“Indeed.” Graham patted his belly, thinking of the delicious spread. If there was any fat on his body it was entirely due to far too much rum butter in his diet. “Tomorrow, then?”
“I’d be delighted.”
“Are you certain I’m ready for this?”
Lady Beeston stood by the bed—actually stood!—holding onto one of the four posters. She was dressed in a lavender day gown, her hair gathered into a simple, loose chignon at her nape. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips pink, her eyes bright. She was like a different woman from the one he’d first visited a couple weeks ago, and Graham couldn’t help but be proud of what he’d accomplished with her. She claimed the pain was quite minimal now, and he was successfully weaning her off the laudanum, day by day, reducing the dose by a tiny bit. So little, in fact, it seemed she didn’t even notice.
“If you’re not, remember, it is only my sister,” he said to her, unable to keep the smile from his lips. She was radiant, like a ray of sunshine in his life.
“And she knows about all of this?” she confirmed for the hundredth time.
He nodded. “She knows enough. Now, come. I will escort you down.”
She took his arm—it was all the support she needed these days to get around. She was even navigating the stairs, slowly, of course, but traversing them nonetheless.
They arrived in the drawing room where the duchess and the dowager both awaited them. The younger of the two leapt from her seat and bounded to them, taking Lady Beeston’s arm.
“Look at you,” Her Grace cried, tears of joy shimmering in her eyes. “And here we thought you’d never walk again.”
Lady Beeston cast a sweet glance toward Graham, her coquettish smile setting his heart to racing. “We all have Dr. Alcott to thank for my quick recovery.”
“Oh, indeed!” the duchess agreed. “You’ve worked miracles, Doctor.”
“He got lucky,” the dowager put in from her perch across the room. The high-back chair might as well have been a throne.
But Graham was coming to enjoy the old woman’s biting sense of humor, though she certainly didn’t think of her words as a joke. Still, he couldn’t help but laugh at her.
“Well, either way,” he said, “I’m quite happy with Lady Beeston’s progress.”
“Lady Wolverly,” came the dry tone of the Somerset butler.
All eyes turned to the doorway where his sister stood, decked out in the finest fripperies money could buy. She had really grown quite accustomed to life as an aristocrat, considering her humble beginnings.
The duchess was the first to greet her, leaving Lady Beeston alone with Graham once again.
“Lady Wolverly, how delighted we are to have you for tea today,” she said, sweeping about the room with all the grace that both her name and title implied. “Do come have a seat. Dr. Alcott, if you would please settle Lady Beeston here.” She indicated a chair at the small round table, and Graham led his patient directly to it, as his sister and the duchess took their own seats.
“But there are only four chairs,” Lady Beeston said to her sister-in-law.
“That is quite all right,” Graham replied, as the baroness turned her lovely dark eyes to him. “I will make myself comfortable elsewhere until you’re finished.”
“Oh.” Lady Beeston blinked at him, her eyes somewhat pleading. She wanted him to stay, though why, he couldn’t exactly say. She had her mother and sister-in-law to tend to her for the time being. “All right, then. Thank you, Dr. Alcott.”
She held his gaze until he finally broke away and left the room.
Hannah had grown quite accustomed to having Dr. Alcott at her side, so it was quite unnerving that he was not in this present moment. Her mother offered little comfort, and Grace was like a whirling dervish, chattering away as she prepared the tea.
“Will you stay in town for Christmas?” she asked of the viscountess. “Or will you go back to…where is it again? Cumberland?”
Lady Wolverly nodded. “Indeed. A little town called Ravenglass. You may know it for the infamous Marisdùn Castle.”
Grace gasped. “I have heard of that place! Tell me, have you been inside?”
The viscountess laughed. “Too many times to count, now. Why, Marisdùn was quite instrumental in my meeting of Lord Wolverly.”
“Is that so?” Grace leaned forward, enrapt.
“He was staying there with friends, and he’d come to find the doctor. Graham wasn’t at home, so I went instead, covered in…Oh! That reminds me!” She reached into her oversized reticule and pulled out a small jar of what looked like caramel. “I brought this for you. Cumberland Rum Butter—I was quite known for it in Ravenglass.”
“And you are quite known for it here, too!” Grace added. “Why, Lady Pevanshire served this at tea the other day, and all the ladies simply raved over it. Goodness, I didn’t even put it all together. May we open it? How do you think it will taste with this?” She cut into the small white cake that sat directly before her on the table.
“There is only one way to find out,” the dowager said, and Hannah granted herself a small smile over her mother’s sweet tooth. Her stoic exterior was compromised only in the face of dessert.
“Lady Beeston…” The viscountess turned her stunning blue eyes on her as Grace served up slices of cake covered in rum butter. “How are you feeling? I do hope this isn’t too taxing for you.”
“On the contrary,” Hannah said, thinking she quite liked the viscountess. She was closer to her in age than Grace was—not that she didn’t love Grace, but her sister-in-law still lacked in maturity sometimes. Of course, what she lacked, her sister, Chloe, made up for in spades. She likely came out of the womb knowing how to tend to the house and the children—just the sort of woman Lord Andrew Wetherby had needed, being a known rogue before he’d met her. Quite the scrapes he and his twin had gotten into in their younger days. But now they were both happily settled, Andrew with a brood of children himself. “I’m feeling quite invigorated, and I daresay the rum butter and cake will be quite a boon.”
“I do hope so,” Lady Wolverly said, just before they all fell silent and took their first bite of the dessert.
It was heavenly. Cook had outdone herself with the cake today, but the rum butter was the perfect compliment. Sweet and spicy and buttery—Hannah was certain she’d never be able to have cake without it again.
“I only realized I never answered your question,” the viscountess said after they’d all had a few more bites. “I do believe we will stay in the city through the holidays, actually. I find it much more lively than being cooped up in the country. And what about you?”
Grace sighed. “Christmas in the city does sound wonderful, but I’m afraid I’ll be in confinement by then, so we will all head to the family seat in Sussex.”
“Many congratulations,” the viscountess said. “Children are indeed a joy.”
Mother cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable with the way the conversation had steered. Whether it was because she hadn’t enjoyed being a mother or because she thought the topic of childbearing inappropriate over tea, Hannah couldn’t be certain. Perhaps a combination of the two?
“Well, I, for one, would much prefer to stay here,” Mother said. “Lady Wolverly is right. It is much more lively in the city.”
“What would you prefer?” the viscountess asked, turning to Hannah.
Hannah hadn’t given it much thought. For a long time, she’d assumed she’d never go anywhere but her bedchamber again. But now she considered it… “Beeston always wanted to be in the city for Christmas. The divertissements around Town are only as fun as the people you’re with—since I was alone, well… I suppose I could enjoy the city if I had friends to enjoy it with. But Christmas in the country sounds very quaint, don’t you think?”
“I could do without quaint,” Grace put in. “That’s all I ever knew until recently.”
“They do say the grass is always greener on the other side of the street.” Mother took anot
her sip of tea.
“Lady Beeston,” the viscountess said, training her blue eyes on her. “I know you are still recovering, but I’m hoping to host a little soiree in a few weeks time, at the start of the Little Season. I know you are still in mourning, but I promise it will be small—not much more than a family gathering. If you are well enough, I would very much like to see you there—and your family too, of course.”
“Oh.” Hannah looked to her sister-in-law, then her mother, and finally back to Lady Wolverly. “I, um…I haven’t been out in public yet. Is it even proper for me to do so?”
“I hardly think anyone will fault you under the circumstances,” Grace put in. “And besides, she says it’s not much more than a family dinner.”
The viscountess laid her hand atop Hannah’s. “You needn’t decide now. Invitations will go out next week—you can decide then. But even at that, I won’t think less of you should you bow out at the last minute.”
“I suppose you can put me down as a definite maybe then,” Hannah said, and they all laughed.
“Wonderful,” Lady Wolverly said. “I fear I must be going now, but I do so look forward to seeing you all again.”
“Likewise,” Hannah said, and then she was left alone with her mother while Grace saw the viscountess to the door.
“You’re looking a bit peaked, Hannah,” Mother pointed out, as if Hannah didn’t know.
“Yes, I’m certain I do. Perhaps you can call Dr. Alcott to retrieve me?” She would feel much better with him by her side.
Mother hesitated for a long moment. The way she stared at her, in silent judgment, made Hannah uneasy. Did she suspect something? Did she see in her eyes, or in his, the high regard they held for one another. To be truthful, it was getting harder and harder to hide her feelings from him. In part, he was like her savior, nursing her back to health and bringing light into her life after so many dark years. But beyond that, he was a good person, a kind person. So easy to talk to and to be around. Just being near him set her at ease in a way she’d not been for so very long.
“Yes, of course,” Mother finally said, and then she removed herself from the room.
Moments later, she returned, Dr. Alcott trailing behind her, stealing Hannah’s breath away. Was it possible he was even more handsome now than he’d been just a half hour ago when he’d deposited her here? Or perhaps it was just the smile he wore—like it was only for her—like he was truly happy to see her again.
“So?” he asked as he approached the table and Mother took her seat. “How was tea?”
“Your sister is delightful,” Hannah said, beaming up at him. “And her rum butter—”
“Is divine,” Mother cut her off.
“Mother has a sweet tooth to rival even the most greedy of children.”
Mother sucked in a sharp breath and let it out slowly, shaking her head. “It is true, I’m afraid. But now I need to lie down. Dr. Alcott, you can see to my daughter?”
“She is in good hands, Your Grace.”
Mother left the room again, her black skirts swishing loudly on her way out. Hannah looked up at Dr. Alcott, who towered above her, losing herself in his shimmering hazel eyes.
“My lady?” he said, extending his hand to her. She took it, the strength and warmth sending shockwaves through her, and he pulled her easily from the chair.
“Thank you,” she said as they began the slow walk toward the door. “Your sister really is lovely. And she’s invited us to her home for a party in a few weeks.”
“Has she now?”
Hannah looked sideways at him to see he wore a mischievous half smile. “I don’t suppose you had anything to do with it, did you?”
“Me?” he asked, all innocence. “I can’t imagine what purpose I would have in encouraging such a thing.”
Hannah suddenly felt ridiculous. She supposed there was a part of her that hoped he had put Lady Wolverly up to it. Perhaps as a way to attend a social function with her—maybe dance a slow waltz together or take a stroll out to the verandah. But of course she was only being fanciful. She was in mourning, for heaven’s sake. She shouldn’t be going out at all, let alone engaging in waltzes and flirtations.
“But,” he continued as they began the slow ascent up the stairs, “if you are going, I suppose I should be there too. You know, to keep an eye on you and make certain you don’t need medical attention.”
And then he winked at her. Goodness! He had orchestrated it! And here he was flirting with her. At least, she thought he was. It had been far too long since she’d flirted, she wasn’t certain she’d know it if it smacked her across the face.
“Oh, yes,” she replied, playing along. “Medical attention.”
“Indeed.”
Chapter 12
Graham was feeling quite proud of himself. The past weeks had proven to be highly successful in terms of his patient, and just the day before, she’d hobbled down the stairs and to the gardens without any assistance at all from him. She still needed to use the banister or the walls to keep steady but was otherwise quite independent.
Part of Graham was thrilled by this, while part of him missed being able to put his arms about her waist and hold her close. Close enough to smell the rosewater she’d rinsed her hair with, or the bespoke perfume she wore, something with orange blossoms and cinnamon, he thought. Whatever it was, it drove him mad and made him wish desperately that they could be more than just doctor and patient.
To that end, he’d become more bold, flirting openly with her and reveling in the fact that she was flirting with him in return. It was unlikely, completely far fetched, but he hoped that he might share his feelings at his sister’s soiree and, with any luck, have them returned.
Said soiree was fast approaching, and Graham was spending many an hour before the mirror in his bedchamber, practicing his speech to her. Hannah. Oh, how he longed to call her by her Christian name, and to have her do the same. To hear his name on her lips would surely be transcendent. Goodness, he wasn’t usually so fanciful. He was a man of science. And yet, he couldn’t seem to help himself when it came to Lady Beeston.
A knock came at his door, pulling him from his own reflection. He made his way to the front door and opened it to reveal a messenger boy.
“Are you Dr. Alcott?” the boy asked.
“I am.”
The boy held out a letter, and Graham dropped a coin into his hand before he ran off to find his next assignment. Graham studied the outside of the letter—there was no mistaking Dr. Pritchard’s scrawled handwriting. Barely legible, it was a wonder it had made it here.
Uneasiness settled in his belly as he tore at the seal, but he discovered that his worry was unfounded once he began to read.
Dr. Alcott,
Word of Lady Beeston’s speedy recovery has spread so fast and so far that it has already reached me here in the country. I needn’t go on about how proud I am, for surely you are quite proud of yourself. Keep up the good work, my good man. If all goes well here, I shall be back in the city before the Little Season ends. I look forward to sharing a meal with you at the club upon my return.
Please send my regards to Lady Beeston and her family, and my best to you.
Your friend,
Dr. Pritchard
Graham smiled as he tucked the letter into his desk drawer and then glanced outside to see a perfectly sunny day beyond the windows. He had an idea all of a sudden.
Cravat nicely in place and a spring in his step, he left his apartments and set out for Bond Street. The weather was cooling as they approached the autumn, and the leaves were beginning to change their colors. The city was aglow in reds and oranges and yellows, and Graham realized, for the first time since he’d come to London seven years ago, that it was a rather magical time of year. Pity he’d not noticed before. It seemed Lady Beeston had awakened something within him—something that made him appreciate the lovely, beautiful world in which they lived.
He went straight to Babbock’s Fine Accoutrements fo
r Gentlemen, where he bought all his own accoutrements. Mr. Babbock was there to greet him with a gentle smile, ready to assist.
“Dr. Alcott,” he said, as Graham entered the shop. “A pleasure, sir. What brings you in today? All out of handkerchiefs again?”
Graham gave a little laugh, for he had a habit of either lending or losing his handkerchiefs. “No, no,” he replied. “Soon, but not today. I’m actually looking for something quite special.”
“Indeed?” The proprietor raised his brows, all intrigue. “Go on.”
“A walking stick.”
“A walking stick?” The intrigue seemed to have died.
“For a woman—a patient, that is.”
“Ah!” There was a question in the older man’s dark blue eyes, but he held his tongue and led Graham to the display of walking sticks along the far wall.
Graham examined each one, contemplating the wood and the metal work on the handle, but all of them rang far too masculine for Lady Beeston. She was a strong woman, yes, but so very feminine at the same time. It needed to be something that reflected that about her.
“Do you see anything you like?” Mr. Babbock asked after a while.
Graham shook his head. “None of them are quite right.”
“Perhaps you want to commission a bespoke walking stick for your…patient.”
It would cost him quite a bit more, but he wasn’t exactly in the poorhouse. He could afford this small luxury, even if it wasn’t for himself. “Tell me, can it be ready by next Wednesday? I would like to present it before then.”
Mr. Babbock nodded. “I don’t see why that would be a problem. Come to my office and we shall design it together.”
It seemed unreal. Like a wonderful dream come true. She was walking again—well, hobbling—without assistance of any kind. If one didn’t count the walls and railings, that was. But she didn’t. And she was immensely proud of herself. And she was equally grateful for Dr. Alcott. His concoction of oils and herbs had done wonders for the wound, and she was all but done with laudanum. How addled her brain had been by the stuff! Sure, she had moments of weakness when she couldn’t sleep still, but Dr. Alcott had encouraged her to use that time to write in her journal or read a book rather than succumb to the laudanum.
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