How to Care for a Lady Read online

  Evan’s jaw twitched just a bit, but he nodded and backed away, so Hannah and the doctor could make their way back to her bedchamber.

  Graham sat in the burgundy leather chair, facing His Grace, the Duke of Somerset. Someone of Graham’s status ought to have been intimidated by someone of the duke’s status, but Graham had dealt with many a titled gentlemen, and had learned that with a title came a great deal of entitlement. The best way to deal with men of his kind was to allow them to think his treatments—his “new way” of thinking—were their idea.

  The duke gave a tight smile and drummed his fingers on the mahogany desk. “I apologize if I came off rather brutish before,” he began. “It has been quite…unsettling, these events of the past six weeks or so. If it weren’t for my new wife, I’d have gone mad already.”

  “I know only a bit of the story, but I can deduce that you all have been through a rather trying time.”

  The duke leaned forward. “To be truthful, we’re all quite pleased that the baron decided to end his own life. Bunny will be better off for it.”

  Graham struggled to get over the shock of the duke’s words and tried to focus instead on who the hell Bunny might be. “Bunny?”

  “My sister. Lady Beeston,” the duke clarified. “Forgive me. It’s what I’ve always called her, and it’s hard to break old habits.”

  “Of course,” Graham said, at a loss for anything else to say.

  “So, go on. Tell me what I wish to know about you. Dr. Pritchard has been my family’s doctor for decades—I knew all I needed to know of him.”

  “I understand,” Graham began. “I know it must be unsettling to find a new doctor caring for your sister, but I assure you, I am qualified and I will see to her full recovery.”

  Somerset’s eyes rounded below raised eyebrows. “Full recovery? Don’t you think that’s a bit optimistic? Dr. Pritchard said she’d be lucky to ever walk again at all.”

  “And yet, there she was, walking the halls of your home with me just a few minutes ago.”

  The duke narrowed his ice blue eyes on him. “I don’t know whether I’m annoyed by your arrogance, or impressed by it.”

  Graham had to admit that stung a bit. He wasn’t trying to be arrogant, just confident. “I don’t mean to put you off, Your Grace,” he said, changing his tone. “But there is no reason your sister shouldn’t make a full recovery, regardless of what Dr. Pritchard said.”

  Eyes still narrowed, the duke nodded. “Go on,” he said, his tone a challenge.

  Graham scooted to the edge of his chair, his passion on the subject forcing him forward, igniting that familiar fire in his belly. “You see, Dr. Pritchard is of the old school of thought.”

  “The old school?”

  “But there is a new thought to be found on almost every topic of medicine. Why, just the other day I read about alternatives to laudanum for easing pain. Things that have been used for centuries in China and India—”

  “China? India?” The duke threw back his head and laughed, though it was hollow, devoid of any real mirth at all. “Surely you jest! You can’t possibly think remedies from a primitive and barbaric world are better than what the English have discovered.”

  Graham should have known he’d be laughed at. Men of the duke’s ilk found it hard to stray from tradition. But he’d not be thwarted. Lady Beeston would walk again, if not run. “The true barbarism is in the English methods, Your Grace. Bloodletting will be a thing of the past soon, I assure you.”

  “But I’ve seen with my own eyes how it heals.”

  “And I have seen how it kills.”

  Silence fell over the room, save a little bird chirping a high-pitched tune just outside the study window. The duke narrowed his eyes on him.

  “Perhaps I should look for another doctor. As much as I respect Dr. Pritchard and his opinion, I fear his judgment has failed me in this regard.”

  Graham hadn’t been expecting that. He’d not even thought about the fact the duke had the power to dismiss him, but of course that was foolish. He was probably the one paying for his services—he could dismiss him without another thought. But Graham wasn’t going to let that happen.

  “Perhaps we can come to a…compromise.” He practically choked on the word. He hated to kowtow to someone who knew nothing of medicine, but sometimes one had to swallow their pride for the greater good.

  His Grace leaned back in his chair and nonchalantly lifted his ankle to rest on the opposite knee. “Go on.”

  “I can continue some of Dr. Pritchard’s work,” he said slowly, trying to come up with a plan that wouldn’t completely compromise his integrity. “While gently integrating some newer methods.”

  “In my experience, it is hard to mix the old with the new.”

  “There’s no reason the methods cannot work hand-in-hand.” Truthfully, he didn’t know if that was true. How could he keep her abed and encourage her to walk at the same time? But he would say whatever he had to say to set the duke at ease.

  Somerset leaned forward and placed his elbows on the dark, mahogany desk, his icy blue eyes fixed so intently on Graham that he began to sweat a bit beneath his starched collar. “If any harm comes to my sister, I shall make certain you are never able to practice medicine in this city again. Is that clear?”

  Graham swallowed over the lump in his throat, trying to keep calm and confident in the face of the brooding duke, in spite of the fact he felt as if he might toss up his accounts. Or cry. Or both. He wasn’t usually a cowering man, but for some odd reason, the stakes felt high in this particular situation.

  “Perfectly,” he finally managed.

  “I will be watching you,” the duke added, as if it were necessary.

  “I would expect nothing less.” There was sarcasm in his words, but if the duke noticed, he didn’t say as much.

  Graham took himself from the study, breathing in the taste of freedom as he entered the corridor. A million thoughts ran through his mind in light of the days’ events. Part of him wanted to run home to Ravenglass and leave this harsh city behind. He’d kept himself nicely cocooned for the past six years, shadowing Dr. Pritchard and spending time only with those who made him feel comfortable. And now he was decidedly outside his realm of comfort.

  Yet, something was keeping him from running away or from even standing up to the duke. No, not something. Someone.

  Lady Beeston needed his help—she needed hope, wanted it, even. He could see it in her eyes, so full of sadness and regret. Graham could only imagine what she’d been through. A widow with a gunshot wound. What in the world had happened there? And were the two related?

  A door creaked somewhere nearby, bringing Graham back to his senses. He’d been standing lamely in the corridor just outside the duke’s study—how awkward that would have been if Somerset had found him there.

  He headed for the front door, gathered his things from the butler, and set off for his rented rooms. He was expected at his sister’s for dinner that evening—perhaps she could shed some light on the tale of Lady Beeston.

  Chapter 4

  Hannah opened her eyes, taking a moment to orient herself. In a whoosh, the pain came flooding back, and only when she winced did her sister-in-law say anything.

  “You’re awake!” Grace said, startling Hannah.

  “Goodness, Grace,” she said, trying to breathe deeply through the pain. “I didn’t even realize you were here.”

  “I was waiting for you to wake up.”

  “Surely, you have better things to do with your time than watch me sleep.”

  “I was reading, thank you very much,” she retorted. “But I had to tell you what I heard this afternoon.”

  Hannah pushed herself up to a sitting position as the pain subsided to a dull throb, which she’d become quite used to now. “Don’t tell me you were eavesdropping again.”

  Grace tossed her blonde curls over her shoulder and said haughtily, “Of course I was. Just because I’m a duchess now doesn’t mean they t
ell me everything. I’m still forced to find things out on my own from time to time.”

  Hannah grinned at her sister-in-law. “Well, then, go on, before it eats you up inside. I know how difficult it is for you to keep a secret.”

  “Evan really took your new doctor to task this afternoon.”

  “Well, I knew he would. If Dr. Alcott hadn’t been holding me, I think Evan might have shoved him down the stairs. Do say he didn’t release him of his duties.”

  “Dr. Alcott just barely survived. He agreed to compromise.”

  “Compromise? I’m more surprised to hear that Evan agreed to compromise.”

  Grace flashed her enigmatic smile. “Well, he is slightly less rigid since I came along, don’t you think?”

  “Slightly,” Hannah replied with a wink. The truth was, her brother had been quite troubled when he’d returned from France, brooding and angry, yet still her champion. Always her champion. Now they both had a champion in Grace—she was quite a wonderful addition to their family. She’d brought levity and light to an altogether darkened family. Of course, Mother was still…Mother. But even she had softened a bit since Grace’s arrival in their lives. “But go on…tell me about this compromise.”

  Grace shrugged her slight shoulders. “There isn’t much to tell. After much arguing about whether the English methods were more barbaric than those of the Chinese or Indians, Dr. Alcott finally asked for the compromise. I can only imagine he feared being let go. But now he must fear his reputation.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because Evan told him if any harm came to you, he’d make certain he never practiced medicine in London again.”

  Hannah rolled her eyes. “Oh, Evan!”

  “Truly. Poor Dr. Alcott. When he left the study, he stood in the hallway for at least two full minutes. Just standing there with a sort of dumbfounded look on his face.”

  “Evan has that effect on people.” Hannah shook her head and tsked. “I do wish he would leave people be sometimes.”

  “I can’t imagine that ever happening, but we can hope, can’t we?”

  They both giggled at that, and then Grace asked, “Are you comfortable?”

  Hannah took a deep breath, assessing her comfort level. “Actually,” she said, “I am. I do think the throbbing has subsided. Goodness, it was good to be out of this bed,” she went on. “If Evan doesn’t approve of me walking about, I may have to employ you to distract him when Dr. Alcott comes calling.”

  “Oh, if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s to distract my husband.”

  Heat infused Hannah’s cheeks. It always did when Grace spoke so openly about her relations with Evan. Really, Hannah didn’t need to know about their private affairs, but it seemed Grace often forgot that Evan was her brother. “Well, thank you,” she managed. “I think I ought to rest now.”

  “Of course. I’ll come see you later on.”

  Grace left the room, and Hannah nestled back into her covers. But she couldn’t sleep, not without her laudanum. She stared at the tiny bottle on her nightstand, wanting it and wanting to toss it out at the same time. She’d been dependent on a cold, distant man for so long, and now she was becoming dependent on something equally as cold and distant. It would never warm her as she wanted to be warmed. It would never hold her or whisper sweet nothings in her ear or tell her it loved her. No, it would just make her forget how much she longed for those things. And that was enough to make her reach over, take hold of the bottle, and administer another dose.

  “Well, well, well, the good doctor has decided to join us tonight”

  Graham sauntered across the drawing room of his sister’s town home toward his brother-in-law, Viscount Wolverly—better known as Wolf to his friends—who stood at the side bar, pouring a tumbler full of Graham’s favorite brandy.

  “I had a feeling you might bring out the good stuff this evening,” Graham said with a smirk for the viscount.

  They shook hands, and then Graham gladly accepted the beverage before taking a sip of its spicy goodness. “Where’s Daphne? I expected to find her here with you.”

  Wolf tossed his head toward the door—or somewhere beyond, perhaps. “In the kitchen. Where else?”

  “Ah,” Graham nodded. “Then I suspect our dessert will be accompanied by rum butter, then?”

  “Isn’t it always?”

  “Touché.” Graham’s sister, Daphne, though a viscountess now, couldn’t seem to quite let go of her old profession as a purveyor of Cumberland rum butter. To be truthful, no one made it like she did, so Graham wasn’t complaining. “And what of my niece and nephew?”

  “With their mother. Driving Cook mad, but Daphne insists that if they want to learn the art of making rum butter, they shall be permitted.”

  “You can take the girl out of Cumberland…”

  “Indeed.” Wolf gestured to the door. “Ah, here they are now!”

  “A little bit messy,” Daphne said, ambling into the room with her two young children hanging onto her skirts. “But here, nonetheless.”

  She crossed the room and kissed Graham on the cheek. “You smell delicious,” he said, and then he turned to his tiny niece. “Why, I could just gobble you all up!” He scooped little Daisy into his arms and pretended to gnaw at her blonde ringlets while she giggled unabashedly.

  “Uncle, stop!” she squealed while her older brother jumped up and down, shouting, “Me! Me!”

  “Oh, you want to be gobbled too?” he called as he set Daisy on her feet again and then scooped Marcus into his arms to repeat the game.

  “All right, that’s enough,” Daphne finally declared, her tone laced with both laughter and exhaustion. “Nanny is here to take you to the nursery.”

  Nanny stood in the doorway, a genteel woman of approximately forty years old, her hands folded primly in front of her and a serene smile on her lips. Both children groused at having to go to bed, but after kisses for their parents and their uncle, they followed Nanny out the door.

  “Claret, my love?” Wolf asked, holding out a small glass of the dark red wine.

  “Please!” Daphne grabbed at the glass as if it held all the answers to her problems and swallowed down a large and unladylike gulp.

  “Was it that bad below stairs?” Graham laughed.

  “Worse!” Daphne said, plopping onto the chintz settee. “If it’s not the children making a racket, then it’s Cook shouting about how we’re destroying her kitchen. It was much easier in Ravenglass.”

  “To Cook’s credit, the aristocracy don’t typically prepare their own food,” Wolf put in, relaxing into his own seat across from Daphne.

  Daphne only shook her head, and then turned to Graham. “Sit down, won’t you? Have you any news to share? Goodness, I’m desperate to talk about anything that doesn’t pertain to dolls or sword fights or the general bickering of two tiny terrors.”

  “You don’t have to allow them in the kitchen, you know?” Wolf interrupted before Graham could get a word out.

  “Oh, hush. You know this discussion is futile.”

  “And yet she will continue to complain,” Wolf said to Graham.

  Some might be uncomfortable with spousal arguments, but Graham was quite used to Wolf and Daphne’s arguing. They did it often enough, in spite of the fact they adored one another.

  “Ignore him,” Daphne said as Graham took his seat. “Tell us what is new in the world of medicine.”

  Daphne had always taken an interest in Graham’s studies and profession. Their father had been the town doctor in Ravenglass, before he and Mother had perished in a fire. That was how Graham had ended up the local doctor and eventually secured an apprenticeship in London. “A great deal, actually, but even more exciting is that Dr. Pritchard is headed to the country.”

  Both Daphne and Wolf furrowed their brows.

  “Why is that exciting?” Daphne wondered.

  “Because he’s left a very wealthy patient in my hands.”

  Whatever exhaustion had plagued
Daphne moments ago seemed to disappear. She jumped to the edge of her seat. “Oh, you must tell me who it is!”

  Graham laughed. “I knew you’d be excited. But I must ask for your discretion in the matter. Both of you.”

  “My lips are sealed. Now go on,” she urged him.

  Graham looked to Wolf, who nodded his agreement, and then back to his sister who was practically salivating at the mouth. “The Duke of Somerset has brought me on—”

  “To care for his sister!”

  So she did know about her. He nodded. “Lady Beeston is still not recovered from her situation.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone would be,” Daphne put in, her eyes turning sad. “Poor dear has apparently been through quite an ordeal.”

  “You know her?”

  Daphne shook her blonde head. “We’ve never actually met, but everyone knows her story. It was all over the papers a month ago, and then when her husband killed himself—”

  “Daphne,” Wolf said, a gentle warning in his tone.

  “What?” she replied, clearly annoyed. “It’s only my brother—I swear not to bring it up at the Everston ball next week.”

  Graham’s mind was reeling. “Killed himself?”

  Daphne nodded. “After he shot her. Well, not right after. A week or so went by, I suppose, and then they received a letter that he was going to toss himself into the river. Apparently, no one cared enough to stop him.”

  “How do you know all this?” Graham wondered, especially since he’d not heard a single detail of this story.

  Daphne shrugged. “Word flies fast through the ton. I suppose a servant in their own household overheard something, and the next thing you know—”

  “The Town gossips are feasting,” Wolf finished.

  “Oh, stop.” Daphne waved him off with a flick of her hand. “He thinks I’m one of the Town gossips, but I’m not. Why, I’ve barely told a soul about any of this. It’s not my fault someone told me.”

  Graham didn’t much care who told whom—he could only think about Lady Beeston. No wonder there was such sadness behind her eyes. What kind of man would shoot his wife? Why, if she were his wife, he would never let harm come to her, let alone inflict it on her himself.