The Irresistible Lady Behind The Mask (Historical Regency Romance)

by Emily Honeyfield

  Nathaniel took a deep drink of his beer. “You know very well that he took Mama’s death poorly, as we all did. It takes time, George.”

  George knew that all too well. Time was too slow for his taste but no medicine could aid them. It had been years, and yet they still seemed stuck at the moment of their mother’s death.

  “Come home, George,” Nathaniel said, his voice unusually soft. “Just for a time.”

  George wanted to agree, but he shook his head. “I have commitments here.”

  “There are more doctors in London than you,” Nathaniel tossed back at him.

  That was true, and yet it was not true for his patients. “The people I look after have no other doctor, Nathaniel.”

  “Because they cannot pay them, George.” Nathaniel shook his head right back at George. “You kill yourself for strangers.”

  But they were not strangers, not anymore. “I will come home, but I have to ensure that there is someone to look after my patients, Nathaniel.”

  Nathaniel seemed to give up on the conversation for the time being. Or perhaps it was that he saw the barmaid approaching with their pies before George did? The girl suddenly appeared at their table and Nathaniel thanked her as he made room on the table for their plates.

  The smell of the meat and vegetable pies wafted up to George and reminded his stomach how long it had been since he had last eaten. The barmaid gave them a curtsey and then left as quickly as she had arrived.

  Nathaniel watched George tuck into the pie. “You do not eat enough.”

  “I eat when I can,” George said around a mouth of the pie.

  Nathaniel chuckled and broke his own pie open to cool. “If you had a wife perhaps she could keep you fed regularly.”

  “So we have swapped guilt now?” George asked the question to keep track of what portion of their conversation they had moved on to. Nathaniel always brought up the same topics, and George did not blame his brother for it.

  Nathaniel grinned as he speared a carrot with his fork. “I promised Mama that I would look out for you, Little Brother. I take my oaths as strongly as you do.”

  George nodded. He knew this. They had had this conversation. Why did they do this? To remind each other of their promises? To reaffirm that they were both still here? It was the same script but a different day and a different setting.

  They fell into silence and ate. Soon they would part ways, and George felt sadness for the knowledge of it. He cleared his throat. “Next month,” George said.

  Nathaniel looked up from his pie. His eyebrows raised up an inch with surprise. “You are serious?”

  “I am,” George confirmed. He had said it, and now he would stand by it.

  Nathaniel’s smile was larger than before. Genuine happiness shined through his eyes at George and it warmed George to see the affection. “Father will be so happy to hear that. I think you will be surprised too with all that has changed on the estate.”

  “Oh? What have you been up to? George had committed to the trip and now he might as well know what he was getting into.

  Nathaniel leaned forward. “We’ve added on to the main house, and those fields that we were just breaking ground with when you left are in full bloom now. That’s just for starters,” Nathaniel said with a wink.

  George found himself looking forward to the trip. After all, he could not back out now and perhaps it would be good to go home. They fell into companionable silence and ate their pies.

  When it came time for them to part ways, they did so with clasped arms and the knowledge that they would see each other again soon. George left the meeting feeling lighter. The feeling stayed with him for several streets, before the realisation hit him that going home would mean facing other things that were less pleasant.

  His father had never blamed George, but George had blamed himself for his mother’s death. So, seeing his father filled him with dread. George pushed the thought away. He had to focus on what was right in front of him, not a month away.

  George went to his next stop, one of his few wealthier patients. Lady Tate’s maid ushered him in through the door as soon as he rang the door knocker. He allowed the young maid to hurry him along the hallways without protest. He knew she was just worried about her employer.

  When he reached the sitting room, he found Lady Tate waiting for him. The color in her cheeks put him at ease. “Miss Tate,” he said with relief. “You look much better.”

  “I feel better, Doctor Rowley,” Lady Tate said with a nod of her head. “Forgive Christine, she is so fretful.”

  George waved off any concern the ladies had. “Quite understandable. After all, you have had a rough week, Lady Tate.”

  Lady Tate gave him a warm smile. “I had a good physician to look after me. No doubt I would not be half as healthy if those bloodsuckers had got hold of me.”

  George chuckled and held out his hand. “May I?”

  Lady Tate nodded and placed her hand in his. He checked her pulse. Normal. He took his stethoscope out of his bag and checked her lungs and heart. All sounded strong and healthy. “Your fever has broken and I do think you are on the road to a full recovery.”

  “Thank goodness,” Lady Tate said as if she had been holding some tension until his words of reassurance eased her worries. “Do you have any idea what brought on the illness?”

  George had his suspicions. “I suspect it was from some undercooked meat,” George said. “You mentioned that your meal tasted odd. You took it to be that you were getting sick even then, but your symptoms are markedly close to a bad reaction to something you ate.”

  “How horrible,” Lady Tate whispered. “I shall have to have a talk with my cook.”

  George nodded. “That might be for the best. And if something tastes off, do not eat it.”

  Lady Tate blushed. “I feel so foolish.”

  “Not at all,” George assured her. “It is quite a common thing and sometimes it is not even noticeable until one is already quite sick and thinks back on things.” He gave her a smile as he rose. “Would you like me to talk to the cook for you?”

  Lady Tate nodded. “Would you? I do so hate getting onto the staff, and my husband is away.”

  “I shall take care of it,” George told her as he put away his equipment. “Just rest up for the rest of the day and stick to clear liquids until dinner just to be sure.”

  Lady Tate’s head bobbed up and down. “Of course, Doctor Rowley.”

  He turned toward the kitchen and tried not to grimace. It was part of his job to interact with every member of the household, but this did not make it any easier. He knew it was probably just an accidental thing that had caused the illness, but he had to ensure his patient’s health.

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  [F1]Red velvet cake only was invented in the 1920s