Sharon Sobel (9 page)

She stopped abruptly, for as she watched the colonel’s nephew approach, another gentleman appeared at the door. The little servant held up her hand to stop him, but he brushed her off with a word of which the authority and arrogance could be detected even at a distance. Mr. Siddons, noticing Lark’s distraction even as his uncle began some sort of litany of current complaints, followed her gaze and frowned.

Lark looked down at her lap and picked up her book, hoping Mr. Queensman would not notice her. But his advancing footsteps warned her she would not be so lucky.

“Mr. Siddons,” he said, “I am surprised to see you here, where our paths might intersect at any time. I understand you are a frequent visitor to Knighton’s Sanatorium. Could it be the daily arrival of French goods holds some appeal for you?”

“Queensman, you must know I scarcely miss my homeland at
all. It can only remind me of unfortunate events.” He paused as he brushed an imaginary tear from his cheek. “I come to Knighton’s to visit my uncle Wayland, a dear old gent who would otherwise be quite alone. I do not mind making him happy. But if you must know, the genuine appeal of my recent afternoons here is the company of this excellent but suffering lady. May I introduce Lady Larkspur?”

“Ah, yes, Lady Larkspur,” Benedict Queensman murmured as his shadow fell across her page. “But we are already acquainted, better than the lady would prefer. Indeed, it is to check on her progress that I come to Knighton’s, for I represent the interests of her concerned admirer. Lord Raeborn will be happy to know you are looking so well, my lady. I attribute your improved condition to the sea air.”

Lark slipped lower into her chair as she looked up at him. She thought he looked fairly well himself, though something about his face looked different.

She coughed and put a linen handkerchief to her lips. “Why, Mr. Queensman, could it be you? I am flattered you are able to spare the time to visit me, for you must be very busy with your own little hospital.”

“Yes,” Mr. Siddons said in a severe tone. “However do you tear yourself away from the ragged refuse who must come to you more in the hopes of filling their stomachs than of any kind of cure? Or do you prefer to avoid them, lest you catch some of their contagion?”

Lark saw anger and indignation momentarily touch Mr. Queensman’s face and watched as he—literally—swallowed a retort. She, of course, had never inquired as to the type of hospital he managed and could not help but wonder why a gentleman would be so engaged.

“I have often considered the greater hazards to exist in polite society. What passes for generosity and good cheer are often merely bandages over nasty wounds,” Mr. Queensman answered coolly.

Mr. Siddons recoiled, as if from a blow. He opened his mouth to say something, but was reminded of his avowed purpose in coming to Knighton’s.

“Boy! Come here! I wish to speak to you!” Colonel Wayland barked.

Gabriel Siddons bowed low to Lark and ignored Mr. Queensman altogether as he turned towards his uncle. As he sat down beside him, Lark overheard the old man demand a full accounting of their conversation. She would have enjoyed hearing Mr. Siddons’ version of it, but Mr. Queensman would not allow it.

“I am glad to hear you are flattered by my visits, my lady, but honesty compels me to remind you that I do it for my cousin Raeborn. He has already written thrice, anxious for news of your health.” Mr. Queensman drew up a canvas chair and sat down upon it before Lark gave him leave to do so. “And if I had known I would encounter someone as unpleasant as Gabriel Siddons, perhaps I would not have come at all. He abused my hospital most wrongfully, but he is right to think it improvident for me to take time away from my real patients.”

His implication, of course, was that “real” patients were genuinely ill. But Lark felt no strong inclination to demonstrate the symptoms of her decline just now, for she felt curious about the work he did and those who came to him for help.

“Are all the people in your hospital very poor? However do you manage? And what if you are needed while you are here vis … ah … assessing the situation for Lord Raeborn?”

Mr. Queensman looked faintly amused but neatly concealed his smile. “I do not manage alone. To answer your first question, I can tell you I have several generous patrons, including the king himself, who supplement my own investment in the hospital. And, as to the other, I work with many doctors and hire the most helpful nurses. In fact, my purpose in coming to London last month was to interview three young men who were interested in joining me. Lord Southard had a particular recommendation.”

“John?”

“Indeed. Why are you so surprised?”

Lark was not sure herself. “I—I suppose it is because Delphinium—Lady Southard—never said a word to me.”

Mr. Queensman lifted his chin and squinted into the wind. Lark used the opportunity to study his face, and she soon realized what seemed different about his features. His hair, usually thick and wavy and sometimes falling on his brow, was
slicked back and shiny. As the edges lifted and curled into the breeze, she realized they were wet.

“Perhaps it is because she knew her younger sister would have no interest in young physicians,” he said after a time.

“Of course.” Lark nodded, unable to resist the opportunity he gave her to insult him. “That is precisely the case.”

“A pity. I daresay young physicians would be very much interested in you, my lady.”

“Sir! Your behavior is insupportable! I will not sit here—”

“Of course you shall, Lady Larkspur, for you insist you are unable to rise from your chair. It is a pity, but my feeble professional talents are unable to decipher why it is so.” He turned away from the wind and rested his knowing blue eyes on her guilty face. “But please forgive me if I have worded my phrases badly; I daresay my associates would hardly aim so high as to be interested in you as the object of their amour. Rather, the particularities of your case, an opportunity to understand how one so young and apparently healthy could succumb to such distress and weakness, would present a very educational study.”

Lark wondered if he might be trying to scare her into confession. So he would succeed, if she were the sort of spineless girl to whom he was probably accustomed.

But the success of her recent deception confirmed she was stronger than that, and she lifted her face as she returned his challenge. “If you imagine for one minute, sir, that I would allow a strange man to touch me, you are very much mistaken.”

He gazed into her eyes, and she wondered if he could read her mind.

“I would never presume to imagine it. It is something I myself tried to resist when called upon to do so in London. But, in any case, physicians necessarily acquire the permission of their patients before they bring in others for consultation.” He suddenly looked away, making Lark feel oddly bereft. She watched his hand waver over the tray of pastries between them and then swoop down to capture a quince tart. As if his uninvited presence were not enough to spoil the tranquillity of this lovely afternoon, his impertinence proved additionally grating. “Of course, most patients faced with
uncompromising illness welcome the opinions of a team of experts. It is likely to bring them closer to a cure.”

Lark said nothing as she looked for an escape from the cunning trap he had set for her. What might prove a plausible reason for rejecting a source of hope? It needed to be strong enough to perpetuate the deception she chose, yet delicate enough to convince Mr. Queensman to play along with her. She did not doubt he knew the truth of the matter; she only wondered when he would expose her.

“Have I not been instructed to trust your own excellent judgment in the matter, Mr. Queensman? Lord Raeborn would hear of no other’s opinion, and even my own father preferred your advice over that of our family’s doctor. Who am I to dispute their wisdom? I am ever an obedient daughter.”

Mr. Queensman laughed, and the tension between them dissipated like morning fog. Lark knew she had won this point, but the realization gave her no joy.

“Indeed, you are young enough to be Raeborn’s daughter, though happily you are not. But ought a marriage be so unbalanced as to give all authority to the husband? I thought women rather favored their own ability to rule in certain kingdoms.”

Lark bit down on her lip, knowing he sported with her last shred of pride. And how cruelly ironic to understand that Mr. Queensman held the very cure to what truly ailed her, but must be the last man to believe her cured. She could already envision his look of triumph when he handed her over to his aged cousin.

“Lady Larkspur? Have you no retort? I would think you, of all people, would be rather opinionated on the subject.”

“I am, sir. I assure you, I am. But as the contemplation of my future holds such little promise, I do not feel my opinion to be of much lasting value. Do tell your cousin how it goes with me, how little hope I have of any happiness.”

Before Mr. Queensman could answer, a shadow fell between them, and Lark once again looked up into the cheerful face of Mr. Gabriel Siddons. Behind him, his uncle seemed very much involved in the Battle of Saratoga, a conversation from which Mr. Siddons surely was happy to escape.

“Well, Siddons?” Mr. Queensman asked rudely. “I hope you interrupt us so you can apologize for distressing Lady Larkspur. Your talk of my poor charges has disturbed her greatly.”

Mr. Siddons bowed in mock deference. “I am sorry to hear it, sir. And, in fact, I do apologize to both of you. My uncle informs me you are here in an entirely professional capacity.”

“Did we not already make it clear enough for you?” Mr. Queensman growled.

Mr. Siddons waved dismissively. “My uncle merely confirmed it. In fact, he is intrigued by it, and asks me if you would be so kind as to also consider his own condition and attend upon him.”

Mr. Queensman glanced over to where Colonel Wayland sat, apparently indifferent to their conversation.

“I have no authority here,” he said. “That I might come on occasion to see Lady Larkspur is possible only through the generosity of Mr. Knighton. But at a guess, I should think your uncle has little of which to complain but the gout.”

Mr. Siddons smiled. “I do not doubt it, but am grateful for your consideration. Would I ask too much if I beg you to tell him your opinion? It would mean much to him. And you need not fear Lady Larkspur will be lonely, for I shall entertain her while you are gone. We are already very good friends.”

“Are you indeed, sir? How very congenial for the lady, who eschews all other relationships,” Mr. Queensman said nastily.

“Though surely not at Knighton’s, where she is loved by all,” Mr. Siddons pronounced.

Mr. Queensman seemed to consider this carefully. “I wish I could say it gives me joy, but, alas, the lady’s problem is she suffers from too much love. It is a rare affliction, but one affecting Lady Larkspur beyond measure.”

Lark wanted nothing more but that the sparring would end, and so she raised a hand of peace between the men.

“Mr. Queensman, you must not take Mr. Siddons so literally! He merely means I am somewhat appreciated by the company here. I display infinite patience with my fellow guests, who often have not lived in the real world for some time
but delight in lengthy narratives on the subject. Why, just this morning, the colonel retold the story of his march up the Hudson River to Albany, though I have certainly heard it five times before. If, indeed, he loves me, it is because I do not remind him of that fact.”

Lark’s honest pronouncement seemed to intrigue Mr. Queensman, who turned towards the colonel with renewed interest.

“Do you reassess your diagnosis, sir?” Lark asked, looking conspiratorially to Mr. Siddons. “Is it possible gout is not the cause of the gentleman’s infirmity? Do you fear some foreign ailment, brought on by America’s savage environment?”

Mr. Siddons laughed politely, but Mr. Queensman looked quite serious.

“I am unfortunately familiar with them all, not the least of which is the damage by gunshot. I only wonder I do not know Colonel Wayland, for we undoubtedly traveled the same rugged paths.”

Mr. Siddons did not respond, and Lark thought he looked very uncomfortable. Knowing his good nature, she thought perhaps he did not wish to remind Mr. Queensman that colonels were not likely to rub shoulders with mere physicians.

“I should like to talk to him,” Mr. Queensman said in a curious voice.

“Do, my good man.” Mr. Siddons recovered quickly and winked at Lark. “He will be happy for your interest.”

“But not at present,” Mr. Queensman amended and stubbornly settled back into his seat. Lark wished he would go away.

Several moments passed in an unnatural silence.

“I see Mr. Knighton has ordered the bathing machines installed,” Mr. Siddons said conversationally, at last. “They were not yet in place when I was here before. Was it only yesterday, Lady Larkspur?”

Lark appreciated his effort to change the mood of their meeting, and answered quickly. “Indeed. I first saw the workmen early this morning when I looked out my window. The modesty hoods with their bright stripes were already in place, and it appeared as if a band of gypsies had arrived on our poor beach.”

“Not poor at all, my lady,” Mr. Queensman said quickly. He looked at her carefully as he added, “Mr. Knighton owns the finest stretch of beach in Brighton. Many of us poorer fellows enjoy the waves here in the early morning. If you had but awakened sooner, you might have witnessed our daily expense of energy.”

Lark felt her face burning when she realized she had indeed witnessed such a scene. She thought of the dark, lean bodies free of encumbrances and the enviable abandon with which they entered the water. They had looked like Neptune’s own minions, powerful and compelling.

“Lady Larkspur? Are you well? You look suddenly feverish. Or perhaps it is the sun casting too bright a light upon you.” Mr. Siddon’s concern interrupted her unbidden thoughts.

Mr. Queensman’s hand came up to brush back her curls and rest upon her forehead, where it surely lingered longer than needed.