Doctor...to Duchess?

by Annie O'Neil

  He sank into a chair and let the cold, hard truth sink in. He and Julia weren’t meant to be together. It was as simple as that. One plus one equaled zero.

  * * *

  “Mummy, look what I found.”

  Julia swiveled round in her office chair as Ella carefully laid a large scrapbook stuffed to the hilt with photos and clippings, complete with a family crest, onto her desk. A twist of anxiety went through her. The fortnight had been going so smoothly, she didn’t want to rock the boat so close to the children going back to school.

  She put on her best warning voice. “You’ve not been snooping, have you?”

  “No, not at all.” Ella looked shocked her mother would even have thought such a thing and hurriedly explained. “His Grace said I could go into Her Grace’s dressing room and look at her ballgowns, and when I opened one of the cupboards I found this.”

  “Why did you take it out of the dressing room?”

  “It’s all about Oliver, and I thought you’d like to see it.”

  Julia gave a mortified laugh. “Why would I want to see it?” Was she that transparent?

  Ella rolled her eyes as if it were a no-brainer.

  Guess so.

  “Mu-um...” her daughter continued as if speaking to a five-year-old. “You’ve only been making googly eyes at him ever since we arrived.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Julia closed the book shut without looking at the contents. “I’ve been doing no such thing. Now, you’d best put that back where you found it.”

  “Whatever you say, Mum.” Ella drew the book along the desk then picked it up. “I just wanted you to know, Henry and I wouldn’t mind if you—you know...”

  “What?” She asked the question but knew instantly what her daughter was saying. She was giving her permission to love again.

  “If you want to get married again, Henry and I are cool with that. We just love it here!”

  This was definitely not a topic she wanted to discuss. Marriage was the last thing on Oliver’s mind and should most definitely be well out of her own. A picture of her in a wedding dress walking through the rose garden popped up in her head. No! Not allowed.

  Ella started idly flipping through the pages of the scrapbook. Julia chanced a discreet peek. Or seven. Images of Oliver at work in war zones covered many of the pages. Oliver holding a baby girl. Oliver standing proudly amongst a gaggle of gangly-limbed teens. Oliver getting cornrows put in his thick hair from a group of laughing ladies. A beautiful script gave detailed descriptions of each photograph or dated an article. His mother’s hand, no doubt. She scrunched her eyes shut. His mother had obviously been incredibly proud. And Oliver very obviously loved his work. Work she could never ask him to give up.

  Waves of feeling shunted through her as her heart constricted.

  She pulled her daughter into her arms and gave her a hug. Ella began wriggling for freedom before Julia had had enough.

  “Mum! I’ve got to put the book back, all right?”

  She reluctantly let go of her daughter after tucking a stray blond curl behind her ear.

  “Go on, get out of here.” She made a shooing gesture to cover the fact she really wanted her to stay. “See you at dinner.”

  Her daughter popped a kiss on her cheek and began to run out of the door. “Why don’t you leave the book out for Oliver?” Julia called after her. He might enjoy seeing how proud his mother had been of him and all he’d achieved. Maybe it would help him lay some old ghosts to rest.

  She turned back to the piles of paperwork on her desk.

  She had at least a dozen new application forms for grants—private funding, public funding, lottery funding; you named it, she’d researched it and printed it. Now, to start filling them in.

  Oliver might find it easy to abandon everyone here but, newcomer or not, she felt part of this community and, even if she had to work out of Elsie’s teashop, she would continue to serve the people of St. Bryar—with or without the green-eyed love monster.

  * * *

  Gales of laughter traveled from the kitchen to the library. They taunted Oliver who had thought it wise to try to give the MacKenzie clan a wide birth. It was one thing to be graciously welcoming, but a whole other beast to let himself be woven into the “happy family” web. It wouldn’t be based on anything sustainable and it wouldn’t be fair to raise Julia’s hopes.

  Another peal of laughter curled up the stairs. Against his better judgment, Oliver found himself tugged by the merry voices to join Julia and the children all huddled round a board game on the kitchen table.

  Mugs of hot chocolate were strewn about the table and what appeared to be a smear of marshmallow was waiting to be licked from the top of Julia’s lip. Distracting. Very distracting. And they hadn’t even noticed him. He was a ghost in his own home.

  “What’s all this noise about, then, eh?”

  Silence.

  Talk about being a killjoy. C’mon, Oliver. Social skills!

  “There’s a big fire up in the library, should you so desire.” They all looked at him as if he’d just spoken in Swahili.

  No. That wasn’t it. French? No. It suddenly came to him—he’d spoken English aristocrat. Even worse.

  “Biscuit tin is down here,” Julia explained. “We didn’t want to make a mess.”

  Oliver was tempted to reach over and thumb away the bit of gooey sugar on her lip—or, better yet, kiss it away—but Julia’s tone was clear: back off.

  “Mum! Your face.” Ella made a scrubbing movement and Julia’s tongue made quick work of the smudge.

  That settled that, then.

  “There’s better lighting upstairs.” He tried again, though it wasn’t strictly true.

  “Honestly, we’re fine here. We make a mess wherever we go.”

  Terrific. What a great host. Making your guests feel they had to hide away for fear of leaving biscuit crumbs on an antique rug. Precisely the sort of reason he’d never in a million years imagined having a family of his own here.

  Another peal of laughter erupted from the table as Henry started drawing a melting snowman after Ella had flipped over a tiny hourglass. The children, at least, didn’t seem constrained by the environment. He’d never seen such a relaxed family scene in the house. It was nice. Something he would love to see more of. Something he’d love to be part of.

  “There’s a much bigger hourglass up in the drawing room.” Oliver tried again. “Shall I fetch it for you?” Blimey. This was just getting worse. Now he sounded like a stuffy butler!

  “No thanks, Dr. Wyatt.” Ella looked up at him with a smile. “This is loads funnier when you only have thirty seconds.”

  “You can call me Oliver, if you like.”

  “Springtime!” Julia shouted, clearly more interested in the game than his awkward stab at chitchat. “Would you care to join us?”

  She hadn’t looked up, but could obviously see he was hovering. Hoping to stay.

  “Yeah, that’s a great idea!” Henry chimed in with a grin. “Kids versus adults.”

  This time Julia did look up, her sapphire-blue eyes connecting with his. “Well, then. I guess that makes us a team.”

  * * *

  Julia’s heartrate accelerated as Oliver slid along the kitchen bench next to her. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t squelch any of the sensations she’d lectured her body to appreciate were no longer appropriate. His thigh grazed hers as he shifted into place. Zing! Pow! Pop! There went the internal fireworks display!

  She grabbed an extra pencil and pad from the game box and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed. Sizzle! Good grief!

  Little wonder her children had noticed her response to Oliver. She might as well have a large blinking neon sign over her head with Unrequited Love written on it and a big arrow pointing down at her for all of the non-subtle reactions she was having.

  Come to think of it—she could do with a whole host of signs. What would be perfect for Oliver? She gave him a sidelong glance. Dreamboat or D
ream-Destroyer? Her fingers played along her lips as she considered which was best. Lips that would have been ridiculously happy to kiss him again. And again. And...

  “Mum!” Julia looked across at Ella’s exasperated face. “Your turn!”

  “Right.” She grabbed a card, eyes widening as she read the item she’d have to draw for Oliver. Just great.

  Cupid.

  It was going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER TEN

  OLIVER HEARD JULIA’S voice in the entry hall and rose from his chair. The timing—as usual—was awful. She’d just dropped the children at the station, holidays having raced to an end. She’d be feeling low. And she wouldn’t be alone. He was surprised how empty the house already felt without them. Despite his best efforts to be a bystander with Julia and the children, he just hadn’t been able to stop himself from joining in. It didn’t seem to matter what they did, it was just fun.

  And here he was, ready to play number one rainmaker. A year ago—hell, a few weeks ago—the news he was about to impart would’ve been the answer to his prayers. Now, it all sat wrong, but he’d be a fool to ignore a gift horse. Best get it over with.

  “Julia?” Oliver called out from the open library door as she began heading up the stairs.

  “Yes?” She stiffened but didn’t turn around.

  “Can you come down, please?”

  The instant Julia reluctantly turned around, he was struck by how much she suited the place in completely the opposite way from his mother had. His mother had been authentic—Julia seemed real. “Real” was what he had been searching for by working in conflict zones. You couldn’t get more real than that and yet, there she was, cheeks flushed, deep blue eyes a bit red-rimmed, as if she might have been crying—heart-on-her-sleeve real. His gut clenched.

  “Everything go well at the station?”

  “Yes, fine, thanks.” She turned to go up the stairs.

  “Would you mind joining me in the library? I need a word.”

  * * *

  Seriously?

  This was the last thing she needed. What Julia really wanted was to close her bedroom door behind her and have a quiet little blub in her room. With her children on their way back to school, the empty feeling in her heart was threatening to grow. Holding on to the idea that she could build a rich, fulfilling life in St. Bryar had been keeping her chin above water these past eight or so months but everything about the past few weeks had put her on unsteady ground again. No, that wasn’t right.

  Oliver had put her on unsteady ground and it was breaking her heart.

  “Can’t it wait?”

  “Not really, no.”

  Fine. Have it your way. She didn’t move.

  “Shall we get on, then?”

  No mistaking that tone. Short and not at all sweet.

  “Fine.” Not. “Ready when you are.” She did her best to flounce into the library where Oliver proceeded to take her through a painstaking, blow-by-blow tour of the previous three years’ accounts, all of which led her to one mind-blowing conclusion.

  “Are you telling me the estate is in the black with money to spare?”

  “It’s happy news, isn’t it?” Oliver replied.

  He looked anything but pleased.

  “I don’t understand. I thought you—”

  “The point is—” he spoke pointedly, slowly, as if she were a small child “—we’ve actually got quite a valuable asset. To sell.” He let the words sink in.

  Julia’s hands began to shake.

  “I don’t understand. You’ve just shown me in triplicate all the reasons why you should keep the place and you’re still planning on selling? On leaving?”

  “There is a buyer ready to move quickly.” Oliver pushed away from the desk and strode over to the picture windows facing out to the manicured gardens.

  Julia was hardly going to let him off this easily. She was by his side in an instant, pulling him round to face her. Oliver was going to have to look her in the eye if he was going back on their deal.

  “So what? There have probably been willing buyers for hundreds of years and your family hasn’t sold.”

  “And they probably hadn’t received the offer I have. It’s a lot of money, my dear.”

  Julia cringed at the term of endearment. It was the last thing he meant, and she couldn’t bear false charm.

  “Since when were you concerned about money? The guy I met in the moat wouldn’t have given two beans about a fat check.”

  “It would solve a lot of problems.”

  She nodded, clearly struggling with her emotions. He felt like he was ripping both of their hearts in two. He hadn’t expected a business decision to hurt so much. But it wasn’t really a business decision, was it? It was a very poorly disguised way of dodging his demons.

  “I can’t stay, Julia. I’ve tried to picture it—believe me I have tried. And meeting you? It made so much seem possible. So much that I couldn’t have imagined. But this place has done well because my father has been incredibly hands-on—and that’s what is needed. Someone to turn kitchen table projects like the ones we saw the other night into profitable ventures. Someone to shout above the rooftops about St. Bryar’s cheese and damson wine and salted caramels. Someone should be doing that—but it’s not me. I’m not that guy.”

  “And what type of guy are you, then?” Julia’s arms were tightly crossed over her chest as if she were protecting herself from his answer.

  Oliver’s heart was in his throat. He wasn’t the kind of man to break a woman’s heart and that was what he felt like he was doing.

  “A medicine type of guy. Medicine is my thing—you know that.” He exhaled heavily. “Which is why this sale is so important. It means I can gift the clinic to the village with you in charge. You’ll be looked after.”

  “You’re selling the place so I can stay at the clinic?”

  Tears swam in Julia’s eyes, her face a portrait of incredulity. It was all Oliver could do not to pull her into his arms, but he simply couldn’t risk it. Staying here, loving her, her children—he hadn’t earned the right to be so happy. Hadn’t—couldn’t—forgive himself for the loss of his brother.

  He gave the ledgers a solid rap. “We’re sensible folk, aren’t we? The most good I can do in the world is to sell this place when it is riding a financial high. Far better than trying to offload the old money pit I thought it was. Think of how much good the money can do out there in the world.”

  “What about love?”

  The air between them hummed with taut emotion. Julia had said the words before she’d thought them. She suddenly, urgently, needed to know if Oliver loved her. Loved her as she loved him.

  “One can’t love a house, Julia.” His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them.

  Her heart contracted. There was her answer. He didn’t love her. Plain and simple.

  A heavy weight settled in her stomach. It was well and truly over. The dream of a life in St. Bryar—a life with Oliver—poof. Gone.

  A phone rang in the corridor. A muffled voice answered and footsteps approached the library door.

  “Excuse me, m’lord?” A maid cracked open the library door. “I’m very sorry but it’s the clinic. They say it’s urgent.”

  Julia knew in an instant it was Dr. Carney. It was after office hours and only the volunteer hospice nurse was there. She tugged her jacket tightly round her, pulled open the doors to the garden and began to run.

  * * *

  Oliver held Dr. Carney’s frail hand in his, still hardly able to believe it was real. He’d seen this a hundred—no, a thousand—times before. But this time it was as if the sorrow would eat him alive.

  Dr. Carney was gone.

  He felt a hand slip onto his shoulder and, without turning, knew it was Julia. Her scent filled the air around him—the most beautiful thing left in his life and he was letting her go. She loved him and he was letting her go. He wished she could see it as he did. Being with him would be like tying a millstone ro
und her neck. He brought nothing but pain to St. Bryar, and she was all joyous, brilliant light.

  “Would you like to stay with him awhile longer?”

  “No. No, that’s fine.” Oliver pushed himself up from his chair, grateful only for the fact he had arrived in time to say goodbye. To say thank-you.

  Julia had been there first, ensuring Dr. Carney felt no pain. Then, when Oliver had arrived, she’d smoothed his mentor’s brow, kissed him goodbye and left the two of them alone. A generous act if ever there was one. He knew she’d cared for Dr. Carney as much as he had yet she’d respected their history. The shared past.

  Oliver had sat with him in that timeless space filled only with deep, unfettered emotion. He’d talked and talked and then, as he’d seen Dr. Carney begin to slip away, they sat in silence. He’d been too weak to reply, but Oliver knew his message had gotten through. He owed his mentor an unpayable debt of gratitude, owed him for being everything he had not been. Someone who’d stayed.

  Despite the pain, the grief, the heartache, Dr. Carney had remained in St. Bryar not just for the Wyatt family but for the community. He’d seen them all through sickness, health, beginnings, endings—he’d been a part of their lives, an inextricably linked part of St. Bryar. Everything Oliver had fought to keep at arm’s length, Dr. Carney had had the fortitude to face every single day of his life.

  “The men from Tryvens Funeral Home are here.” Julia’s soft voice brought him back into the room.

  “Ah. Well, then. I guess I better push off.”

  “Oliver, you don’t have to leave. We all understand.”

  “We?”

  “Quite a few people from the village are here. Outside.”

  He looked at her uncomprehendingly. It was well past midnight.

  “To pay their respects,” she explained.

  “Of course!” He raked a hand through his hair, as if it would clear the fug of grief. “You go ahead. I’ll just get back to the house, make sure Father’s all right.”

  “He’s here, Oliver. In the waiting room. We’re all here.” Julia reached out to him, her fingers making contact with his hand. Gratefully, he wove his fingers through hers and, before he could check himself, he pulled her in tight to his chest urgently, as if his life depended on it. He felt her hands slip around his waist, up along his back, pressing into him as if she knew it would help lessen the pain he was feeling.