands in the basin of water near her private parlor door then wiped them on her apron. “As I understand things, John Granger’s mill wheel snapped its supports just after dawn. Luckily no one was standing beneath it. But several were close enough to suffer minor injuries. Henry Clemsley, Mrs. Clemsley’s youngest son, needs stitches in the forehead. Luckily the looms and the women and children were isolated from the damage by an internal wall, away from the damage.”

  “Oh.” He nudged a wooden train with his toe, sending it scooting across the dirty wood floor. “I hope I don’t have to work in the mill.”

  She flashed him a grin. “You can always become a surgeon.”

  Thomas made a disgusted face. “That’s for girls, Mother.”

  Laughing, Rebecca opened the door. If he only knew how unusual his world was. Thank heavens they weren’t in London, where she would be ostracized for maintaining her passion for medicine. “Be good, Thomas. I’ll be in the treatment room if you need me. Oh, and don’t forget to put the bucket from the back porch beside my bed. I don’t want to step in a puddle once this snow accumulates.”

  “Yes, Mother. I wish it were autumn still. I’m so bored.”

  “I know, son. But it’s snowing today. I want you inside.”

  He let out a snort and picked up his train.

  Rebecca stepped into her front room, mentally ticking off which patient she would see first. Henry demanded immediate attention. He was bleeding all over her floor. “Henry, this way, please.”

  As he stood, her front door opened again. She held in a groan. So far, the day was stacking up to keep her on her feet all afternoon. Nothing she would complain about if her ministrations yielded coin enough for fresh vegetables. Unfortunately, it was beginning to look like a canned vegetable season. So much for the fresh goose for Christmas she’d been hoping for.

  She affixed a welcoming smile on her face and waited for the new client to enter.

  Her smile fell when Fortescue shuffled through the door. “Fortescue?” Andrew should really not be sending the old man out in this cold weather. “Whatever are you doing on the roads this morning?”

  “Miss Rebecca, Lady Alice suffers a fever. I could not locate the duke’s driver. Sometimes,” —his aged face colored with embarrassment— “he overindulges at night.”

  Andrew would definitely need a new driver. This one was as useful as a coach with three wheels.

  With a harassed sigh, she pursed her lips. A fever was the least of her concerns. She had told Andrew it might come. “Assure the duke it is normal.”

  “He would like you to look at her.”

  At that, Rebecca scoffed. She swept a hand around her front entry. “That’s impossible. I have a houseful of patients. Tell His Grace the world does not stop for him.”

  Ignoring the open-mouthed stares of several of her patients, she took Henry by the elbow and steered him toward the treatment room.

  “Miss Rebecca? Is there anything I can do for Lady Alice?” Fortescue called.

  Oh, damn. Why must the old man’s kindness make her feel guilty? Sighing, she released Henry’s elbow. “Go on inside, Henry. I will be there momentarily.”

  When he ducked beneath the heavy tapestry, Rebecca went to her cupboard of rapidly dwindling supplies. She pulled down a bottle of ground yarrow, another of ginger extract, and an almost empty flask of lavender oil. Turning, she presented them to Fortescue. “Blend the yarrow in water to reduce her fever. Three drops of ginger on the tongue will aid with chills. The lavender you can soak on a rag and douse her forehead.”

  When he took them from her hands, she turned to her medical bag and plucked out another bottle, this one filled with peppermint extract. She handed it to Fortescue as well. As an afterthought, she snatched a clump of dry chamomile out of a hanging basket. “This too. Three teas daily to keep her hydrated. You may add as much honey as she desires. The peppermint also makes an excellent tea.”

  He blinked, then stared at his hands. “Three drops yarrow. Lavender on her tongue…how often, Miss Rebecca?”

  Oh for goodness sake. “I’ll write it down.”

  She quickly jotted off a note, collected all her ingredients from Fortescue’s aged hands, stuffed them into an empty basket, and passed it back to him. “Give the note to His Grace. Lady Alice will be fine.”

  Satisfied she hadn’t neglected her duty, she left Fortescue in the main entry and proceeded into her treatment room. If Andrew thought she would come at his beck and call, he was sorely mistaken. She owed him nothing, and while she didn’t want Alice to suffer, she would not create the impression she considered him any different than a
ny other man. Duke he might be. Master he was not. Even if he did technically own her home, he had lost the right to enforce that claim six years past.

  Besides, if he had seen fit to repair the mill wheel, she might have had the time to examine Alice.

  Grinding her teeth, she inspected Henry’s wound. There was no need for conversation; Henry was mute. Pox had damaged his vocal chords when he was a few months old. As she worked, guilt niggled at her conscience. She shouldn’t have been so rude to Fortescue. Nor should she have shown so little empathy toward Alice. Indeed it could be possible her fever was abnormal. Unlikely, yet still, a small part of her that couldn’t let go of the past condemned her for turning her back on Andrew.

  He deserves no less.

  After all, it was his fault she had lived in shame for two years before need for her skills forced the villagers to accept her. His fault her father died and their house was rapidly deteriorating without his much-needed established rates. His fault her brother sat in the filth of Newgate. His fault also that the majority of Sharrington Village was sick and hungry. The whole damned mess her life had become was Andrew’s responsibility.

  Never mind that she had been a willing participant in his advances. That part alone, she was willing to accept. The rest…

  Indeed, he deserved the resentment that crept in when she lay alone at night.

  So why was it she couldn’t force him out of her heart?

  Henry winced beneath her and pulled back. Scolding herself for being too aggressive with the suture, Rebecca gentled her hand. “I’m sorry, Henry.”

  Now it was Andrew’s fault she couldn’t focus on her work. Damn Andrew’s father for dying! She’d rather starve than be responsible for Andrew’s household’s health. Not that he had paid for her services yesterday either.

  Finished, Rebecca huffed a sigh. “All done, Henry. Four stitches. If you want to pluck them out in a week, be my guest. If you’d rather I do so, come back then.” She dropped the needle into a metal tray and smeared her hands across her apron.