But it was wonderful to have her so near. He had only to call out and she would be there, her bright eyes meeting his, her smile setting his heart thudding. But he would not call her. It was a kind of test, a test of himself to see if he could work efficiently with her so close and a test of her to see if she had the stamina for it. If she lasted a couple of hours, he would relieve her, tell her she had proved her worth and send her home to her tea parties and fundraising. He was very grateful to her for that. But as for acting as his assistant… She was mad and so was he to allow it.
He finished examining the patient on the couch, told him to rest at home and gave him a bottle of restorative, though nothing he could think of would restore the man’s damaged heart. Then he picked up the bell and rang for his next patient.
He looked up as the door opened and Anne ushered in a woman carrying a baby who was so thin and weak, she wondered that the child was still drawing breath. She was filled with compassion and aware of her own inadequacy. ‘Mrs Bristow, Doctor.’
‘Thank you.’ He smiled. ‘You seem to have quietened them down.’
‘Yes. I told them they would not be seen any quicker by making a fuss.’ She paused as the mother sat down and began pulling the ragged shawl from her infant, who was too weak even to cry. ‘Some of them admit they are not ill. They say you give them money to buy food for their children…’
‘Food is the medicine they most need, Miss Hemingford. You will find a tin containing coins in the top drawer of the chest. Sixpence each usually suffices.’
She retreated, found the money and halved the queue in a matter of a few minutes, though some who had come only for the money undoubtedly needed medical attention as well and she told them to come back later when the doctor was less busy. There was one man who had cut the top of his thumb off at his work who needed immediate attention. She found bandages in a drawer and bound the stump as best she could before sending him in next. Others she felt were malingering, but she was not sure enough to send them away. Only the doctor could do that.
She worked steadily all morning, filling in cards, showing in patients, smiling cheerfully though some of the sights she saw appalled her. It was the tiny children who concerned her most. She was almost reduced to tears by the condition of some of them: thin as rakes, poorly clad, listless, without any of the bubbling energy of her nephew. In spite of the sores and the dirt, she took some of them in her arms and tried to comfort them before handing them back to the adults who had brought them in.
And then suddenly the last patient had gone and the waiting room was empty. She sank into a chair utterly exhausted, kicking off her shoes.
Justin found her with her head nodding on her chest, and smiled. Some of her lustrous hair had escaped from its pins and was curling about her soft cheeks, there was a spot of blood on her forehead where she had wiped it with a bloodstained hand, and more blood and grime on the overlarge apron she wore. She had worked like a Trojan and lightened his load considerably, but he could not allow her to continue. She had seen and done things today that no gently nurtured young lady should ever have to see and do and he had been a cur to subject her to it.
It was all because of Sophie, because of her reaction to his suggestion she should work. He had not meant it, knew she would not agree, but his annoyance with her had somehow transferred itself to Miss Hemingford and she had been the one to be punished. But, oh, how magnificently she had coped! If it were possible to love her more, he did at that moment.
‘You poor dear,’ he said softly.
‘Oh.’ Startled, she sat up to find him looking down at her, smiling a little. ‘I am sorry…’ She struggled to her feet, only to find one leg had gone dead, making her stumble. He reached out to catch her and the next minute she was being held in his arms.
She did not move, did not want to move. His arms were warm and comforting and she could hear his heartbeat against her ear, beating a little fast as hers was. Slowly she looked up into his face. He was gazing at her with an expression she could not fathom. There was a glimmer of hope there, along with sorrow, as if one were cancelling out the other. His dark eyes were no longer cold and empty, but soft pools that mirrored emotion so deep she felt herself drowning in it.
‘What is there to be sorry for?’ His voice was softly sensuous.
‘For falling asleep at my post.’ She gave a crooked smile. He had not released her; their two bodies were still entwined, so close they might almost have been one entity. ‘That’s punishable by a flogging in the service, is it not?’
‘You think I should flog you?’
She laughed softly. ‘Do you think I deserve it?’
‘You deserve a medal.’
‘Fustian!’
‘I mean it. You have worked wonders, done more than I could ever have expected of you.’ He held her at arm’s length and looked down at her, smiling. ‘A nurse in the making, but I cannot send you home looking like that.’
‘I don’t intend to go home yet. There might be more patients later…’
‘Perhaps, but you have done enough. You are exhausted. I will show you where you can wash and do something with your hair.’ He put out a hand to touch it, making the last of the pins fall out. It cascaded round her shoulders in a shining curtain of chestnut. ‘Oh, dear, I seem to have released it all.’
‘It was beyond repair anyway.’ She flung her head back, making her heavy tresses swing about her face.
He was entranced and put his hand behind her neck to lift it, looking into her face. Her amber eyes were shining and her cheeks were glowing a warm pink, but it was her lips that were the centre of his gaze; slightly apart, they were rosy and inviting. Did she know what she was doing to him? Was she being deliberately provocative? Or was she simply an innocent, unaware of the havoc she was creating in his breast? With a low moan he lowered his face to hers, touching his lips to hers with gentle tenderness. It was all he intended, if it could be said he had any prior thought at all. He certainly took no time to consider how she might react.
If she was startled, it did not last. It seemed such a natural thing for him to do. She made no protest, did not draw away, and when the kiss deepened and his mouth crushed hers and forced her lips apart she experienced sensations that were entirely new and delightful; instead of pulling away in horror, she actively clung to him, wanting more.
They drew apart at last and stood looking at each other, as if weighing up what they had done to their fragile relationship. It could never be the same again and both knew it. How could they work together on the fund-raising committee, he the recipient of charity and she the benefactor, when there was that kiss drawing them close and at the same time forcing them apart? She was sure the effects of it were emblazoned on her face for all to see. And then she remembered another kiss, one he had given to his sister-in-law, one that had disgusted her. And now she was disgusted with herself.
‘I must go,’ she said, reaching for her pelisse and bonnet, quite forgetting she had offered to continue working.
‘Not like that. You must tidy yourself first.’
She gave a harsh laugh. ‘Or I will have the whole place talking, you mean.’
‘They already gossip about me and I care little for that, but you must think of your own reputation. It is easy to misconstrue appearances.’
‘Oh.’ Did he mean when he kissed Mrs Tremayne? But he had no idea she had seen that, so he probably meant nothing. But had she misunderstood it? Had it been no more than an innocent show of affection? Oh, how she would have liked to believe that!
‘Come,’ he said, offering her his hand. ‘I will show you where you can see to your toilette and afterwards I will fetch a cab to take you home.’
Because there was nowhere else, he took her up to his bedroom. It was surprisingly tidy, but then he was a naval man and she supposed sailors had to learn to be tidy in the crowded confines of a ship. He fetched a kettle of hot water that had been left to simmer on the hob in the kitchen, poured it into a bow
l and found her a towel; then he left her.
He went down to the office to complete his notes. But today his attention wandered to the young lady who was even now stripping off and washing in his bedroom. He imagined her every move, the removing of her garments one by one, the soft flesh slowly revealed, a little at a time, and ached with the need of her. Something had passed between them that first day when she had brought Tildy to him, something immeasurable, something eternal. Had she felt it too? But why would she look at a doctor with no pretensions to do anything but serve those who needed his skills and could not afford to pay for them? He could tell her otherwise, but he had too much pride to do that. He had been a fool and he must never let it happen again.
He was still sitting disconsolately at his desk, his pen idle in his hand, when she returned. Unable to restore her coiffure, she had brushed her hair and tied it back with one of his cravats. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said.
‘No, I do not mind. It is more becoming where it is than round my neck.’
‘Thank you.’ She paused, tongue-tied for a moment. ‘Will you not let me help again?’
‘No. I am grateful for your assistance, but you have done more than enough. Your aunt will think I have kidnapped you.’
For the first time Anne thought of Aunt Bartrum. She would indeed be worrying what had become of her. What she would tell the dear soul, she had no idea. ‘Then if you would be kind enough to fetch a cab for me, I will go.’
‘Certainly.’ He rose, came round the desk towards her, then carefully skirted round her to reach the door. It was almost laughable, but she was not laughing. She wanted to cry. They had been so close, but now they were as distant as ever, just as if nothing had happened. Going into the waiting room, she retrieved her coat and slipped her arms into it in a kind of stupor. She stood dry-eyed and aching, though whether that was caused by disappointment, a feeling of being unfulfilled, or sheer physical tiredness she did not know. She had come to no conclusion when she heard voices and footsteps. Thinking it was Justin returning with the cabdriver, she turned towards the door, a bright smile fixed on her face.
‘Look who has been sent by your aunt to fetch you,’ he said.
She looked past him to see a tall gangly man with pale gold hair and clear blue eyes standing in the doorway. It was a moment or two before she recognised him and then her face broke into a genuine smile. ‘Doctor Harrison!’
He bowed. ‘Miss Hemingford, your obedient.’
‘I beg your pardon. I should have said Professor Harrison. May I present Dr Tremayne.’ She turned to Justin. ‘This is Professor Harrison.’ To which they responded by laughing aloud.
‘We are acquainted,’ Justin told her. ‘George and I were at medical school together.’
‘Oh, what a coincidence. I wrote to the Professor because I thought he might advise me on how to find you an assistant…’
‘And when I read the name of your protégé,’ he told her, ‘I simply had to come and see for myself what he was up to.’
‘Having a well-earned break, though it will not last,’ Justin put in drily. ‘I have lost my usual nurse and Miss Hemingford has been standing in for her.’
Professor Harrison smiled. ‘Yes, Mrs Bartrum guessed as much. I went there first, of course, expecting to see Miss Hemingford. The good lady explained what had happened.’ He turned to Anne. ‘She told me she was concerned that you would do something foolish.’
Unable to prevent herself, she looked across at Justin and found him looking back at her with a half-amused, half-wry expression on his face. She felt the warmth flood into her cheeks and quickly turned away. She had certainly done something foolish, though she did not think that was what her aunt had meant. Before she could think of a suitable reply, Justin answered for her.
‘She has certainly done that,’ he said, his face a mask of gravity. ‘She insisted on working here all morning and has exhausted herself. I was about to find a cab to send her home when you arrived.’
‘I came in Mrs Bartrum’s carriage,’ George put in. ‘Her driver is with it, so if you would like to take it, Miss Hemingford, I will stay here and talk to my old friend. Perhaps I may call on you later?’
‘We are expected at Lady Mancroft’s rout,’ she said. ‘It is in aid of the fund…’ She paused, wondering if the Professor would be welcome in her ladyship’s drawing room, but then she told herself he was a step above an ordinary physician and, as Dr Tremayne was expected, she could not see there would be any objection. ‘Why not come too? You could come as our guest.’
‘I shall be honoured.’ He gave her another polite bow.
She extended her hand, which he took and held an inch or two from his lips before releasing it. Justin, when he was offered the same courtesy, actually kissed the back of her hand. His lips were warm and dry and sent shivers up her arm and down through her whole body, churning her stomach all over again, making her feel wanton. But she was not a wanton; she was a respectable spinster. She snatched her hand away. ‘Good day, gentlemen. I hope your discussion is fruitful.’ She pulled on her gloves, retrieved her reticule, now without the few coins it had contained when she arrived—she had put it all in the waiting-room cash box—and allowed the Professor to escort her from the house to the carriage, which he had left at the end of the street.
‘When I wrote, it was advice I needed,’ she told him. ‘I did not expect you to drop everything and come in person.’
‘I know, but by coincidence I found myself with time to spare and was thinking of taking a holiday when your letter arrived. Curiosity overcame me. I simply had to come and see what was going on.’
‘Nothing is going on. You can see the doctor is completely dedicated to his work and all I want to do is help him.’
He made no comment to what had seemed a defensive remark and opened the door of the carriage to hand her in. ‘I shall enjoy mulling it over with him. Please offer my respects to your aunt. We will meet again this evening.’
He stood back to watch as Daniels flicked the reins and the carriage carried her away, then he returned to his friend, who conducted him to the drawing room and poured wine for them both.
‘A remarkable woman,’ George said, taking a glass and folding his long form into one of the battered armchairs.
‘Indeed she is.’
‘How did you meet her?’
Justin explained about Tildy and the curricle. ‘From then on, things just happened,’ he said. ‘She seemed to want to take over my life.’ He paused and laughed. ‘In my own best interests, of course.’
‘That sounds like the Miss Hemingford I know. She once involved me in a scheme to bring together her noddycock of a brother and her second cousin, a sweet little thing but without Miss Hemingford’s strength of character.’
‘No doubt she succeeded.’
‘Oh, yes. I was obliged to explain to Miss Jane’s father that the two young ladies needed a recuperative holiday and she arranged for her brother to escort them. Very neat.’
‘And the outcome?’
‘Why, a marriage, of course. The brother and cousin married and since then he has inherited.’
‘Inherited what?’
‘Why, the title and the estate. Did you not know the old man was dead?’
‘What old man?’
‘The Earl of Bostock. Do you mean to say you did not know Hemingford is the Bostock family name?’
Justin was taken aback. Why had he not rumbled it? Bostock was one of the oldest earldoms in the country and the estate was vast. He had guessed she was high in the instep, but it had never entered his head who she really was, a member of one of the richest families in the kingdom. And he had had the temerity to kiss her and make her work in gore and filth! His guts curled in embarrassment at the thought of it. ‘I do not live in society, turned my back on it, so to speak, and it slipped my memory.’
George laughed. ‘And now she has a new crusade. What is she planning for you, my friend?’
‘A
new hospital.’
‘Then you will almost certainly have it. Once Miss Anne Hemingford goes on the march, there is no stopping her.’
‘So I have discovered, but as it is meant to help me in my work, I have no objection.’
‘Just what is this work? I assume this will be no ordinary hospital.’
‘No, it won’t.’ He paused as his stomach rumbled. ‘But I’m gut-foundered. I’ve had nothing to eat since a hasty breakfast. If you do not mind, I’ll tell you about it over a meal. My housekeeper has had to go and visit a sick sister, so we had better go out and sample the fare at a local hostelry.’
‘Better still, we will stroll back to my hotel. The food there is excellent and you can tell me everything while we walk. I do not suppose you have a carriage.’
Justin laughed. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ He looked at his friend’s fashionable frockcoat, brocade waistcoat and intricately tied cravat and smiled wryly. George had come up in the world and left him behind. ‘I need to change my clothes, if you will excuse me.’
He collected a jug of water from the kitchen and rushed up to his bedroom. The water he had poured for Anne was still there, gone cold now, and the towel she had used was draped over the end of the bedstead to dry, still smelling faintly of her perfume. He had had old Bostock’s granddaughter in his bedroom; they had been together without a sniff of a chaperon. His face burned at the memory of his erotic fantasy.
For the first time since leaving home, he half regretted turning his back on his family, which would have made him acceptable in society’s eyes. But, no, he had made his decision to take the road he had and there was no going back. Pulling himself together, he poured the water out of the bowl and replaced it with fresh, then washed and searched in his chest for something suitable to wear, something that would take him to Lady Mancroft’s rout after their meal.
The clothes he worked in were too shabby and his dress uniform too grand for the occasion, but under both he found a dark blue superfine tailcoat he had bought when he first returned home from the war. Although it was two years out of date, it was hardly worn and there were pale blue pantaloons and a blue-and-white-striped waistcoat in some shiny material. He found a shirt and a newly starched cravat, for which he murmured thanks to the absent Mrs Armistead, and quickly dressed. A brush through his hair and he was ready.
Marrying Miss Hemingford Page 14
