Not Always a Saint (5 page)

T
he woman's expression shuttered and she spun around to disappear into a group of people leaving the room. Only then did Daniel realize that he'd started forcing his way through the crowd toward her. He'd probably alarmed her with his blatant stare, though with her beauty, he couldn't be the first man to react in such a way.

“Is something wrong?” Kirkland's quiet voice said from behind his shoulder. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Daniel took a deep breath and forced himself not to blurt out that he'd momentarily lost all claims to sanity. “I saw a woman who seemed familiar.”

As he said the words, he realized they were true. Something about the lady was indeed familiar, though he'd be blessed if he knew what it was.

“What does she look like?” Laurel asked. “If she's from the Bristol area, perhaps I've met her.”

“She looked like the kind of woman our parents warned us about,” Daniel said with wry honesty.

“An interesting description, but not very specific.”

Doing his best to sound sensible, Daniel said, “Her appearance was rather Welsh. Dark hair and a very fair complexion.”

Which could describe at least a dozen women in this room. How could one be specific about “I did but see her passing by, And yet I love her till I die”?

“Not as tall as you, Laurel. Mid-twenties, perhaps, and quite staggeringly beautiful. If we've met, I ought to remember her, but instead, I had only a vague sense of familiarity.”

“She doesn't sound familiar to me, but my idea of beautiful is probably different from a man's,” Laurel observed. “Did you notice what she was wearing?”

“Black.” Only now did he realize what that meant. “A mourning gown, I think. The cut was very modest, not evening décolleté like most of the female guests are wearing.” And yet the effect had been profoundly alluring.

“Perhaps she's related to someone you know,” Laurel said thoughtfully. “Someone who knows me would think you're familiar and vice versa.”

“Perhaps that's it. I don't recall seeing any women who were staggeringly beautiful other than Laurel,” Kirkland said with a fond glance at his wife. “But if she's part of the beau monde, you'll likely meet her in other places.”

Daniel shrugged. “No matter. I was merely surprised by a brief sense of recognition.” Which was considerably less than the truth, but he couldn't possibly explain that mad, flaring attraction. It meant nothing, and yet...
“I did but see her passing by . . .”

Daniel gave his head a sharp shake. He'd never been much for poetry, but for the first time he understood the romantic fervor of the anonymous poet who'd written those words centuries before. The fellow had clearly been suffering from temporary madness.

If Daniel had actually met the woman in black, the reality of her would have had nothing to do with that brief fantasy. She would have been just a pretty woman, probably married, and not at all mysterious and dangerous. With her beauty, she might well be shallow and spoiled. The crowd of men surrounding her suggested as much. Better to bury that lightning bolt of reaction in the back of his mind. Even if she was unmarried, she did not look like wife material.

Kirkland's voice cut through his reverie. “Here's a lady you'll want to meet.”

Daniel turned obediently and found himself face-to-face with Lady Agnes Westerfield, founder and headmistress of the Westerfield Academy. “Lady Agnes!” he exclaimed. “I had no idea you might be here!” He impulsively hugged her, remembering with a rush of affection how she'd shown him the tolerance and understanding that was so lacking in his parents.

“I'm in town to interview several potential students. It's about time you came to London, you rascal!” She laughed as she hugged back. “Best let me go now, though. People will think I've taken a young lover in my dotage.”

“Dotage, indeed.” He surveyed Lady Agnes, who looked as tall and strong and capable as always. “Your students may have caused a few gray hairs in the last dozen years, but otherwise you haven't aged a day. I suspect you've made a pact with the devil.”

“Then you'll just have to exorcise me.” She glanced at Kirkland and Laurel. “I'm taking Daniel outside so we can talk properly. Look for us when you're ready to leave.”

“Which won't be long.” Laurel tucked her hand in the crook of her husband's arm. “I'm beginning to tire.”

Kirkland patted her hand. “We'll go say hello to the Castlereaghs, then join you outside.” Which would give Daniel and Lady Agnes time to talk.

Forceful as always, Lady Agnes took Daniel's arm and towed him toward the exit door. The noise dropped sharply when they stepped through into a corridor.

“Blessed relief,” Lady Agnes said as she released Daniel's arm.

He'd locked memories of the Westerfield Academy away with so much of his youth, but now he remembered all the good times there. “I trust the school is flourishing? How are Miss Emily and the general?”

“Emily and the general are well, and so is the school. It gets a little larger each year, but we won't let it get so large that we can't give each student as much personal attention as he needs.” She fixed him with a stern gaze. “Now explain to me how I sent you off to Oxford to train for holy orders, and now you've reappeared as the best surgeon in the West Country and a reluctant baron.”

Startled and pleased, he asked, “How did you hear that?”

Her smile was warm. “I keep track of all my boys.”

Should he tell her the short version, or the longer one that had all the important parts? After a moment of considering, he said, “It's a long story.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Then you'd better get started.”

 

 

When she saw him, Jessie barely managed to keep herself from bolting from the drawing room. Had Dr. Herbert recognized her? She didn't see how it was possible. She looked nothing like the way she had when they'd first met. But the way he'd stared . . .

She'd felt safe for years, but the old terror flared as quick and hot as ever despite the time that had passed, leaving her shaking. She'd known there was some danger in leaving her quiet life to move into society, but that danger had seemed remote. She hadn't expected to run into someone who could connect her with her past.

But her reasons for entering society and seeking a husband were as powerful as ever. It was too late to retreat.

As they walked down the quiet corridor that led to the street, Mariah said, “You look tired. Did you meet any good prospects among the men who flocked around you? If so, I'll see if I can arrange for you to meet him again in quieter circumstances.”

“There were one or two gentlemen with potential,” Jessie said, making her tone light. “But they tended to be crowded out by the young and randy. I hadn't thought that wearing mourning would actually attract men.”

“Only those of the wrong sort,” Julia said. “The kind who believe that a widow is in dire need of their services. Men can be such beasts.” She slid a teasing glance at her husband, whose arm she held. “Present company excepted, of course.”

“I'm gratified to hear that,” Randall said, his tone dry but his eyes glinting with amusement. Since Mariah's husband, the Duke of Ashton, had been busy elsewhere, Randall was escorting all three ladies.

“Thank you for driving off the undesirables, Major Randall.” Jessie smiled a little. “One stern look from you and they faded away.”

“An advantage of a military past.” He grinned. “I'm enough of a male beast that I enjoyed the envious glances from other men at my good fortune in escorting three such beautiful ladies.”

Would his stern stare drive off Dr. Herbert? She doubted it. In his way, the good doctor was as formidable as the army officer.

Randall added, his tone apologetic, “You should probably know they're calling you the Black Widow.”

She bit her lip. “Thank you for warning me. That doesn't sound very good.”

“It was said with interest and admiration, not condemnation,” Randall assured her.

“A nickname earned so quickly means you've been accepted into London society,” Mariah said. “You may not have enjoyed the rout, but your dress and behavior were impeccable.” Her tone became ironic. “Now you are one of
us.
”

Jessie's companions were a better recommendation than the most impeccable gown, but Mariah and Julia had brushed aside her thanks since they assured her they were having a wonderful time. She asked, “What is our next social engagement?”

“Dinner with the Kirklands,” Julia replied. “You'll enjoy that. Lord Kirkland was a classmate of Ashton and Alex, and he's inviting several Westerfield Academy graduates for a quiet evening. His wife is lovely, and very active with the Sisters Foundation. I doubt there will be any eligible older gentlemen, but I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself, and the Kirklands are good people to know.”

“That sounds pleasant.” Jessie wryly admitted that while her head said she needed a husband, her heart was more interested in quiet evenings with good company.

 

 

After returning to Ashton House, Jessie succumbed to temptation and climbed up to the nursery instead of retiring to her own room. Beth was her touchstone, the reason she was sailing in these uncharted waters. She needed to see her.

Silently Jessie eased open the door to her daughter's room. A dim lamp gave just enough light to reveal Beth's small form in the bed, her soft cloth doll in her arms. Jessie had made the doll, giving it toffee brown hair the same shade as her daughter's. Her little girl looked like a sleeping angel.

Resisting the desire to wake her daughter up, Jesse settled for feasting her eyes on her, then blowing a silent kiss before she headed to her room. Beth was worth any risk. Even the risk of stirring the dangers that lurked in Jessie's past.

W
hen they reached Kirkland House, Laurel and her husband retired to their rooms, though from the way they were looking at each other, Daniel suspected that they were not going to bed because his sister was overtired. What would it be like to retire to his own bedchamber with a wife who affected him like the woman in black . . . ?

Daniel shut off that train of thought immediately. He needed a good wife, not a dangerous siren.

Instead of heading to his room, he descended to the basement kitchen in search of a cup of tea. He liked knowing his way to the kitchen of any house he stayed in. One never knew when hunger might strike in the depths of night.

It wasn't particularly late, so he was unsurprised to find activity in the kitchen. A middle-aged woman with an air of authority glanced up from the dough she was kneading, her expression wary. “You'd be Lord Romayne.” She brushed a lock of hair back, leaving a trail of flour on her cheek. “There's no need for you to come down here. You can ring for what you like.”

The remark sounded like exasperation at having her territory invaded, but Daniel responded with a disarming smile. “I know. This household runs like a finely tuned clock. But I like kitchens, and I'm using the excuse of a cup of tea to explore. I think you must be Mrs. Simond? I've only been here a few days, but it's clear why Lord and Lady Kirkland value you so highly.”

Expression mollified, the cook nodded. “Aye, that's me. Suzie, make his lordship a pot of tea. I could use a drop myself.” The kitchen maid at the far end of the room nodded and set a kettle of water to heat.

Daniel said, “My sister says you have a very fine kitchen cat.”

Mrs. Simond's expression softened even more. “That would be Badger. He's in that chair over there, hoping to benefit from me making beefsteak puddings.”

Daniel followed her gesture and found Badger, a large black and white cat with huge green eyes and an expression of deep contentment on his furry face. He also had a rich, rumbling purr when his head was scratched.

“A very fine fellow indeed,” Daniel said as the cat raised his chin to allow better neck scratching. “Every kitchen should have a cat.”

“Your lady sister says the same,” the cook said as her strong hands resumed kneading. “They keep the vermin away, they do.”

Daniel was about to reply when a great clatter, bang, and crash of breaking china sounded from behind a door at the other end of the kitchen. Suzie opened the door hastily to reveal a narrow servants' staircase and a young footman moaning with pain at the bottom of the steps, broken china scattered around him.

“Oh, Lester!” the cook exclaimed as she wiped flour from her hands. “Have you fallen over your feet again?”

Daniel covered the length of the kitchen in half a dozen strides before Mrs. Simond even finished speaking. Lester was sprawled on his side at the base of the stairs, his right arm twisted awkwardly and blood seeping from a cut on his forehead.

“Don't try to move yet.” Daniel knelt by the young man and ran experienced fingers over his skull. “Do you think you broke anything? Your head? Bones?”

The questions helped Lester focus. “I'll have some bloody big bruises, sir, but otherwise . . .” He started to push himself to a sitting position and gave a cry of agony when he moved his right arm.

“Your right shoulder?” Daniel asked.

“Y-yes.” Lester's face was pale. “Banged it into the wall when I fell.”

Daniel guessed a broken or dislocated shoulder. “Let me help you up so I can examine it. I'm a surgeon, and I'll try not to make it feel worse than it already does.”

He slid one arm around the young man's waist and hauled him to his feet. Suzie had pulled a solid wooden chair near so Daniel settled Lester into it. The forehead laceration mostly stopped bleeding after it was washed clean. “Mrs. Simond, do you have some salve for minor kitchen injuries?”

“I'll get it, my lord.” Suzie scampered to a cabinet and brought back a small jar.

Daniel applied the ointment to the young man's forehead. Now for the arm. “Lester, I'll have to cut your coat off so I can take a closer look at your shoulder.”

“Don't cut the coat!” Lester looked horrified. “It's new and Mrs. Stratton'll make me pay for another one!”

Daniel doubted that Kirkland would require that, but maybe the housekeeper would. “Then I'll take it off very carefully.”

As Suzie swept up the broken china, Mrs. Simond returned to her kneading, but both kept a worried eye on the medical drama. Talking to distract Lester from his pain, Daniel remarked, “I see there's no railing on that staircase. I'll talk to Kirkland about having one installed.”

Having peeled the coat off Lester's left arm, Daniel eased the other sleeve down the right arm. Lester gasped involuntarily before biting down on the sound.

As Daniel removed the footman's shirt, he continued, “Very useful things, railings. At my Bristol infirmary, I've treated any number of people who fell down steps. I can fix a broken arm, but a broken neck is quite another matter. Luckily, your neck is in fine shape and your head doesn't seem to have any serious damage. As for your shoulder . . .”

Lester's shoulder looked square, not round, a clear indicator of dislocation. The young man moaned as Daniel gently examined the damaged joint. A simple dislocation with no apparent damage to the humerus. The sooner the bone was back in its socket, the better. “You're fortunate. Your arm isn't broken, but the bone was knocked out of the shoulder socket. I'll move it back into place. This will hurt, but it will only take a couple of minutes and then the worst of the pain will go away. You'll have to lie down.”

He took off his own expensively tailored coat and spread it on the floor. Suzie said, horrified, “Oh, don't do that, sir! I'll get a blanket from the laundry room.”

“That will be more comfortable for Lester.” Daniel tossed his coat over a chair. “While you're in the laundry, could you find a piece of fabric that will do for a sling?”

“Yes, sir.” She darted off.

“Mrs. Simond, is there some brandy I could give Lester to help him relax?” Daniel asked.

The cook nodded toward the adjoining pantry. “The locked cabinet in there.” She tossed him a ring with several keys. “The key with a red thread tied on it. Leave the bottle out. I'm thinking we'll all be in need of some by the time you're done.”

“You are a jewel of a cook, Mrs. Simond.” Daniel caught the key and opened the cabinet. Inside were several bottles of the kinds of alcohol used in cooking. He poured some brandy in a cup, then added water to reduce the kick.

“Drink slowly,” he said as he placed the cup in the footman's shaking left hand. “You may not like the taste, but it should help you relax and numb the pain a little.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Lester sipped, made a face, then sipped more.

By the time he'd finished, Suzie was back from the laundry room. She carried two faded but clean old quilts and a worn shawl that would be a good size for a sling. She was a clever girl.

After spreading the folded quilts out on the cold floor, she offered Lester a folded handkerchief. “This is clean if you want to bite on it.”

His face was pale and beaded with sweat, but he nodded and accepted the handkerchief. Daniel helped him from the chair, then lowered him down onto the quilts. “This will look strange, but it works, and your shoulder will be fixed in just a few moments.”

He pulled off his shoes, glad he hadn't worn boots, then sat on the floor on Lester's right side and set the sole of his foot against his patient's ribs. As he clasped Lester's hand, he said, “I'm going to slowly pull your arm up and back until the bone snaps back into the socket. Suzie, talk to him about anything that will distract him.”

Suzie obeyed, standing where Lester could see her easily as she chatted about the fine weather and Mrs. Simond's wonderful pies and what a splendid mouser Badger was. Her comments were humorous, which helped hold Lester's attention as Daniel carefully raised the arm and manipulated the humerus back into place.

He felt a distinct
clunk
when the bone slipped back into the shoulder socket. Lester exhaled and spat out the folded handkerchief, which showed teeth marks. “I could use that cup of tea now, Suzie. And maybe add some brandy, if Mrs. Simond doesn't object.” Despite his jaunty words, his face was pale and beaded with sweat.

Mrs. Simond finished shaping her dough and wiped her hands clean. “I wager we could all use some of that tea with brandy!”

Suzie poured four cups from the pot that had been steeping. Fixing Lester's shoulder had been so quick that the tea hadn't even cooled.

Daniel helped Lester to his feet, then guided him back into his chair. As he fashioned a sling to support the arm, he said, “Your shoulder will hurt for a while and you'll need to wear this sling. Only light duties around the household. I'll give you a dose of laudanum so you'll sleep well tonight.” He draped Lester's coat over the young man's shoulders for warmth. “In a few days, when your shoulder is feeling better, I'll show you some simple exercises to keep the joint from getting stiff.”

As Suzie handed him a cup of tea, she asked shyly, “How can a lord be a surgeon, sir? I've never heard of such a thing!”

Daniel realized that all three of the others were studying him with varying degrees of amazement. He hesitated, realizing that he'd surely be asked this question again in the future. “Being a lord is an accident of birth. A very unexpected one in my case.” He took a deep swallow of tea. “Medicine is my true calling.”

As the words resonated within him, he recognized how invigorated he felt after behaving like a doctor for the first time in days. Ever since learning of his inheritance, his life had been turned upside down. Kirkland and Laurel had been invaluable in helping him come to terms with his new status and responsibilities, but medicine kept him sane and gave meaning to his existence. He had to keep his work at the center of his life rather than allowing it to be eroded away by other demands on his time and energy.

If he was to continue to be a surgeon and physician, he must find a wife who would not only be able to manage the Romayne estate, but support him in his eccentric choice of career. Not to mention that she must be pleasant and trustworthy.

The task of wife hunting had just become much more difficult.

 

 

Daniel had been looking forward to Kirkland's dinner for Westerfield graduates, but even so, he was surprised by the pleasure he felt in seeing men he'd known when they were all young and life had been so much less complicated.

Daniel's classmate Damian Mackenzie was the first to arrive. He hadn't lost his wicked sense of humor, but he'd acquired a fashionable gambling club and a glorious, exotic wife who seemed as intelligent as she was beautiful. Justin Ballard, who had been a year ahead, appeared with tanned skin and sun-streaked hair because he lived in Portugal and managed his family's port wine business. He shook Daniel's hand warmly, saying he was returning to Oporto in the morning but was glad not to miss this reunion.

Lady Agnes Westerfield swept in grandly, as befitted a duke's daughter who hadn't lost her sense of style even though she worked with grubby boys. She was instantly surrounded by former students, like a favorite aunt bearing gifts.

Daniel smiled when she waved at him. As he made his way across the room toward her, he realized that since starting to look for a wife, he'd begun to evaluate women for the qualities that he wanted to find. Lady Agnes had intelligence, originality, and great kindness, with a legendary skill at healing the spirits of troubled boys.

In his years at the academy, Daniel had only known her to fail once, and that was with a deeply troubled boy who was incorrigible. Perhaps he should ask if she had any available nieces who were cast in her mold?

No, she was one of a kind, but it might be worth consulting her to see if she knew any women who might be a good match. Even all these years after he'd left her school, he suspected she knew him better than almost anyone else in his life other than Laurel and perhaps Kirkland.

Behind him a babble of greetings arose as new guests arrived. Daniel turned and was delighted to see the Duke of Ashton. Intelligent and reserved, Adam Lawford had always had a faintly exotic air because of his half-Hindu heritage. He'd been the one who taught his classmates the Hindu fighting skills that had become a school tradition, passed down from class to class.

For the first time, it occurred to Daniel that Lady Agnes and her partners in the school had encouraged the study of Kalaripayattu not just because it helped students work off excess energy, but because it was a compelling form of discipline. One couldn't do Kalaripayattu well without self-mastery, which most of the students had needed.

Lessons and bouts were always monitored by older students who were skilled in the fighting techniques. If a boy lost control and became dangerous, he was immediately pulled away and he wasn't allowed to participate for a week. Because the fighting lessons were so popular, the risk of suspension was another inducement to self-mastery. Clever Lady Agnes!

Ashton had a petite, laughing blond beauty on his arm. Laurel had told Daniel that Mariah was called the Golden Duchess, and it was easy to see why.

Behind Ashton was Alex Randall. He had a dark-haired woman on each side, all three smiling at some remark.

Daniel froze. One woman was petite and appealing—and the taller one was the woman in black. She was closer to him than when he'd seen her at the rout, and the light was better. She was even more shockingly beautiful than he'd thought, with an innate sensuality powerful enough to drop a normal man in his tracks.