How to Care for a Lady Read online

  “Oh.” Hannah couldn’t ignore the wash of uneasiness that came over her at the mention of a pregnant woman. Or was it jealousy? Ten years married to Beeston had not yielded a single pregnancy, and now she was thirty, and widowed, and unable to even walk, let alone attend a ball where she might meet a man willing to take a chance on a woman well past her prime who walked with a limp. “Well, I shall certainly miss your smiling face, Dr. Pritchard. You’ve been quite a comfort to me these past six weeks.”

  A sadness washed over the man’s wrinkled face, and he came to sit on the edge of her bed. He took Hannah’s hand in his — a gesture that brought tears to her eyes immediately. “You are a strong and brave woman, my lady. You shall be just fine. And I promise Dr. Alcott is every bit as qualified to care for you as I, perhaps even more so.” He patted the back of her hand and then stood again. “I have told him all he needs to know about your situation.” He gave her a knowing look. “Whether or not you share the rest is entirely up to you.”

  Hannah nodded and swiped an errant tear from her cheek. So, he’d told him about the shooting, but not about Beeston’s decision to take his own life. She actually wished he had told him. It wasn’t a memory she liked to relive, not since the catalyst for his actions had been her asking for a divorce.

  “Thank you, Dr. Pritchard,” she said.

  Dr. Pritchard smiled. “Goodbye, Lady Beeston.”

  Graham had not been expecting this. And by this he meant a lovely, kind-hearted patient, still fairly young in years, with eyes the color of cinnamon. When Dr. Pritchard had spoken of a widow with a difficult past, he’d imagined an old woman, sad and hardened by life. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Graham alone with his new patient. She fidgeted with her mahogany hair, trying to keep the pieces in place to no avail. They were shiny and matted — clearly she’d not enjoyed a proper bath in quite a while.

  “Ahem.” She cleared her throat, and then finally met his eyes. “Do you…do you need to…examine me?”

  Graham only barely held back the chuckle that rose to his throat. But it wouldn’t be in good taste to laugh at her uneasiness. His goal with her, as with all his patients, was to put her at ease.

  “Eventually,” he said, striding nearer the bed and placing his black leather bag beside the chair. “May I sit?” Lady Beeston nodded; he sat. “I know this is rather abrupt, this change. I’m happy to simply get to know you for today, and tomorrow we will start the treatment.”

  “Treatment?” The widow’s eyes grew round, and her lips pinched together like a tiny, pink rosebud.

  Graham cocked his head. “Might I ask what kind of regimen Dr. Pritchard had you on?”

  She blinked several times. “I don’t know if one could call it a regimen,” she said with a little shrug. “My sister-in-law has been ordered to change my bandages every few days now. Laudanum for the pain, of course. Bed rest, which is perhaps the worst of all.”

  It wasn’t surprising the old doctor had her on a traditional path of recovery, but new things were being discovered in medicine every day, and Lady Beeston would be his first test subject.

  “Why no bath?” he asked, causing her cheeks to turn a wild shade of red.

  She shrugged again — clearly a nervous tick of hers. “Dr. Pritchard worried it would cause infection in the wound,” she explained and then cleared her throat. “I asked more than once.”

  A smile spread Graham’s lips wide. “You needn’t be embarrassed. I’ve smelled far worse than you.”

  The baroness stared at him aghast, her jaw unhinged, but clearly at a loss for words. He’d just called her smelly, after all, but only in jest. Did she have a sense of humor?

  Another moment passed before the barest of smiles twitched the corners of her mouth upward. “Well, I suppose that ought to make me feel better.” A little snort escaped her nose, and then they both started to laugh. Not an uproarious kind of laugh, but the kind that sliced through the palpable tension in the room, like a knife through butter.

  “Well, you shall have something to look forward to now,” he said. “Tomorrow, you shall take a bath.”

  “Forgive me if I can’t stop smiling, Doctor. This is most welcome news.”

  He wanted to tell her that he never wanted her to stop smiling, for it was a smile that lit up the room. But that would be rather unprofessional of him, so he simply said, “I’m glad of that, my lady. Now, if you’re comfortable with it, I’d like to examine your wound.”

  She clamped her pink lips together, eclipsing her smile, and nodded. Her eyelids fluttered, as if nerves might be getting the better of her.

  “If it’s too soon—”

  “It’s not!” she shouted. “Truly. Please, proceed.”

  Chapter 2

  He was a doctor. Surely, he’d seen plenty of bare legs in his practice. And a leg was a leg, was it not? There was nothing for her to be nervous about. The fact that he was so very handsome and charming and currently pushing her dress up beyond where propriety would allow was irrelevant to the fact he was a doctor. He was merely doing his job.

  So why was her heart racing at such an alarming rate?

  She watched as he lifted her dress ever higher, until it practically revealed her nether regions. Blast. Why couldn’t Beeston have shot her lower down on her leg? Why did it have to be so very high? It was one thing for Dr. Pritchard to examine her and tend to her wound. He was old and unattractive and married. He’d delivered hundreds of babies. There was no need to feel modest before him. But Dr. Alcott…

  “How many babies have you delivered?” Hannah blurted out before she could stop herself.

  Dr. Alcott’s hands paused, resting on her thigh, near the wound. He looked up at her, his eyes piercing, causing her heart to race even faster than it had been before. At least if one was going to have an attack of the heart it was best to have one with a doctor present.

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

  “Babies. Have you delivered any?” Hannah was rather surprised at her own bluntness. She was normally one to beat about the bush or cushion her words with gentle phrases such as, “If you don’t mind sharing,” or “Pardon my candidness.” It seemed her mouth was running away with her today, and she couldn’t exactly explain why. Something about this man…

  Dr. Alcott sat back and pulled his hands away from her leg. Oddly enough, this made Hannah even more nervous. She felt so exposed and was acutely aware of the slightly chilly air that breezed over her skin. Skin that should most certainly be covered in the presence of a man.

  “Does it make any difference?” he asked.

  “No,” Hannah answered, and then questioned why she was lying. “Yes,” she amended. “I mean…a little.”

  A smile crossed his thin lips as he reached into his bag to retrieve a small bottle of something—a salve for her leg, perhaps.

  “I was the only doctor in my small town in Cumberland, so yes, I have seen my share of babies into this world.” He narrowed his eyes on her. “Does that make you feel better?”

  She thought it should have, but it didn’t. It was still unnerving to have him starting at her bare leg.

  “Why did you leave Cumberland?” she asked, desperate to evade his question.

  “Oh, I left years ago, when I was presented with the opportunity to apprentice with Dr. Pritchard. That, combined with my sister marrying a Londoner, brought me here.” He focused on the wound. “Is it sore to the touch?”

  Hannah nodded.

  “I will be as gentle as I can.”

  Hannah sucked in a sharp breath as he pressed his hand against her wound. It was sore and uncomfortable, but she fought to maintain her composure. It was silly, really. She’d done the same with Dr. Pritchard. For some odd reason, she was afraid of offending them or hurting their feelings should she complain too much about their administrations being too painful to endure.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his tone low and genuine, reverber
ating through Hannah’s body, and taking away all thoughts of discomfort. “I know how painful that is.”

  “You do?” She was intrigued. Had he suffered his own gunshot wound before? Perhaps a lesion from sword fighting? Was it over a woman?

  “I do,” he said, placing a fresh bandage over her leg. “Dog bite.”

  Well, that wasn’t terribly romantic as far as wounds went, but she was still curious as to how he’d come to the dog bite. “Your own dog?”

  He shook his perfect head of dark hair. “A patient, actually.”

  “You mean the dog of a patient.”

  “No. I mean a patient.” His lips stretched over an expanse of lovely, white teeth, which twinkled almost as much as his dark eyes did. “My practice in Cumberland extended to animals as well.”

  Hannah unsuccessfully tried to stifle a laugh. It came out as more of a snort. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to sober herself. “I don’t mean to laugh.”

  “You needn’t apologize. It does seem preposterous to me, too. Thankfully, things have progressed since my departure. They have both a human doctor and an animal doctor in Ravenglass now.”

  “Ravenglass?” That name sounded familiar. “Where have I heard that name before?”

  “Perhaps you’re familiar with Marisdùn Castle,” he ventured.

  That was it. “The haunted Marisdùn Castle?”

  Dr. Alcott nodded. “The very one. Perhaps you can convince my sister to tell you of her own personal involvement with one of the ghosts there sometime.”

  Hannah swallowed hard. It was quite presumptuous to infer she’d meet his sister one day. But it made her feel warm all over. “And what about you? Have you ever encountered a ghost?”

  For the first time since he’d walked into her chamber, Dr. Alcott’s confidence seemed to waver. “Lady Beeston, I have seen death more times than I’d care to count. It would be odd if I hadn’t encountered a ghost.”

  “That must be difficult. Seeing death so often, I mean.”

  He shrugged. “Comes with the territory, I suppose. Though I much prefer the experimental side of medicine. Trying to save lives with new techniques and such.”

  “Which is why you don’t agree with Dr. Pritchard’s regimen for me.”

  A smile crossed his lips. “Did I say that?”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  He pulled her dress back down over her legs. Hannah had almost forgotten she was so exposed for a moment. “What do we do now?”

  “Now…we walk.”

  The look on Lady Beeston’s face spoke volumes in regard to how she felt about taking a walk. Dr. Pritchard had confined her to her bed all this time, but she was never going to get better if she didn’t exercise the leg.

  “But my leg,” she stammered. “What if…what if…”

  “What if what?” Graham pressed. “The only risk to your leg right now is weakness of the muscles. Soon, you won’t be able to use your leg at all, if you don’t start exercising it immediately.”

  “Does Dr. Pritchard know about this?”

  “I’m afraid Dr. Pritchard is overly concerned with other factors, such as over exertion, fever, infection. Things we needn’t worry about now. Your wound is healing as it should, if not quickly enough, and…” He placed a hand to her forehead. It was soft and lovely, and he had to fight the urge to run his fingers through her chestnut hair, dirty as it might have been. “Your temperature is completely normal.”

  A slight smile broke out on her lips. They formed the most perfect Cupid’s bow on the top, and a plump little pout on the bottom. “Well, then. I suppose I’m ready for a walk.”

  Graham was still reeling from seeing her lovely leg exposed to him for such an extended about of time. It wasn’t professional of him to have such thoughts about a patient, but blast if it wasn’t the most delicately rounded leg he’d ever seen. Never mind she hadn’t used it in weeks, or that it had a puckered, purple gun wound near the top of it—it was still lovely enough to set his blood racing through his veins.

  “Yes, I suppose you are,” he managed. “Allow me to help you to your feet.”

  She reached out a hand, which he took, while placing an arm around her slender waist. He hated to hear her wince—after six weeks, her recovery ought to be further along—but hopefully his methods would speed the healing more so than those of Dr. Pritchard.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured in response to her groan as he lifted her to a standing position. “Breathe. Deeply. There’s no rush.”

  “I’m seeing spots,” she said, wilting just a bit in his arms.

  “It will be all right. I’m here. I have you.”

  Chapter 3

  Setting aside the fact that she was nearly blinded with pain, Hannah couldn’t help but be warmed by the doctor’s gentle manner. Her husband had never shown her any such kindness. Of course, it crossed her mind that he was only doing his duty as her physician, but then…Dr. Pritchard was never quite so gentle or caring. Dr. Pritchard had certainly never inspired such longing in her heart.

  Hannah had to take a moment and remind herself that she’d been starved of love for far too long. That her reaction to this man—her doctor—was merely because she’d been deprived of attention for…well, forever, it seemed. If she wasn’t careful, she’d make things awkward between them. Something she most certainly didn’t want. He promised to make her well—to allow her walk again—she wouldn’t scare him off by falling in love with him.

  She laughed inwardly at the idea. In love. She’d known him the lesser part of an hour. What a preposterous thought.

  “How are you feeling now?” came his velvety voice, so close to her ear, it sent a shiver down her spine.

  The spots were gone from her vision, and the sharpness of the pain had subsided to a dull throb. “I think I’m ready to proceed.”

  “We won’t go far,” he promised, and then he tightened his grip around her lower back, as she braced a hand in his. “Small steps.”

  It took so much of her effort to concentrate on trying to walk that she barely registered how strong his arms were. But only barely. He seemed so lean when one simply gazed upon him, but to have that band of steel around her back, that unwavering arm supporting her, it was enough to make a lady swoon. Especially one that was already in a great deal of pain and discomfort.

  “So, what have you been doing these six weeks, holed away in your chamber?” Dr. Alcott asked as they inched along.

  Hannah sighed. “A great deal of reading,” she began. “My sister-in-law visits me often to share tales of the outside world. Mother drops in occasionally, but…”

  “And your brother?” he prompted, clearly sensing the topic of Mother was not a pleasant one.

  “Oh, yes. He visits too.” A little smile crossed her lips. “He sneaks me a little brandy from time-to-time as well.”

  Dr. Alcott threw his head back and gave a hearty laugh. “Well, then it hasn’t been all bad, has it?”

  “I’ll admit I’ve acquired a taste for the stuff. My late husband never would have approved, though Heaven knows he was more often in his cups than out of them.” Speaking of Beeston always set her nerves on edge, and she found herself needing a deep breath to steady herself.

  “My professional opinion is that a nip of the spirits is good for the mind and the body every now and again, be ye male or female. You needn’t worry about being judged by me.”

  Hannah looked up at him. “I never was.” It seemed a ridiculous thing to say, since she’d known him all of a half hour, but it was true. She just knew, in her heart, that he was a different kind of doctor. A different kind of man.

  He didn’t respond, but the barest of grins tipped the edges of his lips up. “Look, my lady.”

  Hannah followed his gaze and realized they’d reached the edge of the stairs at the end of the corridor. She hadn’t even noticed how far they’d come.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  Truth be known, she was a little light-headed,
though she was starting to question whether it was the walk or the company. “I feel…happy,” she said. “I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever leave the bed, let alone walk down the corridor.”

  “What the devil is this?”

  The stern voice startled both of them, and Hannah craned her head around to find her brother practically stomping toward them. His dark curls shook with every step, and his blue eyes were narrowed upon Dr. Alcott.

  “Dr. Alcott,” Hannah said calmly, for she had dealt with her brother and his temper often enough to know he was more bark than he was bite. “May I introduce my brother, the Duke of Somerset. Evan, this is Dr. Alcott.”

  Evan approached, and Hannah had to laugh. As tall as her brother was, the doctor still towered over him. Goodness, he was tall.

  “Your Grace,” Dr. Alcott said, bending his head in deference.

  Evan wasn’t nearly as polite. “Where is Dr. Pritchard?”

  “He’s gone to care for the Countess of Kilworth through the rest of her confinement. Dr. Alcott will care for me in his absence.”

  “But why the devil are you out of bed?” he asked, and then realized he ought to direct the question to the doctor directly. “Why the devil is she out of bed?”

  “I realize you are more accustomed to Dr. Pritchard’s methods, but I assure you, your sister will come to no harm.”

  “He says it will advance my healing,” Hannah put in, eager to put her brother at ease.

  “And what credentials do you have?”

  “Goodness, Evan,” Hannah said. “He is a doctor, is he not? That alone speaks to his credentials.”

  “It is quite all right,” Dr. Alcott rushed to reassure Hannah. “Your Grace, I would be happy to discuss my training and history with you, but this is unfortunately not a good time to do that. It is important to see your sister back to her bed before we overtax her.”