by LENOX, KIM
“Did you now? You’ll have to share your experiences with me some time. But for now, I’d like you to get some sleep.”
“Thank you, Nurse.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Elena turned down his lamp and pulled the door closed behind her. Exhausted, she made the brief trek to her room in the dormitory, wanting nothing more than to sleep for a few hours before she’d have to return to the floor.
The next two days passed quickly, a rapid succession of patients, illnesses and emergencies—and stolen snatches of sleep on her narrow dormitory bed. One benefit of being so tired was that she didn’t have the energy to think about Archer, and his betrayal, which still stung her deeply. She welcomed the oblivion, going so far as to cover an extra shift for a nurse chum who had had fallen ill. On that third night, as she fumbled through the darkness into her tiny room well after midnight, she smelled something—something out of place.
Roses?
At last she found the packet of matches on the bedside table, and after three failed attempts, struck a flame against the candle’s slender wick.
Indeed—on her bed lay a bundle of roses. Red, like the ones she’d received at Black House. A dozen this time, wrapped in fine black tissue, and tied with a black bow. Black. Black like Lord Black?
Beside the flowers was a card.
Her hand shook as she lifted it. All the hurt came back, but alongside that, the memory of his lips on hers. She still didn’t understand what had happened between them. Was she such a fool to think he had understood her?
She ached for him to explain away his betrayal, to make her believe he’d done it because of some misguided depth of feeling.
Finally, able to bear the curiosity no more, she tore open the card. Ah, she realized with crushing disappointment, it was a note from Lady Kerrigan inviting her to dinner next Wednesday evening, November 7. A sudden thought occurred to her—one that caused her to sink down on her narrow mattress.
What if Lord Black had finished his business in London?
What if he intended to leave without saying good-bye?
Chapter Fifteen
“My dear Miss Whitney, are you certain you won’t stay the night?” Lady Kerrigan asked from the door of the small, first-floor dressing room where Elena had freshened up after arriving from the hospital.
She’d worn her uniform on the hackney ride to Mayfair and changed only after arriving, not wishing to draw the attention to the fact she’d received a dinner invitation to Dr. Harcourt’s home, which might make things awkward with some of the other nurses.
Elena set her valise on the table. “Thank you, my lady, but I’ve accepted an early shift at the hospital, and I’d rather sleep as late as possible at the dormitory than suffer a predawn ride to Whitechapel.”
Lady Kerrigan nodded sympathetically. “Yes, I can see why you would.”
“By the way, thank you also for the beautiful roses that accompanied your invitation.”
Her ladyship’s brow furrowed quizzically. “Roses?”
“Yes, the roses delivered with the card. At least I assumed they arrived with the card. . . .” Embarrassment heated Elena’s cheeks.
A knowing smile curved the elder woman’s lips. “It seems you’ve an admirer.”
The flowers could have come from anyone. Perhaps Harcourt? He knew she was going through a difficult time. But she had seen him numerous times at the hospital, and he had indicated nothing.
Elena’s heartbeat quickened. Her throat grew uncomfortably tight.
Archer?
Doubtfully. More and more, she believed he must have departed London. If he were still in the city, wouldn’t he have at least made inquiries as to her well-being?
Regardless, if whoever sent the roses wished to be appropriately acknowledged, they should identify themselves with a card. It was impolite to have twice put her in the position of guessing who had sent them.
Elena and her hostess quit the room to make their way toward the grand gallery, where her ladyship’s birthday ball had taken place nearly five weeks before. That night seemed like forever ago. Elena could not help but marvel over how much her life had changed since then.
Charles stood up from an elegant chaise. Tall and handsome, he greeted them with his customary enthusiasm.
“My lady.” He bent to kiss his mother on the cheek. “And Miss Whitney, what a pleasure it is to have you here this evening.”
He kissed the tops of her fingers, and tucked her hand through his elbow. Offering the same to his mother, he escorted them up the ivory and gilt staircase to the formal dining room. They passed beneath the doorway, which was lavishly framed in gilt flourishes.
Elena froze. There, amongst the other invited guests stood a tall, powerfully built gentleman in impeccable evening dress. He conversed with Lord Kerrigan—but his lips stopped moving the moment their eyes met.
The floor seemed to fall out from beneath her. Lord Black had not left London. Elena had been in residence at the hospital for a full week, and though he had been in the city all along, he had not made contact with her once.
“What is it?” Charles asked her in a low voice.
She had unknowingly seized his arm. Wordlessly, she shook her head.
Cursed protocol, she should have anticipated his attendance. A young, unmarried lady would not be invited to dinner, without her family member or guardian receiving an invitation as well. Her heart thundered as he cut toward them, his gaze inscrutable. All eyes followed him, curious and admiring.
“Lady Kerrigan. Miss Whitney.” With one sweep of his glance she felt naked, as if her gown had been stripped from her. She could only pray her straight shoulders and false, serene smile hid the depth of his effect on her.
“Your lordship.” Elena acknowledged him with a tense nod.
“Miss Whitney,” trilled a familiar voice.
Mrs. Hazelgreaves pushed through the small crowd on the arm of a middle-aged gentleman. Introductions were quickly made. Mrs. Hazelgreave’s son, Theodore, acted as her escort, and quickly snared Archer into conversation, drawing him off to the side.
“Mrs. Hazelgreaves,” Elena said. “You look positively . . . radiant.”
It was true. A vibrant pink flush complemented the elderly woman’s cheeks. Barely leaning upon her cane, she appeared more hale and hearty than Elena had ever seen her. Even her hair seemed to gleam a brighter shade of silver.
Harcourt nodded. “It seems that a few weeks of quality rest was all Mrs. Hazelgreaves needed. She has fully recovered.”
Mrs. Hazelgreaves added, “I can’t explain why, but I feel completely invigorated—so invigorated, Teddy and his dear wife have agreed to take me to Paris until December.”
“How wonderful for you,” exclaimed Lady Kerrigan.
“We depart immediately. In the morning actually. He’s breaking the news to his lordship now.” The elder woman’s smile wavered. “After all, it’s not as if I’m needed here, is it, my dear Miss Whitney?”
Her pointed gaze settled on Elena.
“No, Mrs. Hazelgreaves,” Elena agreed softly, not realizing until now how fond she’d grown of her companion. “I’m afraid not. I shall be residing elsewhere from now on. But I thank you for all your wonderful companionship these past two years.”
Mrs. Hazelgreaves tilted her head and studied Elena carefully. “And I you, dear. I am certain, though, that we shall enjoy each other’s company again.”
“I would look forward to that.”
“Then we won’t say good-bye.” She reached a delicate, veined hand to clasp Elena’s, and leaned forward to press a kiss on her cheek. “Until then.”
Elena allowed Charles to draw her off in the opposite direction to be introduced to Lord Lister, an esteemed scientist-surgeon and member of the council of the Royal College of Surgeons, a gentleman she would have been thrilled to meet if not for the distraction of Archer’s presence. Just knowing he was near after so many days of being apart from him raised the ten
sion within her to an excruciating level.
Thankfully, the same protocol that had brought her guardian to the event precluded her from being seated next to him. A quarter hour later, and having not eaten a bite, she chanced a glance at the far end of the table to find his gaze on her. He didn’t look away at being caught.
She, on the other hand, looked down at her plate.
The conversation rambled on around her.
“I think the Ripper is gone. Probably dead. The burden of what he did to those women too much for him. I propose he’s committed suicide.” The gentleman turned suddenly in his chair toward Lady Kerrigan. “My apologies for speaking so crudely in front of the ladies.”
Her ladyship tipped her head. “Nonetheless, I hope what you suppose is true. I pray the villain is at this moment floating with all the other rubbish at the bottom of the Thames.”
Lady Kerrigan’s cheeks went pink with the fervency of her statement. Chuckles went up from around the circumference of the table.
After an excruciatingly extended rotation of culinary courses, the meal finally came to an end. As was customary, the gentlemen drifted in the direction of the library, where they would enjoy their cigars and spirits. The ladies set off toward the salon.
“Miss Whitney?” Lady Kerrigan stood at the center of the grand corridor. “Aren’t you coming?”
“I’m afraid I don’t feel well,” Elena said. “Please don’t worry about me. I think I’m just tired. I’m going to return to the dormitory.”
After reassuring her ladyship, at least a thousand more times, that there was no cause for undue concern, Elena scurried down the stairs, and then the hall, like a child fearful of being caught sneaking about after bedtime. She would just get her bag, and be on her way. She could not take that chance that she and Archer would find themselves standing beneath the porte cochere at the same moment, waiting for their conveyances.
It wasn’t Archer she was frightened of; it was herself. By blocking her entrance to medical school, he had destroyed her dreams, left her with nothing. He had soundly communicated to her how little respect he had for her.
So why did she want nothing more than to be in his arms again?
“Elena.”
She nearly screamed—but realized almost instantly the voice belonged to Dr. Harcourt. Reluctant, and rigid of stance, she turned and found him standing some distance behind her, appearing winded, as if he’d pursued her all the way from the dining room.
“Yes, Doctor?”
“Might I speak with you for a moment?”
No. She needed to keep running. She smiled. “Of course.”
“Here.” He held out a hand, indicating. “The Blue Drawing Room will do.”
Elena returned to where he stood, and passed through the indicated portal, her head pounding.
Harcourt drew the large wooden doors almost closed but did not shut them completely.
“Elena.”
“Yes?”
“Would you like to sit?”
“No, I’m fine standing, thank you.” As soon as the doctor said whatever he had to say, she intended to proceed with her escape.
Did she imagine things, or were his cheeks flushed, and his posture tense? She couldn’t recall him ever looking nervous. One thing she liked about Harcourt was he seemed so completely at ease and confident in his own skin. Something was wrong.
“What is it, Doctor?”
“Charles,” he insisted firmly, reaching to touch her hand.
“Charles.”
Suddenly the realization struck her.
“He’s spoken to you, hasn’t he? He wants you to force me to leave my position at the hospital and return to Black House.”
“I assume you refer to Lord Black. No, he hasn’t.”
For a moment, Elena felt a dash of irrational disappointment. “That’s a relief.”
“However, at dinner, Sir Dunord discreetly informed me of Lord Black’s interference with your application to the women’s college.”
Elena nodded. “It’s true. That’s why I left Black House, and moved into the dormitory.”
Charles swallowed hard. “I believe I’ve got the perfect solution for you.”
“I’d love to hear it.” She couldn’t imagine what he’s suggest. She’d wracked her brain trying to think of a way to get around her guardian’s powerful influence, and her future lack of funds, and had come up with nothing.
“Marry me.”
“Marry you?” Her mouth fell open.
“Yes, Elena,” he answered, moving forward to clasp her hands. “Don’t you see? It’s the perfect answer for both of us.”
“For both of us?”
Dear Dr. Harcourt. Was he looking to make her his personal charity case? She couldn’t bear that possibility.
He answered, “If you marry me, he will lose the privilege of guardianship over you. I, of course, would not interfere with your desire to attain your medical degree. Indeed, Elena, I would support your every aspiration.”
“Those reasons are all to my benefit. How could marriage to me possibly benefit you?”
Harcourt appeared to work at finding the right words, or perhaps it was simply difficult for him to speak of something so personal. “For so long I believed that I would never marry, that I could never ask any woman to suffer my devotion to medicine, and my commitment to the hospital. I never expected to find someone like you. Elena, you share my passions.”
His words echoed through her head, and she stared at him, disbelieving and dizzy. She had not expected this. Not at all.
“Together we could achieve all our dreams.”
“Charles . . .”
“Say yes.”
She cared for Dr. Harcourt. He had been her physician, and her mentor, and had supported her unfailingly in her quest to become a doctor. Now that he’d proposed marriage, everything felt different. It was as if his confession unleashed a floodgate of honesty in his eyes. He stared at her with unconcealed adoration.
“I can’t marry you.”
His handsome face darkened, and the smile faded from his lips. “It’s him, isn’t it? Lord Black.”
“No.”
“By God, he hasn’t compromised you, has he?”
She shook her head, mortified that he might believe such a thing. “No, he has not.”
At the same time, she could only wish Archer had. She wanted him with a passion that defied all bounds of rationale and self-respect. Given his betrayal, that made her a complete fool—a fool who couldn’t possibly turn her affections toward someone else, no matter how worthy they might be.
“Quite the opposite,” she whispered. “He has attempted at every turn to see me betrothed. I’m certain he would be very pleased to know you offered to marry me.”
Charles stormed toward the blazing hearth. He pressed his forearm against the mantel, and stared morosely into the fire. “I saw the way he looked at you tonight.”
She shook her head. “You imagine things.”
Harcourt appeared unconvinced. He pressed his fist against his handsome lips. Suddenly he turned.
“I’ll wait until you are ready, Elena.”
“Don’t say that. You’ve no obligation to me.”
“I’ve an obligation to my heart, because, do you see? I love you. I suppose I’ve known from the start, and I’ve waited, and . . . God, no time ever seemed right. Now it appears I waited too long.”
Moments later, Elena pushed into the small dressing room where she’d left her bag before dinner. She dropped onto a stool, and crossing her arms on the table, lowered her head and cried.
She had just broken the heart of an honorable man.
A tap sounded at the window. She lifted her head to peer in that direction—and nearly screamed, seeing Archer’s face floating in the darkness, like some ghoul from a macabre tale.
“Go away,” she wailed softly, not wanting anyone to hear.
He tapped again, tersely pointing to the latch. Finally, growing more
and more ill-tempered, she crossed the small chamber. After unlocking the window, she pushed out the twin panes.
“I’ve had the devil finding which room you were in.”
She glanced over the ledge and saw his boots planted on the rung of a rickety-looking ladder. He appeared completely out of place in his fine evening clothes.
“I said go away.”
He stared hard at her face. “Are you crying?”
He reached for her arm, but she twisted out of reach, returning to the center of the room.
“Tell me what is wrong,” he demanded. “Has someone hurt you?”
I have hurt someone, unforgivably. All because of you, she wished to rail.
“Just go away.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Well, you’re not coming in here.”
She rushed toward him again to grasp the windows. With a frown, she swung them closed—
He halted each effortlessly with his hands. “I’ve a gift for you.”
“I don’t want a gift. Not from you.” She peered at him through the narrow space created by the wood frames.
“I’m afraid you don’t have any choice but to accept it. It’s not the sort I can return. And if I must say, it was rather expensive.”
She released the windows and went to the mantel, where she folded her hands behind her waist. “Leave the bloody present there on the windowsill, then, and go away.”
She didn’t care about the gift; she just wanted him to go.
“I’ll be waiting for you below. Be careful climbing down.”
“What?” she sputtered. “I’m not climbing down—”
Elena saw the bundle on the sill—a dark bundle. She went to it and poked at it with her finger. When it didn’t growl or bite, she took it up and found it to be a man’s coat . . . a shirt . . . and trousers.
Archer leaned against the trunk of a tree in the garden, waiting. Soon, he saw her return to the window, dressed in the clothes he’d left on the sill. Gratification flooded his veins. She dropped down her bag. It bounced on the earth, obviously stuffed tight with her clothing.
