by Georgie Lee
“You have Lord Ashford to thank,” she replied, resisting the urge to inform him he’d only been invited in an effort to encourage Lord Ashford and Elizabeth’s suit. “He’s a generous man and a great patron of the hospital. Many London gentlemen could learn from his example.”
“I’ll endeavor to study him. Good day, Miss Stuart.” He bowed, then strode away with a surety she admired.
She flexed her fingers over the edges of the books, her arms beginning to burn under their weight. For a man of slender means, Lord Woodcliff’s coat was well tailored to cover his broad back to where it tapered to a narrow waist. His stature, as well as his neat and understated clothes stood in stark contrast to the reed thin dandies in their bright blue coats and the stocky old men with wrinkled collars filling the lending library. No doubt Lord Woodcliff had a tailor’s bill as weighty as her reading selection, with no intention of paying it until he found himself a rich wife.
She returned to browsing the shelves, the reminder of his lack of money helping her regain her focus, but every now and again the deep tones of Lord Woodcliff’s voice would rumble beneath the murmurs of the other subscribers to taunt her. She slid a sideway glance to where he stood conversing with Lord Ashford, Elizabeth and Lady Treadwell. Had he really been teasing her about her interest in science or genuinely impressed? Considering his previous opinion of women’s education, he must have been mocking her. Young bucks in search of a wealthy wife often expressed great interest in art and science in an attempt to awe her, but as soon as they realized the depth of her knowledge, they abandoned her for other young ladies of large fortune and little learning.
Charlotte shook her head at her foolishness. Lord Woodcliff wasn’t likely to loiter in the science section of Hookham’s simply to impress young heiresses. Even if he did, it didn’t matter. She possessed no interest in him.
She hazarded another peek at him, but he and Lord Ashford were leaving. He walked out the door, pausing on the threshold to toss her a wink before disappearing into the crowd outside.
Embarrassment swept through her and she eyed those around her to make sure no one had noticed the exchange. It wasn’t like her to moon over a man, especially after her experience with the Comte. She added another book to her selection, ignoring the pain in her arms and her chest. She’d already made one mistake by trusting a nobleman. She wasn’t about to make another.
Chapter Two
Charlotte paused at the drawing room door, congratulating herself on the success of her soirée. The candles cast a warm glow over the finely attired guests as they moved about the room. The subtle tones of the hired harpist’s melodies punctuated the scene. Matrons, dressed in the latest fashions, sat together along the walls eagerly watching for the slightest hint of interest between the young people conversing. Uncle Charles stood near the fireplace with the other husbands, all of whom were quite content to leave matchmaking to their wives while they debated the latest happenings in Parliament.
Charlotte threaded through the guests to reach Aunt Mary who sat gossiping on the settee with Mrs. Knight and Mrs. Greenville, Minnie firmly entrenched in her lap.
“See Aunt Mary, the evening is a success,” Charlotte announced.
“You have the potential to be a great hostess someday,” Aunt Mary held up her wine glass, her mood having much improved since this morning.
“I have Mrs. Greenville to thank for it. I learned all I know about society fundraising from her.”
“Oh, Miss Stuart, how you flatter me,” Mrs. Greenville laughed, her large stomach and ample bosom barely contained by the dark blue brocade of her dress. With her shock of red hair and bold manner, Mrs. Greenville was a formidable force when it came to soliciting funds for worthy causes. “I hope you’ll be as generous during my Widows and Orphans of the War with Napoleon Fund art auction.”
“Aunt Mary and Lady Redding are taking me to Mr. Taylor’s tomorrow so I may select a painting to donate.”
“I can’t wait to see it.” She turned to her daughter, a slender, shy woman who stood next to the settee, doing her best to disappear into the wall. “Penelope, you could learn a thing or two from Miss Stuart. Perhaps then you’d show more interest in society and less interest in books.”
Charlotte’s heart went out to the poor girl, for although Charlotte greatly admired Mrs. Greenville’s commitment to charity, she knew her daughter’s reserved nature was a direct result of her mother’s overly forceful one. Charlotte, desiring all her guests to be comfortable, quickly changed the subject.
“Penelope, you must allow me to introduce you to Lord Marston.” Charlotte motioned to a slender young man admiring the Grecian urn in the corner.
“Thank you,” Penelope smiled shyly as Charlotte took her by the arm and led her across the room.
“Lord Marston has five thousand pounds a year and a great deal of land,” Mrs. Knight loudly whispered to Mrs. Greenville before Charlotte and Penelope were out of hearing.
“You needn’t bother on my account,” Penelope meekly protested.
“Nonsense. I think you’ll enjoy speaking with Lord Marston, he’s a great reader,” Charlotte tried to ease the girl’s nerves as they approached the young man. “Lord Marston, may I introduce Miss Greenville. She’s also an admirer of ancient Greek art.”
“I’m ashamed to admit I don’t know as much as I should.” Lord Marston bowed to them, his attention fixed on Penelope who stared more at her feet than the lord. “But I’d be happy to learn if you, Miss Greenville, would teach me.”
Penelope’s eyes sparkled and she regarded Lord Marston from beneath her long lashes. “I’d be happy to teach you. Do you see this figure on the vase?”
She explained the Grecian figures, much to Lord Marston’s visible enjoyment.
Charlotte politely excused herself to join the other young gentlemen and ladies surrounding the table in the center of the room. The glass vials, now filled with strange liquids, glistened in the candlelight and attracted a great deal of attention.
“Miss Stuart, tell us what you have planned this evening,” Lord Redding, fifth Earl of Redding and Lady Redding’s young nephew, encouraged as Charlotte approached the group. His aunt had been unable to attend, much to Aunt Mary’s and Charlotte’s disappointment, but she’d sent her rakish but genial and influential nephew in her place.
“I hardly know what Dr. Walter has in store for us. But he assures me it’s wonderful and of great use to the hospital, which is in need of so many things.”
“Then we must see it has all it requires,” Lord Redding announced with all the surety of a man who set many fashions among the ton, and the others nodded in obedient agreement.
Charlotte was grateful for his presence and his enthusiasm. With his influence, even the younger set would be generous tonight.
“Charlotte, Lord Ashford has arrived,” Elizabeth breathlessly exclaimed, coming up beside Charlotte.
“I know, I invited him,” she answered smugly.
“Lord Woodcliff is with him.”
Charlotte’s smugness wilted and she took a glass of punch from a passing footman and sipped it slowly. Elizabeth’s parents had died, heavily in debt, when she was young and she’d been raised by her grandmother who possessed a respectable lineage, but not much money. This Season was Elizabeth’s chance for a successful marriage. Charlotte had vowed to do all she could to help her friend, even if it meant putting up with an intolerable gentleman like Lord Woodcliff. “Is he now?”
“How can you pretend such indifference?”
“I assure you, I’m not pretending.”
“But you were speaking with him today in Hookham’s.”
“It doesn’t mean I have an interest in the conceited man.”
“I hope you’re not talking about me,” a deep voice said from behind them.
Charlotte and Elizabeth turned to greet Lord Ashford. In his dark, fitted jacket he cut a dashing figure, fashionable but not dandified. At six and twenty the Earl possessed a large f
ortune and simple tastes and avoided the excesses of drinking and gambling so prevalent among many of his estate.
“My lord, one could never speak ill of you. The help you’ve provided the hospital is without equal,” Charlotte replied, extending her hand in greeting.
“It was Miss Knight’s delightful suggestion to which you owe your thanks. Without it I never would have thought to be so generous.” He smiled at Elizabeth, his eyes sweeping down the length of her to admire her rich green dress and the way it perfectly complemented her slender frame and light completion.
“You’re too kind, my lord,” she demurely answered.
“If you’ll excuse me, I must speak with Dr. Walter and see if he’s ready to begin.” Charlotte turned to leave, bumping into the gentleman standing behind her.
“Good evening, Miss Stuart,” came a familiar voice from the wide chest in front of her.
Charlotte followed the straight line of brass waistcoat buttons up past the neatly tied cravat to Lord Woodcliff’s face. His strong jaw was relaxed with his engaging smile which softened the angles of his chiseled cheeks. In the candlelight, his brown hair seemed richer, his eyes a livelier shade of blue. They met hers with the same amusement which had filled them when he’d examined her books earlier today.
“Have you no kind words for me?” He bowed.
She curtsied slightly, catching the faint fragrance of his cologne. Deep notes of sandalwood mixed with something sharper, an exotic spice she’d once tried in a marketplace in Baden but now couldn’t name. She took a deep breath, both to steady herself and to indulge in his rich scent before rising and offering him a cool smile.
“Lord Woodcliff, kind words aren’t enough to greet a man of your esteem.”
She wouldn’t allow him to distract her now as he had in the library. Moving around him she strode off across the room. For all her desire to dismiss him, she couldn’t resist looking back.
He smiled devilishly at her, more amused by her rebuff than reprimanded.
With a silent huff she set her sights on Dr. Walter, the manager of St. Dunstan's who stood with his wife near the window.
“Dr. and Mrs. Walter, I’m honored to have you here,” she greeted her guests, working to forget Lord Woodcliff and settle her attention on the events of the evening.
“We’re the ones who are honored. I rarely have the privilege of presenting my work to such an esteemed group.” Dr. Walter trilled his fingers over his thin chest, regarding her through his small spectacles which were perched on the bridge of his round nose. Mrs. Walter stood at his elbow, her frame as slight as her husband’s, but while he had the look of a man of science, her many years of service to the sick had given her the serenity of an experienced mother.
“Miss Stuart, we were admiring this image of you in Rome.” Mrs. Walter pointed to a painting on the wall above them of Charlotte posing before the Coliseum.
“I was ill in Rome and could do little but sit. It seemed the best time for a portrait.”
“Didn’t you find travel abroad dangerous, especially with the turmoil between Austria and France?” Mrs. Walter asked. Although the matron was all too familiar with the depths of human suffering, Charlotte knew Mrs. Walter had not traveled more than a few miles outside of London in her entire life.
“Not at all and I hope to return to the continent, especially France as soon as possible.”
“I wouldn’t recommend Europe to any lady at present,” Lord Woodcliff offered, joining their little group.
Charlotte stiffened, wishing he would find some other person in the room to pester, but now that he was here, she was forced to make the introduction.
“Dr. Walter, may I introduce Lord Woodcliff. Dr. Walter is my guest of honor.”
All Lord Woodcliff’s previous joviality vanished as he offered a curt nod, regarding the doctor with a suspicion usually reserved for ragamuffins looking to pick a man’s pockets.
“You don’t believe in lady travelers?” Dr. Walter asked with a grin, his generous nature allowing him to ignore Lord Woodcliff’s palpable coolness toward him.
Charlotte wasn’t so considerate, fixing Lord Woodcliff with a chiding frown he ignored.
“On the contrary, I think travel an excellent occupation for a lady. But until Napoleon is finally dealt with, Miss Stuart should enjoy the sights of her own country and leave Europe to the soldiers,” he proclaimed as though she were some silly chit and not a woman who possessed more experience on the continent than most London gentlemen.
“Or perhaps Lord Woodcliff, you should limit your opinion to subjects men know best, such as brandy and snuff.” She took Dr. and Mrs. Walter by their elbows, ready to be done with the haughty Viscount. “It’s time for your presentation, Dr. Walter.”
Striding past Lord Woodcliff, and determined not to return the curious scrutiny he fixed on her, she led Dr. and Mrs. Walter to the scientific equipment in the middle of the room. The guests fell silent as the couple set to mixing the contents of the different vials in the large evaporator glass. While they made their preparations, Charlotte addressed the assembled crowd.
“Dr. Walter, the head of St. Dunstan’s Charitable Hospital, has agreed to share with us his most amazing new theory. We owe a great deal to men like Dr. Walter who work so hard to alleviate the suffering of the poor people of London. He will explain and demonstrate for us his latest discovery, which he assures me will benefit many patients.”
The guests clapped as Charlotte joined Aunt Mary, Elizabeth and Lord Ashford on the edge of the crowd.
“Let me first thank our generous hostess, Miss Stuart, for allowing me to share my findings with you tonight.” Dr. Walter motioned to Charlotte who nodded modestly at the polite applause. “I’ve reviewed Dr. Davy’s work regarding the effects of nitrous oxide and I believe it has the ability to benefit surgical patients. Beyond the initial euphoria experienced by inhaling the gas, larger doses induce sleep.”
With a theatrical flair, Dr. Walter lit the burners beneath the evaporator glass.
To Charlotte’s delight, the entire crowd awed with interest, except for Lord Woodcliff. He watched the presentation with a cynicism to make Hamlet appear like a pleasant fellow. If Charlotte had thought he’d be this hostile to her guest, she wouldn’t have invited him, no matter how much it helped Elizabeth with Lord Ashford.
“Using an idea from the Middle Ages, I created this leather mask and tube to deliver the gas directly to the patient.” Dr. Walter held up a leather mask with a striking resemblance to the medieval plague masks but with a shorter beak attached to a long hose connected to a vial filled with swirling gas.
“What a frightful looking device,” Elizabeth whispered to Lord Ashford.
“I’m sure it’s quite safe,” Lord Ashford replied when Lord Woodcliff, who was now suddenly behind them, leaned forward.
“I’d be careful about trusting physicians with such theatrics.” Lord Woodcliff’s voice, well above a whisper, caught the attention of many including Dr. Walter.
Charlotte was about to ask him to refrain from further comment when Aunt Mary’s firm hand on her arm silenced her.
“This is science, Lord Woodcliff, not quackery,” Dr. Walter answered with authority.
“I hope you don’t delight in the gas as Dr. Davy did in Brighton. Didn’t his experiments prove the gas has no real medical value?”
Charlotte opened her mouth to intervene but Aunt Mary cut her off with a sharp whisper. “Allow Dr. Walter to defend himself.”
For her aunt’s sake, Charlotte said nothing.
“Dr. Davy proposed the gas as a cure and, as you stated, his experiments proved otherwise. I, however, am proposing the gas as an aid to surgery, to relieve the patient’s suffering by rendering him unconscious,” Dr. Walter explained, but Lord Woodcliff shook his head, still not satisfied.
“How can you be sure the gas is not lethal?”
Charlotte, despite a hard squeeze from her aunt, couldn’t remain silent. If Lord Woodcliff conti
nued with his questions his doubts might spread to the others and threaten her ability to raise money for the hospital.
“Dr. Walter is an esteemed physician who keeps abreast of the latest research,” Charlotte assured everyone, but Lord Woodcliff refused to concede the point.
“Perhaps, but even the most astute medical men make mistakes.”
“Which is why I do thorough research before presenting my findings,” Dr. Walter countered, defending his work. “When the gas is mixed with oxygen and administered in the proper doses it is perfectly safe. I can demonstrate it on you if you’d like?”
“Yes, Lord Woodcliff, test Dr. Walter’s theory yourself, then we may all enjoy the presentation without interruption,” Charlotte challenged.
Behind her Aunt Mary uttered a disapproving squeak, but Charlotte didn’t care. The look of annoyance on Lord Woodcliff’s usually cheerful countenance was worth any censure from her aunt. However, Charlotte’s victory was short lived for the Viscount was ready with an answer.
“I have no intention of falling asleep under Dr. Walter’s competent care as I plan to enjoy the rest of the evening. Perhaps your little terrier would be a willing participant? What dog doesn’t relish a good nap?” Charlotte’s eyes widened in surprise much to Lord Woodcliff’s visible pleasure. “Or perhaps you don’t trust the esteemed Doctor with such a precious patient?”
“I’d trust Dr. Walter with my life.” Charlotte looked around the room for the small terrier and spied her standing on the arm of a nearby chair attempting to steal a pastry from the side table. “Minnie, come here.”
The terrier dropped her ears, hopped off the chair and crept toward Charlotte.
Charlotte picked Minnie up and the muffled whap of the dog’s wagging tail against her gown filled the silent room. The dog’s excited brown eyes made her stomach tighten. Charlotte, knowing the hospital improvements depended on this demonstration of faith, crossed the room with purpose, holding Minnie out to Dr. Walter. “Your patient is ready.”
