“You’re shaking, my lady,” Alice said, alarm lacing her tone.
Hannah took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I’ll be all right,” she promised, not wanting to alarm her maid. “Let us rinse me and get me back to bed as soon as possible.”
She hunched over, holding on to the edge of the tub, but when the deluge of water came over her, she lost her balance, and went tumbling back into the tub with a scream.
Graham had been unable to keep still in the parlor after giving explicit orders to Cook for his poultice, so he’d decided to come back upstairs and simply pace the corridor until he was called back in. But the scream he’d just heard coming from her chambers was good enough.
He burst through the door and followed the sounds of commotion to her ladyship’s dressing room, where they’d set up the bath.
The little maid was leaning over the copper tub, speaking calmly to her mistress, while Hannah shook and struggled to get out of her grasp. Damn it all. She’d gone into some kind of shock.
“What happened?” he demanded, coming to the other side of the tub.
“Dr. Alcott!” The maid was clearly scandalized at his presence, but this was no time for propriety.
“Get me a towel.”
She did as she was told, and then held the towel open, awaiting further instruction. Graham lifted Hannah easily from the tub and held her trembling body against him, no matter she was dripping wet and clothed only in a thin, wet bathing gown. Surely her family would be horrified, but he was a doctor, for God’s sake. A fact of which he had to keep reminding himself when in the presence of Lady Beeston.
He sat on the wooden chair nearby, with her still in his arms. “Bring me the towel.”
The maid crossed the room and handed over the large, white cloth that had been heated for Lady Beeston’s comfort. He wrapped it around her shoulders, and her body immediately relaxed against his. Thank God.
Her eyes, which had been wild and unfocused, fluttered closed as she sucked in deep breaths. Graham resisted the urge to rock her or kiss her forehead—that would surely be crossing some kind of line. Instead, he held her firmly and watched her face, waiting for her to come to.
“What in the world is going on in here?” came the sharp tones of the dowager duchess.
Graham took a steadying breath—wasn’t it enough he’d failed Lady Beeston? And now he had to suffer criticism from her shrew of a mother.
“She fell, Your Grace,” he said, steeling himself for her blows.
“This is your fault,” she said.
And just as Graham was about to open his mouth to both apologize and defend himself, the little maid whimpered and muttered an apology of her own. Graham looked up to find the dowager’s beady gaze fixed on the young girl. The poor thing.
“It most certainly is not,” Graham said, trying to keep calm in spite of the outrage he felt on the girl’s behalf. “She was only trying to do her job, and admittedly, that job required more than one small maid. I should have insisted there be another set of hands.”
The dowager, thankfully, looked properly chastised, even if she did try to hide it behind a steely façade. “Well, then…you live another day, Alice.”
“Alice, would you be so kind as to retrieve the poultice from the kitchen? It should be ready by now.”
The little maid sniffed and nodded her head eagerly before running from the room. Graham couldn’t help but feel for the girl—or anyone who was forced to come into contact with this woman, really. She was the very antithesis of pleasant. However, she was all Graham had at the moment.
“We need to get her into dry clothing.”
The dowager stared down her long nose at him. “Then you shouldn’t have sent Alice away.”
“You and I can more easily handle the task, I think. And besides, I think she’s been through enough.”
“Oh, has she?” Her Grace bit back. “I rather think Alice failed in her duties today—it is my daughter who has been through a rough time.”
“I didn’t say otherwise. It goes without saying that Lady Beeston is suffering greatly. But she’s resting peacefully now, whereas the maid is quite shaken up from—as you put it—failing her mistress.”
“If you think you’re going to participate in undressing my daughter, you are sorely mistaken.”
“Then I shall leave her in your capable hands, madam.”
The woman sucked in a sharp breath. “I will have you removed from this house post haste, Dr. Alcott. I will not tolerate such disrespect from someone in your position.”
Damn. He didn’t want to get himself dismissed. Lady Beeston needed him, and she was his primary concern. He could make nice with this shrew if it meant keeping his post.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out. The words tasted like dust on his tongue. “I mean no disrespect. Perhaps you could ring for more help, then? Even when Alice does return, she is not capable of doing this alone—not when Lady Beeston is fast asleep and unable to assist.”
This seemed to douse the flames a bit, and the dowager did as he suggested, making her way through the next chamber and ringing the bell pull. Within minutes, they’d gathered a team of maids, including Alice, who had returned with the poultice. Graham waited outside the room while they changed her, and when they were done, and all but the dowager had left, he reentered the room, ready to apply the poultice.
But when he saw her, his feet came to a halt on the thin rug beneath his feet. If he’d thought her beautiful before, she was a thousand times more so now. They’d left her hair unbound, and the long locks of slightly damp curls framed her face and tumbled over her shoulders. They were the color of coffee, dark and rich and shiny. There was color in her cheeks now, presumably from the warmth of her bath. And her eyes fluttered, as if she were deep inside a dream. To think of all this woman had been through broke his heart, for she deserved only the most wonderful things that the world had to offer.
“Much better, isn’t it?” the dowager asked, her voice actually low and relaxed for a change.
“She will certainly feel better,” he replied, not wanting to admit to finding her breathtakingly beautiful. “I am hoping this poultice,” he continued, moving to where the maid had left the concoction on the bureau, “will make her feel even better still.”
“What is in this poultice of yours?”
“Oils,” he said simply.
“Oils?”
“Derived from plants and flowers. They have been using them for centuries in the East.”
“No doubt you learned of them in one of your symposiums.”
Actually, he’d learned it from what some might refer to as a witch doctor, but there was no need to share that bit of information. “One can learn a great deal from these lectures and symposiums,” he replied. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth.
The dowager walked to the other side of the bed as Graham pulled back the covers to reveal Lady Beeston’s leg. They’d dressed her in a fresh nightgown, made of soft, white cotton. She looked like an angel lying there, and it was all Graham could do to keep himself from crawling into the bed and holding her against him until she forgot every nasty word that had been said to her, every horrific act committed against her. But he couldn’t ever do that. It would be in his best interest to assume a more professional view of his patient.
“Will it hurt her?”
It seemed odd that the woman cared whether the poultice would hurt or not, but he answered her just the same. “Perhaps, a bit. Some of the oils can be a bit…hot, for lack of a better term. But hopefully she is sleeping deeply enough that she won’t notice.”
With that hope in mind, he lifted the baroness’s gown to reveal her wound, unbound it, and then pressed a cloth laden with the concoction against her leg.
Chapter 7
Stinging pain cut through the hazy blackness of sleep, jarring Hannah awake. What the devil was happening to her?
“You’re all right,” came a gentle voice. A voice that calm
ed her and excited her all at once.
Her eyes flew open, taking in the light, her mother, and finally, Dr. Alcott. “It hurts,” she cried, squeezing her eyes shut again against the pain.
“Just breathe,” he said. “It will subside, I swear to you.”
She did as she was told, though it wasn’t easy. She wanted to writhe and scream, but she tried to focus on her breath, in and out, in and out…
It didn’t take long, but he’d been right. The pain began to subside, little by little, until it left only a tingling sensation in her wound.
“Can I persuade you into giving me my laudanum?” she asked, and his brow immediately knitted into a frown.
He perched himself on the edge of the bed, the concern in his hazel eyes unsettling her. “Lady Beeston, may I ask how much laudanum you’ve been taking in a day?”
Hannah swallowed over the lump in her throat. The truth was, she’d been taking quite a bit more than Dr. Pritchard had prescribed, but Dr. Alcott didn’t need to know that, did he? “One teaspoon every three hours, just as Dr. Pritchard prescribed.”
Dr. Alcott nodded, clearly deep in thought. “Let us try moving that to every four hours, shall we?”
The thought alone made Hannah twitch, especially since she’d been taking two teaspoons every three hours. But if his poultice worked, perhaps she could stretch the time and reduce the dose. “We can certainly try it,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
Finally, that yielded a smile from the doctor. She very much liked when he smiled.
“Good. I think it is time I take my leave. You need your rest after the ordeal you’ve had.”
Hannah tried to think back, but the last thing she remembered was being in the bathtub. Goodness, how had she gotten here? Heat infused her cheeks instantaneously as she considered the possibility that Dr. Alcott could have been the one to bring her to the bed and—
“What happened?” she asked, directing the question to her mother, for she couldn’t possibly make eye contact with Dr. Alcott right now.
“You fell,” Mother replied, matter-of-factly. “Dr. Alcott had to rescue you.”
“He did?” the words came out as barely a whisper. Heavens, why did she feel so self-conscious? He was a doctor. Surely he’d seen a woman in a bathing gown. Oh, Lord! Her stomach churned at the thought of the thin, white fabric clinging to her otherwise naked body. Had he been the one to peel it off her and replace it with this nightgown? This never would have happened with Dr. Pritchard, for she never would have left the bed in the first place.
“I did,” Dr. Alcott confirmed as he packed his things back into his black bag. “But Alice and some of the other maids got you into dry clothes.”
Thank heavens for that.
“I suppose I should thank you,” she said, still avoiding eye contact with him.
But then she could feel his eyes boring into her—he was waiting for her to look at him. When she did, there was such kindness in his face, in his eyes, it nearly took her breath away.
“I will always do whatever I must to ensure your health and safety,” he said, his voice low and genuine.
Hannah swallowed again and gave him a little nod before Mother broke the spell.
“I will see you out, Dr. Alcott.”
He nodded and smiled at Hannah. “Until tomorrow.” Then he followed Mother to the hallway.
Just as they were about to close the door behind them, Hannah realized her bottle of laudanum was still far away, upon the bureau. Panic seized her and she called out before she could stop herself.
“Wait!”
The door swung open again and Dr. Alcott blinked at her, waiting, as she’d requested.
“The, um…the laudanum,” she said sheepishly, feeling ashamed and desperate at the same time. “You left it over there.”
Dr. Alcott looked toward the bureau, and for a long moment, Hannah wondered if he was going to leave it there, out of her reach. But finally, he said, “Indeed, I did,” and then moved across the room to retrieve the bottle.
He brought it to her bedside and held it in his hands. “I beg of you to give the poultice a chance,” he said, his tone grave, his hazel eyes pleading.
Hannah nodded. “You have my word.”
He stared at her for another long moment and then finally placed the bottle on the nightstand. Relief washed through Hannah as he walked away and closed the door behind him. As soon as he was gone, and in spite of her promise, she reached for the bottle.
Graham wasn’t at all surprised that the duke met them in the foyer downstairs. He was waiting by the door, his arms folded over his broad chest, his dark curls practically shaking with fury. Thank God the dowager stood by him, though he never thought she would be the one he’d take comfort in.
“What the devil are you doing to my sister?” the duke demanded as Graham and the dowager reached the last step.
“Now, Evan, you needn’t get so worked up over it,” Her Grace said before Graham had a chance to even open his mouth. “Hannah is fine and resting peacefully now.”
“Stay out of this, Mother.” The duke put a hand up to his mother and focused his attention on Graham. But Graham still would not get to say his piece.
“How dare you dismiss me like that?” The older woman stepped in front of Graham to force her son to look at her. “She is my daughter. Do you think I would allow harm to come to her?”
It was clear the duke was seriously considering his words in that moment, and Graham had a feeling it had to do with a long history of the dowager turning the other way. Somerset would be wise not to point that out, if it was, in fact, the case, but Graham still held his breath, lest it come to blows.
“Need I remind you this is my house, Mother?” the duke bit back.
“Then throw me out!”
“What is going on out here?”
A young woman with flaxen hair appeared from the drawing room, her eyes wide with curiosity.
“Everything is fine, darling,” the duke said. “We’re just trying to sort out this whole debacle.”
“You must be Dr. Alcott,” the woman—presumably the Duchess of Somerset—said, coming into the foyer and reaching out a hand to him.
Graham took it and bowed to her. “At your service, Your Grace.”
“I’ve heard so much about you, Doctor.”
“Not all bad, I hope,” he said, daring a glance at the still-fuming duke.
“Not from Hannah. She seems quite fond of you.”
Something about that warmed his heart, though it shouldn’t have. It was surely on a professional level that she thought fondly of him.
“That is nice to hear,” he replied.
“Fond or not, this man has endangered my sister, and I won’t stand for it,” the duke snarled. “You promised me no harm would come to her.”
“And no harm has come to her,” the dowager quipped. “She merely slipped—it could happen to anyone.”
“But it happened to her.”
“Perhaps the two of you should go and argue in private,” the young duchess suggested, causing both the affronted parties to clamp their lips together. Quite impressive, if you asked Graham. She seemed to lack any fear of the two of them, and to be truthful, they were both quite fearsome characters. “Now,” she said, turning back to Graham. “As long as Hannah is happy with you as her doctor, then you shall remain her doctor.”
“But—”
She held up a hand to silence her husband. “Hannah is thirty years old, Evan. For heaven’s sake, let the woman make her own choices. Heaven knows it’s been far too long since she’s been allowed to do so.”
The more Graham learned about her past, the more curious he became. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said, and then turned to the duke. “And please know, I do not take any of this lightly. No one was as shaken as I was by today’s events. Your sister’s health and safety are of the utmost importance to me.”
“Then I shan’t expect another episode such as this
one,” the duke bit back. He wasn’t happy, that much was clear, but he wasn’t letting him go. He didn’t seem to have much of a choice in the matter.
“I will endeavor to prevent one ever again.”
The duchess called for the butler then, and once he’d donned his hat and cane, Graham left the house, grateful to be free of the duke and his mother, and ever more so that he’d get to see Lady Beeston on the morrow.
Chapter 8
“Well, well, well, we thought you’d never awaken.”
Hannah blinked as she tried to register whose voice was speaking to her. Goodness, her body felt heavy, and her eyelids, too, for that matter. Was she under water? For that’s what it felt like. Like she was drowning.
“Water?” came the voice again, and Hannah finally opened her eyes enough to see the pale blonde head of her sister-in-law.
“Grace?” she mumbled, but it felt as if there was a ball of cotton in her mouth.
“Yes, dear, it’s me. Have some water.” Hannah tried to sit up, but her body wouldn’t allow it, so Grace put an arm around her neck and lifted her head to the glass. “There you are.”
The cool water made its way down her throat, taking that fuzzy feeling with it.
“Better?” Grace asked.
Hannah nodded. “Much. What time is it?”
“Late.” Grace placed the water glass on the side table and then perched on the edge of the bed. “Dr. Alcott will be here soon. Would you like something to eat?”
“He’s probably going to make me walk today, so I ought to have something in my stomach.”
“I’ll ring for your meal, then.”
Grace went about the room, calling for and speaking to the maid, then tidying up, even though there was nothing to tidy. She just kept picking things up and putting them back exactly where they’d been before. After several minutes of this, Hannah had had enough.
“Grace?” she said, halting her sister-in-law’s practices.
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