Chapter 1

Haworth, England, 1815

“The medical profession? You can’t be serious, Simon? No, I won’t hear of it. A man like you doesn’t become a doctor – a quack? No, no, no,” Simon Wilkinson’s father exclaimed, shaking his head.

Simon had known this would be his father’s reaction. The duke had raised Simon to be his heir – that was the order of things. The first son of a duke – the only son of a duke – became a duke. He might hold a military position for a few years, or even dabble in politics. But his duty, his destiny, was determined from birth. There was no question of it, even as Simon was now questioning it.

“But Father, you’re in rude health. I don’t need to stay here at Burleigh waiting for you…well, there’s no necessity in my remaining here. I’m your heir, but I need to do something other than…wait,” Simon replied.

His father’s eyes narrowed. They were standing in the duke’s study, with its book-lined walls and great desk, the scene of so many discussions between father and son. But this was the first time Simon had voiced the desire he had harbored since childhood – to be a doctor, to be a physician.

“But you don’t have to, Simon. A man in your position doesn’t need to work. The sons of lesser gentlemen might choose such a path, but you’re different. You’re to be the Duke of Burleigh – one of the most distinguished titles in the country. If you need something to do, I can find you something to do here, on the estate,” he said, but Simon shook his head.

His mind was made up. He knew what he wanted, and it was not to remain at Burleigh House, trapped in a gilded cage. He wanted to help others, he wanted to be a physician, to cure and heal…

“I’m not interested in managing the hunt or overseeing the servants, Father,” Simon replied, shaking his head.

He had already written to the medical school at Bart’s in London – one of the oldest in the world – to make enquiries about studying there and had received a favorable response. This was his ambition, and it had taken considerable courage on Simon’s part to speak to his father about the matter. He wanted to do his duty, and he knew he would one day inherit the title – whether he wished to or not – but now, in the flush of youth, his ambitions lay elsewhere. He was twenty years old, and before the inevitability of inheritance, he wanted the chance to fulfill his ambitions, and do something other than pursue the life of a country gentlemen – as attractive as such a life might seem to others. His father sighed.

“Simon…you’re not making the right decision. Why not study…theology?” he said, and Simon smiled.

He had considered doctoring souls over bodies, but his desire to help others was material, rather than spiritual. He was a believer, but he did not believe his own vocation to be that of the pulpit. It was practicality he favored, and he shook his head.

“No, Father, I want to be a physician. Can’t you understand why?” he asked.

His father looked suddenly grave and glanced up at the portrait above the mantelpiece. It showed a young girl, a child of seven, wearing a pink dress, smiling as she sat in the gardens of Burleigh House. This was Simon’s sister, Eve, whose death at the age of just seven years old had cast a long shadow over both their lives.

“It wasn’t your fault, Simon. How many times do I have to tell you?” his father said, turning his face away from the portrait, as tears welled up in his eyes.

Simon knew his father found the memory of Eve’s death difficult to bear – as did he. It had been summer, and she had been playing in the gardens of Burleigh House when she fell into the boating lake. Simon had gone inside to fetch a drink from the kitchen, and when he returned, he had found no sign of his sister on the lawn where he had left her. He had called out for her, his panic rising, searching the grounds, joined by the servants. But it was his father who had found her, wading into the boating lake to retrieve the lifeless body. It had been an accident, but one Simon had blamed himself for ever since. If only he had not left her on the lawn, or been quicker in his response to the tragedy, perhaps she would still be alive today…

“I know it wasn’t, Father. But if I can learn how to save lives…perhaps I won’t feel so guilty,” Simon replied.

His father shook his head, sighing, as he sat down in a chair by the fire.

“And it’s truly what you want, is it?” he said.

Simon nodded. He had thought long and hard about it. He knew it was what he wanted – to be a doctor, to save lives, to assuage his guilt over the loss of his sister.

“It is, Father. But I don’t want to go against your wishes. I want your blessing in the matter. I know I have a duty here, and it’s a duty I intend to fulfill – when the time comes. But for now, I want to do something meaningful. I want to be a physician, a doctor, call it what you will. I know I can do it,” Simon said, and his father nodded.

“Very well, Simon. You have my blessing. Go to medical school, become a doctor, and help others. It might make you a better duke – when the time comes, as you say,” he said, giving a weak smile.

Simon nodded, holding out his hand to his father, who took it in his.

“Thank you, Father,” he said, and his father nodded.

“I hope you don’t intend to be a surgeon, though,” he said, and Simon smiled.

“No, Father – I want to be a physician. I’d like to go somewhere where no one knows me, and practice medicine for ordinary people. I don’t want to hack limbs off or see men biting on planks of wood to stop them from screaming in pain,” he said.

Despite his intentions, Simon was not possessed by a strong constitution when it came to dealing with blood and the interior organs. He had once fainted at the sight of an injury sustained by one of the gardeners, who had fallen into the hedge and broken his leg, the bone protruding from the injury and requiring to be set with a splint. Surgery was not his intention, but he had read a great deal about disease and its treatment, devouring the volumes in his father’s library, and sending off for journals containing the latest medical knowledge. But it was practical experience he now required, and by enrolling at Bart’s, Simon hoped to acquire those skills one could not learn from a book.

“A country physician?” his father replied, and Simon nodded.

“That’s right, though it’ll be some years before I achieve my ambition,” he said.

His father smiled.

“Well…it’s hardly what I expected for my son. But if it makes you happy, Simon…who am I to stand in your way? But I caution in this – a duke needs an heir. Don’t neglect your duty in that regard. You’ve got to take a wife, Simon,” he said, and Simon nodded.

“I’m still young, Father. And I won’t neglect society in its entirety. I just don’t want my youth to pass in a flurry of balls and soirees without having done something worthwhile,” he said, and his father sighed.

“I know I won’t dissuade you, Simon. Follow your heart. But don’t feel guilty about your sister. It’s my guilt to bear. I promised your mother on her deathbed I’d take care of you both. I failed in that, Simon,” he said.

Simon could only feel sorry for his father, who had become a widower when Simon’s mother had died in childbirth with Eve. Their father had doted on them, and the loss of his sister had been a tragedy from which the duke had never fully recovered. There were days when he would sit in the drawing room, staring out towards the boating lake, lost in thought, and Simon knew he blamed himself for the tragedy, even as no one could have foreseen it.

“You haven’t failed at all, Father. And if you won’t let me feel guilty for the loss of Eve, I won’t let you feel so, either,” Simon replied.

His father shook his head, crossing to the window, and pulling back the curtain to look across the garden. Evie was buried beneath a large oak tree – Evie’s tree. It had been her favorite place to sit, and following her death, Simon’s father had wanted to keep her close. It was the same plot Simon’s mother was buried, and it had seemed a fitting burial ground for her daughter’s final resting place, too.

“I couldn’t bear to think of her in the graveyard, surrounded by forgotten stones, gathering moss beneath the yew trees,” the duke had said, and he and Simon would go to visit the graves, marked by simple headstones, and their view across the parkland.

Following Evie’s death, Burleigh House had grown quiet, a mournful place, the servants talking in hushed whispers, and nothing of the happiness and joviality Evie had brought to them remained. There was no doubting the impact his sister’s death had had on him, and it was Simon’s sole reason for choosing the path he was now to take.

“Then be a good doctor, Simon. Be the physician who could’ve saved your sister – your mother, too, perhaps,” Simon’s father said, and Simon nodded.

He was grateful to his father for giving his blessing, even as he knew it would be a wrench to leave the estate – and its many memories – behind him. He was setting off into the unknown, into a world he knew nothing of, save for what he had read in his father’s library. Doctor Frazer, the local physician, had smiled wryly when Simon had gone to see him about the matter of medical school. He had been a ship’s surgeon in the Royal Navy, before returning from sea and setting himself up as Haworth’s resident physician.

“It’s not always a gentleman’s profession, my Lord,” the doctor had said.

But Simon knew that. He knew he was leaving a rarified world for something very different than he was used to. But at medical school, and in his practice, Simon did not want to be known as the heir to the Duke of Burleigh. He would be Simon Wilkinson, an aspiring physician, and, in time, a practicing doctor.

“Thank you, Father. And thank you for giving me your blessing,” Simon said, and his father nodded.

“Follow your heart, Simon, and may it lead you to good fortune,” the duke replied, and it was as though this was to be a parting of ways – it was to be a parting of ways, for Simon had made the arrangements for his enrolment at Bart’s and was set to depart for London in the coming days.

The two men shook hands, and Simon thanked his father again, promising to remain loyal to his duty when the time came.

“I’m still your heir, Father. But in the many years to come, I hope to do some good, too,” Simon said, and with this intention in his heart, he bid his father farewell.

Chapter 2

Lancaster, England, 1819

“You’ve sufficient for the house, have you, sir?” the woman said, looking skeptically at Simon, who nodded.

“Oh…yes, it’s quite adequate. And servants?” he asked.

The woman – a rotund creature in an ill fitting black dress –raised her eyebrows.

“Well…the last doctor managed with just a manservant, and a cook. And he kept most of the rooms shut up,” she said, as Simon looked around the empty consulting room and nodded with satisfaction.

The house was adequate, owned by the woman – a Mrs. Fielding – who stood in front of him. It had served as a residence for the former doctor in the parish, who had left Lancaster under something of a cloud, owing several hundred pounds in debts. This was to be Simon’s first practice. He had concluded his medical studies and shunned the possibility of a position at one of the great city hospitals in favor of a position on the edge of Lancaster, which included the Burnley Abbey estate, home to the Duke of Lancaster.

“He left under something of a cloud, didn’t he?” Simon said, and the woman nodded.

“Yes, he owes me three months’ rent – though I’ll never see it. That’s why I’m eager to learn if you have the means to pay, sir,” she said.

Simon smiled, and from his pocket, he took out an envelope containing six months’ rent, and the wages of whatever servants Mrs. Fielding could arrange for him. She looked at it in surprise.

“Will that be adequate?” he asked, as she counted the money.

“Oh, yes, sir, more than adequate. I’ll have the house opened up immediately. I know two girls who need positions as maids, and Mrs. Asquith can start in the kitchen at once. You’ll only have to lodge at the inn for a few days. I’ll have the place furnished for you, too,” she said, her attitude changing at the sight of the money Simon had proffered her.

“Very good. I’m looking forward to beginning my work,” Simon said, imagining how he might furnish his consulting room.

“And what brings you to Lancaster, sir?” Mrs. Fielding asked.

Simon had always wanted a rural practice, but the parish held another attraction, too, and Simon had been appointed by the heir to the Duke of Crawshaw as physician to a school for blind children – sight loss being a particular interest he had developed during medical school. He hoped to make a study of the children, and perhaps write up a monograph on the subject of childhood blindness, using the school as his study.

“I’m to work for the heir to the Duke of Crawshaw. Lord Crawshaw – Ernest Howard,” Simon replied.

He had responded to an advertisement in one of the medical journals, and he and Lord Crawshaw had corresponded, though they were yet to meet. It had been something of a risk for Simon to take up the position, but on seeing the advertisement, he had felt an immediate sense of the possibility of doing practical good in relation to the school, and had not hesitated in responding.

“Ah, yes – the school for blind children. It’s an admirable foundation. They’re to be housed in the dower house, I believe – on the Burnley Abbey estate. There were some problems with the previous building. I don’t know anymore than that,” she said, and Simon nodded.

He did not know much about the project himself, but he had read several accounts of a similar school in Manchester, and had been impressed by Lord Crawshaw’s determination to provide an education for those disadvantaged by sight loss.

“I’m going over there this afternoon. I want to get started with my work at once. If you can have the house opened up, and see to the appointment of the servants, I’d be grateful. If you need any more money to cover the expenses, don’t hesitate to ask,” Simon said.

He knew his position was a privileged one. His peers at the medical school were forging careers for themselves, but Simon had the luxury of not needing to make money, and he could afford to take any position he desired. He had his considerable allowance from the estate and would furnish the house and keep it accordingly.

“That’s very good of you, sir. And it’s a worry off my mind, too. I had such trouble with the last doctor…” Mrs. Fielding said, and Simon smiled.

“Well… I hope we’ll get on very well, Mrs. Fielding. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be getting on. Could you direct me towards the dower house?” he asked.

“Certainly, sir. Have your carriage take you a mile or so further along the road here, then turn into the gates of the estate. You’ll see the church – Saint James’ – up ahead, but if you follow the drive for about half a mile, you’ll come to the dower house. They’ve made a lot of changes there to accommodate the children. But I believe his Lordship’s just set off on a grand tour of Europe. He just got married, you see – to a merchant’s daughter. Times are changing, aren’t they?” Mrs. Fielding said, shaking her head.

Simon smiled, knowing she would be equally surprised if she knew it was the heir to a dukedom standing before her. Simon had mentioned nothing of this in his correspondence with Lord Crawshaw. He only wanted to be a physician and had no intention of using his rank or privilege for his own gain, even if his wealth had proved useful in securing the house.

“They are, Mrs. Fielding – for the better, perhaps,” Simon replied.

The woman shrugged, and Simon thanked her again, before stepping out of the house – now his own – and making his way to the waiting carriage, instructing the driver to take him in the direction of the dower house.

“It’s a fine estate, sir,” the driver replied, and Simon smiled.

He was beginning to like his new home – the country was pleasant, the people friendly, and the prospect of doing good was evident.

“It seems so,” Simon said, climbing into the carriage and pulling down the window.

* * *

“Now, don’t waste a moment. You should be on your way to Venice,” Isobel said, as Ernest came up to where she and Alicia were standing by the waiting carriage.

“It’s very good of you, Isobel. Are you sure…” he began, but Alicia stopped him.

“She’s sure, Ernest. Now come along, we should be going – we’ve got a long journey ahead of us, first to London, and then on to the continent,” she said, taking her new husband’s arm and leading him towards the carriage.

Isobel followed them, kissing them both, before they climbed into the compartment.”

“You’ll write, won’t you?” she said, and they both nodded.

“Every day,” Ernest replied, and closed the door. Pulling down the window, he and Alicia leaned out.

“They’re going now,” Isobel called out, and the others turned to wave them off.

“Goodbye, Ernest, goodbye, Alicia,” Isobel’s mother called out, and the duke raised his hand and waved.

“The happy couple, off on their adventures – enjoy your grand tour. I want every detail of it described to me when you return – and to the children, too,” he called out.

Ernest grinned, waving from the carriage window, and Alicia caught Isobel’s eye.

“Be happy, Isobel – I know you will be,” she called out, and the carriage now drove away.

The school was open, and the teachers were ushering the children inside, under the watchful gaze of the matron. Isobel had a great deal to do, but she was confident in her own abilities, and grateful to her brother for placing his trust in her as he had done. She wanted to do the best she could, and now she approached the mother of Timothy Powell, smiling at her, as she placed her hand on Timothy’s shoulder.

“We’ll take good care of him, Mrs. Powell – you can visit whenever you wish,” she said, noticing the woman had tears in her eyes.

“Thank you, my Lady. You’ve been so kind. I know he’s going to have the best start in life. I wonder…he’s not been feeling very well these past few days. It’s probably just nerves, but…could a doctor look at him?” she asked.

As it happened, Isobel was expecting the doctor Ernest had hired to care for the poor of the district at any moment, and she assured Timothy’s mother he would be well taken care of.

“I’ll let you know what the doctor says,” Alicia promised, and taking Timothy by the hand, she led him inside.

The rest of the crowd had dispersed, and the children were now being introduced to their new surroundings, allowed to feel their way along the walls, where ropes had been attached to aid their movement. Isobel knew the school would make a huge difference to their lives, and she was proud of what her brother and Alicia had achieved.

“And I, too,” she told herself, for Isobel had worked tirelessly to bring about the good works so many would now benefit.

She was about to close the door, knowing she had a great deal of paperwork to see to, when the sounds of an approaching carriage caused her to pause. Glancing along the road, she saw it, and now she watched as it came to a halt outside the dower house. The driver jumped down, hurrying to open the door, before unloading a large trunk from the back. Isobel watched as a figure now emerged from the carriage – a tall, strikingly handsome man, with short black hair, dressed in a black frock coat, over a white shirt, with a black necktie, and wearing black breeches. He carried a bag in his hand, and stepping down from the carriage, he caught sight of Isobel standing at the door.

“Good day to you. I understand you need a doctor,” he said, smiling at Isobel, who smiled back at him, somewhat lost for words at the sight of the handsome man, now arrived in their midst.

* * *

For a moment, Isobel did not know what to say. She had not expected a man like this to arrive at the school. In her mind, a doctor, a physician, was an elderly man, with graying hair and a red nose, shabbily dressed, and with a slight whiff of medical tonic about him. But this man – this doctor – was different. He could only have been a few years older than Isobel herself, and his face was flushed with youthful enthusiasm. He stepped down from the carriage, looking up at the dower house and smiling.

“Oh…are you…the new doctor?” she asked, feeling foolish for not having known him, or realizing he was not as she had expected.

The man nodded.

“I am, yes. Simon Wilkinson. Doctor Simon Wilkinson,” he said, striding up the path towards her and holding out his hand.

“Oh, I’m Isobel… Isobel Howard. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, and the doctor took her hand in his.

He had a kindly face – handsome – and a striking scent of cologne about him. Isobel’s heart skipped a beat. He really was very attractive, even as she knew better than to allow her thoughts to be distracted by good looks.

“You’re the matron, are you?” he said.

Isobel blushed.

“No, I’m not the matron. I’m the headmistress,” she said, and the doctor looked at her in surprise.

The title was self-given, and it would soon be taken away from her when the official appointment arrived. But with her brother gone, Isobel was in charge, and she had no intention of being dismissed on the basis and assumption of her sex. Was it really so surprising to him to find a woman in charge of such an establishment? But Isobel was forced to remind herself of womanly limitations. Women did not become doctors, or physicians, or surgeons. They rarely took on any position of responsibility, even in teaching, and so perhaps it was unusual for the new doctor to encounter a woman in authority.

“Is that so? Well, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. But if you’re Isobel Howard, you must be…” he said, blushing with embarrassment.

“Lady Isobel Howard, daughter of the Duke of Crawhsaw, and sister to Lord Ernest Crawshaw. Your employer,” Isobel said, raising her eyebrows.

The doctor gave a curt bow.

“Forgive me. I wasn’t expecting…well, I was expecting Lord Crawshaw himself. I’ve only just arrived in the district,” the doctor replied.

“He offers his apologies to you. He and his new wife have just this day set off for the continent on a grand tour. They make their way to Venice. It’ll be some time before they return. But I’m sure you and I can manage,” Isobel said.

The doctor nodded. He was a pleasant man, though nothing like Isobel had expected him to be – if she had had any expectations beyond mere appearance. Physicians were so often rough men – army or navy surgeons returned from far flung places to practice medicine in retirement. But Simon was different. Very different. His clothes and mannerisms were those of a gentleman. He would not have been out of place in the drawing room at Burnley Abbey, or that of her parents. She was curious as to his origins, even as it was hardly her place to ask.

“I’m sure we will, yes. I’ve corresponded with your brother enough to know what’s expected of me. I’ve admired his work from afar for some time. They’re seeing remarkable results in Manchester, and I’m sure it’ll be the same here, too. I’m looking forward to seeing it,” Simon said.

Isobel nodded. But she was not about to have the school turned into a place of study and observation. The children were to be given an education, and they were to be treated with love and kindness. That was all that mattered.

“And are you looking forward to working here, too, doctor? My brother employed you for practical matters, not simply to observe,” Isobel said, and the doctor blushed.

“Absolutely. I’m keen to help in any way I can. I’ve made considerable studies of blindness, and I want to see how those studies can be put into practice,” he said.

Isobel nodded. He was naïve – there was no doubting that – and she wondered if he had ever seen the difficulties so many of the children at the school faced. Many of them came from poverty, and it was not only the fact of their blindness preventing them from reaching their full potential.

“I’m sure you’ll find some interesting case studies, doctor. But what the children really need is love and attention. They need to realize – like my father did – the possibilities of life, rather than its limitations,” Isobel said.

She did not like to think of the school and its children as the subject of an observation. Her brother had founded the school with the simple intention of helping those in need. He had his reasons, of course – the guilt he had felt over his gambling problem. But those things were behind him now, and Isobel did not want him to return from his grand tour and find she had not been an adequate steward of her brother’s hard work and dedication.

“Absolutely, Lady Isobel. I hope I can play my part in that. Will you show me around?” the doctor asked, and Isobel nodded.

“Gladly so. In fact, one of the children is complaining about not feeling well. Perhaps you could look at him?” Isobel said, and Simon nodded.

“I’d be glad to, yes,” he said, and Isobel held out her hand, ushering him in the direction of the door.

She did not know what to make of the doctor. He seemed somewhat out of his depth, not knowing, perhaps, the realities of medical practice. It was one thing to read of such things in books and journals, but quite another to be faced with the realities of disease and injury. Back inside, Isobel could hear the sounds of the children at their lessons in what had previously been the drawing room.

“Now, children. I want you to use your imaginations – each of us had a mind’s eye. We might not be able to see with our own eyes, but in our imaginations, we can conjure up the most wonderful images. I want you to imagine a beautiful riverbank. Look at it for a moment, see the river meandering through a meadow of wildflowers, hear the flow of the water, smell the sweet perfume of the blooms…” the teacher was saying.

Isobel and Simon stood in the doorway, watching the children – a dozen in total – at their lesson. Each was sitting at their own desk, and several helpers sat around the edge of the room, ready to respond to the children’s needs. It was a remarkable sight – a remarkable achievement – and it brought a smile to Isobel’s face as she watched.

“They all deserve the same chance as those who can see – that’s what my brother believes. That’s what we all believe,” Isobel whispered, and the doctor nodded.

“It’s very impressive. I’ve read about this kind of immersive practice – to teach through imagination. It’s remarkable,” he said.

“But we’re not just reading about it here, Doctor Wilkinson, we’re making it happen,” Isobel said, for she wanted to remind the doctor they were not in the pages of a medical textbook now.

These were real children, with real needs, and now she beckoned him to follow her to the next classroom, intending to witness his bedside manner for herself. Timothy Powell was sitting at the front of the classroom – once the dining room. He and the other children were making patterns with rice, and Isobel went over to him, kneeling down in front of him. He sensed her presence, holding out his hands to touch her face.

“It’s you, Lady Isobel,” he said, patting her cheeks, and Isobel smiled.

“Very good, Timothy. You’re right. And I’ve brought the doctor to see you. Your mother told me you weren’t feeling very well. I’m sure we can make you better, though. Take my hand,” Isobel said, nodding to the teacher as she led Timothy out into the hallway.

Simon was waiting there, and as he stepped forward, Timothy held out his hands.

“I have to touch you first,” he said.

Isobel smiled, glancing at Simon, who looked suddenly uncomfortable.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asked, raising her eyebrows, and wondering if the new doctor would live up to the reputation preceding him…

Chapter 3

Simon knew he had got off to a bad start with Isobel – mistaking her for the matron, talking about the studies he hoped to conduct, and now, looking down at the boy in front of him, he felt entirely out of his depth. At medical school, he had encountered the occasional patient, but always in the company of superior doctors and physicians. Only the most serious cases were treated in the hospital, and whilst Simon had observed obscure diseases and remarkable injuries, his experience with ordinary people was somewhat limited. The boy’s request to touch his face had surprised him, even as it was surely not unreasonable for a blind child to want to do so.

“Ah, yes, certainly,” Simon said, kneeling in front of the boy, whom Isobel had introduced as Timothy.

He was a pale-looking child, gaunt and malnourished. He needed feeding – his arms were thin, and cheeks pinched. He was wearing ragged clothes and a flat cap pulled down over his forehead, the very image of poverty. Simon took the boy’s hands in his and guided them to his face.

“There, now, Timothy. You know what the doctor looks like, don’t you?” Isobel said, and Timothy nodded.

Isobel was entirely at ease with the idea of blindness – or so it seemed. Simon had heard much about her father, Henry, the Duke of Crawshaw. He was famously blind and had overcome many obstacles in carrying out the duties of his inheritance. There were many who believed a blind man could not hold such an office, but the Duke of Crawshaw had proved them wrong, and Simon hoped to have the opportunity to meet him, even as he knew he had not made the best of first impressions.

“I can see you now,” Timothy said, and Simon smiled.

“May I examine you? Then I can tell you what’s wrong,” he said, and the boy nodded.

Simon knew the procedure for an examination well enough – he had read about it in a dozen textbooks, and seen it performed several times. He began by holding Timothy’s hand in his, testing the joints, before examining the glands around the neck, opening the eyes, checking the mouth, and performing a dozen other observations, being careful and methodical in his procedure. Isobel stood at his side, waiting expectantly.

“And your diagnosis,” she said, as Simon straightened himself up.

“Ah, well…it’s hard to tell, you see,” Simon said, scratching his head.

“Aren’t you going to ask him how he feels?” Isobel said.

Simon blushed. He had been so deliberate and thorough in his examination, he had neglected to ask the patient what was wrong with him.

“Yes…certainly. Can you tell me, Timothy?” he asked.

Timothy pointed to his stomach, lifting his shirt to reveal a number of small marks across his lower abdomen. He scratched at them and sniffed.

“I’d say it’s obvious,” Isobel said, and Simon nodded.

“Ah…yes, chicken pox,” he said, feeling foolish for not having realized.

He had not thought to lift the child’s undershirt, examining him instead with thoughts of injury or poverty as the cause of his ill-feeling. But the diagnosis was clear, and Simon knew he had to act fast to prevent the infection spreading to the other children.

“He’ll have to be isolated from the other children. We don’t want an outbreak in the school. If one gets it, they could all get it,” Isobel said.

She stooped down and took Timothy’s hands in hers. The child looked worried, and Simon wanted to offer reassurance, even as this was the first time he had encountered such an outbreak – though he had read about the disease in some detail.

“You’ll itch for a few days, Timothy. But bed rest and hot soup will see you through,” Simon said.

“Yes, don’t worry, Timothy. You’ll be quite all right. We’ll have the matron put you to bed away from the other children. I’ll come and sit with you,” Isobel said.

As she stooped down, Simon noticed a set of marks on the exposed skin above the collar of her dress. They were the same scars Timothy would have, and Simon realized Isobel, too, had suffered the infection at some point in her childhood. He, too, had been afflicted, recalling two weeks spent in isolation from his sister, who had cried every day until they had been reunited.

“It hurts,” Timothy said, sniffing, as Isobel took him in her arms.

“But you must try not to scratch. It only makes it worse. Come now, I’ll bathe the spots with chamomile lotion, and you can have a hot cup of tea and some soup,” she said.

Simon was impressed by Isobel’s kindness towards the child, and now he followed her upstairs to the dormitories, where she instructed the matron to prepare a sickroom for the boy and bring him hot tea and soup. Simon himself felt somewhat redundant. He had played no actual part in the diagnosis, and his suggested treatment would have been the same as Isobel had already decided on.

“Perhaps I should check the other children,” he said, and Isobel nodded.

“Yes, you could do. I’ll have to write to Ernest and tell him. Poor Timothy…and on his first day. Our first day,” Isobel said.

The matron now took charge of Timothy, and he was placed in a single room off the dormitory, where he could be isolated from the other children. Simon tried to make himself useful, suggesting a tonic he had read about in a medical journal, and instructing the matron on how best to apply it. Isobel stood listening in silence, and Simon wondered what she really thought of him.

It’s one thing reading about it… he thought to himself, for he was beginning to feel entirely inadequate to his calling, and a fool for not having recognized what was so obvious in Timothy’s condition.

Most children contracted chicken pox at one time or another. It was a rite of passage, in many ways, and the first thing a doctor should think of when examining a poorly child.

“Are you going to look at the other children?” Isobel asked, raising her eyebrows, as Simon stood at the end of Timothy’s bed.

“Ah…yes, I will do,” he said, turning to leave the room.

“Thank you,” Timothy said, and Simon smiled.

“You’re very welcome, Timothy. I’ll check on you later. You’ll be quite all right, I promise,” he said, stepping out into the empty dormitory.

Simon hoped he did not have an epidemic on his hands and making his way downstairs – followed by Isobel – he summoned the children, one by one, for examination. To his relief, none of them showed signs of the chicken pox, though Simon knew he could not afford to be complacent.

“Timothy could be the first one to show,” Isobel said, after they had examined the last child.

“Yes, we’ll check them all again tomorrow, and keep Timothy in isolation for the next week. I’m sorry you’ve been burdened with this on your first day in charge,” Simon said, as Isobel led him into her study off the hallway.

“My brother entrusted me with the running of the school. I’ll do whatever’s necessary whilst he’s away,” Isobel replied.

Simon could not help but admire her practicality. Lord Crawshaw was fortunate in his sister, and Simon could not help but think of Evie, wondering if she, too, would have grown up with the same strength of character and determination as Isobel. Simon admired her, even as he found her somewhat intimidating. The medical world was the preserve of men. Women would act as nurses, midwives, too, but the upper echelons of society demanded the presence of physicians, of men – even in childbirth – and Simon’s medical training had been conducted on that understanding. He was not used to dealing with the fairer sex, not in matters of business, nor on a personal level.

“And I’ll do all I can to help you, too,” Simon assured her.

She nodded, shuffling some papers on the desk, and now she looked up at him, her eyes narrowing.

“Why did you come here? To Lancaster, I mean,” she asked.

Simon faltered. He had no intention of revealing the truth of his background. He did not want to be treated any differently because of his rank and title. He and Isobel were of the same privilege – the son and daughter of dukes – and yet, in his position now, Simon was nothing more than a member of the middle classes, a man of utility, working for a living.

“I…well, I’d always wanted a country practice, you see. I wasn’t interested in surgery, and I’m not a military man, either. I wanted to come somewhere where I’d see medicine in all its fullness – from broken ankles to chicken pox,” Simon replied.

Isobel smiled.

“And is it as you hoped?” she asked.

Simon paused, not knowing quite what to say. He had left London in high spirits, not returning to Burleigh House, but coming at once to Lancaster, hoping to roll up his sleeves and begin his work. But his failure to recognize even the most obvious of alignments, and his encounter with the eminently more practical Isobel, had made him question the abilities he had believed himself to be possessed of.

“I’m sure I’ll get used to it,” he replied, reminding himself he had only been the parish’s resident physician for a few hours.

His new life would take time to grow accustomed to, and it was inevitable he should make one or two mistakes along the way.

“And what of your background? What made you decide to become a doctor?” she asked.

Simon faltered. He was not ready to reveal the truth. He did not want to reveal the truth. His past – his shame over Evie, his guilt – was not something he readily talked about. At Bart’s, Simon would tell his fellow students he was the son of a merchant from the north, and none of them knew of his rank or title.

“I suppose I wanted to help others. I’d always admired the work of physicians – the possibility of curing the incurable, the discovery of new treatments, the expansion of knowledge. I want to do something worthwhile. I want to help people,” he said, and Isobel nodded.

“As do most physicians, one would hope,” she said, and Simon agreed.

She seemed satisfied with his answer, even as Simon was curious to know more about her. But given his apparent place in the social order, and the inequality of their perceived rank, he felt he could not ask her the questions he desired to know the answers to – was she married? What were her hopes and ambitions? What did she think of her brother and his intentions for the school? Instead, Simon limited himself to the more perfunctory and practical.

“How often will you require my services? Shall I visit the school each day?” he asked.

“It’s up to you. You’ll have other patients to see, I’m sure. But my brother specifically requested your attachment to the school, and you’ve already mentioned your interest in making a study of the children,” Isobel replied.

Simon felt foolish for having spoken in such terms. He did not want Isobel to think he was merely interested in the children as a point of study. He wanted to do his best by them, and Simon had already made up his mind to check on Timothy that very evening. He wanted to prove his worth, even as he knew he had not made a good first impression.

“Ah, yes…well, all in good time. But I should be going now. I’ve taken up enough of your time, Lady Isobel,” he said, rising to his feet.

Isobel did the same, ushering him out of the study into the hallway. She held out her hand to him and smiled.

“Until we meet again – soon, I’m sure,” she said, and Simon nodded, taking her hand in his, and returning her smile.

“I’ll return this evening to check on Timothy, and tomorrow to make another examination of the children,” he said, wanting to appear practical in his intentions.

She nodded, showing him to the door, and Simon thanked her again, not wanting to leave on a sour note.

“I’m sure you’ll find your place amongst us, Doctor Wilkinson,” she said.

“Please, Simon, if you will,” he said, and Isobel nodded.

“Simon…well, good day. I’ve got a lot to do. The school won’t run itself,” she said, opening the door for him.

“Good day to you,” Simon replied, clattering down the steps and glancing back at her with a smile.

She stood for a moment to watch him go. He had no carriage waiting for him – having told the driver of the horse and trap he had arrived in to return to his own business – and now he turned, waving to her from the dower house gate. She nodded, and Simon felt foolish for his display of overfamiliarity.

“You’re just a doctor,” he reminded himself, as he set off along the road through the estate.

As he walked, Simon thought back to what had been his first proper encounter with a patient. He had failed spectacularly in his diagnosis, but had tried his best in the aftermath, and now he thought through the various treatments for chicken pox, wondering if he had missed anything. He was so absorbed in his thoughts, he hardly noticed the sound of a carriage behind him, but as it passed, a shout came from the compartment, and the carriage slowed.

“You must be the new doctor,” a voice behind him said, and Simon turned to find a young man smiling at him from the open carriage window.

He was handsomely dressed with an aristocratic look about him, and Simon nodded, removing his hat as a mark of respect.

“Simon Wilkinson,” he said, and the young man leaned out of the carriage to shake Simon by the hand.

“Maximilian Oakley – this is my father’s estate,” the man said, and Simon gave a curt bow, realizing he was in the presence of the heir.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he replied, and Maximilian grinned.

“I’m usually in rude health, myself. But my wife’s just given birth to twins. She’s a delicate creature at the moment, though usually strong as an ox. Perhaps you’d call on her in the coming days? We live on the estate. Just ask someone for directions. I presume you’ve met Isobel by now?” he said, and Simon nodded.

“I’d be glad to, my Lord. And yes, I’ve just come from the school,” Simon replied.

Maximilian smiled.

“She’s quite formidable, isn’t she?” he said, and Simon blushed.

“Lady Isobel knows her mind, my Lord,” he said, wondering if he was being tested in his opinions.

Simon was all too aware of entering a new district, with its gossip, intrigues, and scandals. He had inhabited the world of the aristocracy long enough to know it was imperative to be cautious in proffering one’s opinions.

“She certainly does. Her brother’s married to my wife’s closest friend. They’ve gone off on a grand tour of the continent. Lily’s terribly jealous, but I can’t spare the time. I’ve got responsibilities on the estate. Really, I’m somewhat surprised Ernest went, given the opening of the school and so forth,” Maximilian continued.

Simon wondered if this, too, was a further test, and he merely nodded.

“I’m sure his Lordship knows his mind,” he said, and Maximilian nodded.

“I’m sure he does. Well…good day to you, Doctor. And don’t forget to call in on my wife on your rounds,” he said, signaling for the drive to go on.

Simon watched him go, hoping he had shown more shrewdness in his dealings with this second aristocrat than with the first. But as he made his way back to his lodgings, Simon could only hope he would find his place in this new and unfamiliar setting, knowing he still had a lot to learn, and a lot to prove.

Chapter 4

“He didn’t even think to check for chicken pox. I was waiting for him to do so. He checked for some obscure disease of the joints, looked in the child’s ears, tapped the forehead – but didn’t think to lift the shirt and check for a rash,” Isobel said, shaking her head.

Lily looked at her and smiled.

“Perhaps he was just…nervous,” she said, and Isobel let out an exasperated snort.

“Nervous? He’s a doctor. He’s got a job to do. Whoever heard of a nervous doctor? I could’ve diagnosed Timothy myself. I did. He came back last night, to give him his due, though the matron said he hovered in the corner, “observing.” Well, observing isn’t going to do much good, is it?” Isobel said, shaking her head.

Lily shook her head and laughed.

“He’s only just arrived in the district, Isobel. Allow him time to settle in. Besides, he was probably expecting your brother to be here,” she said.

Isobel raised her eyebrows.

“Yes, I’m sure he was. He assumed I was the matron and knew nothing about medicine. Well, he got a surprise, didn’t he?” Isobel replied.

Her first impressions of the new doctor had not been favorable, even as her immediate impression had been. She had thought him handsome – exceptionally so. But his good looks could not make up for his obvious lack of experience in dealing with actual patients. He had appeared entirely out of his depth, unable to diagnose even the simplest of ailments, and Isobel was already wondering how long he would last in his apparent ambition. She had contemplated writing to her brother, but Ernest would only worry, and she was willing to give Simon – Doctor Wilkinson – a second chance, even as she felt certain he would not live up to it.

“I’m sure he did. Perhaps he’s not used to dealing with women,” Lily said.

She was sitting on a chaise lounge, the two of them taking tea in the nursery where Emily – Lily’s first born – was playing happily with a doll in the sunlight streaming through the window. Lily’s twins – Granville and Rubiana – were asleep in the large cradle at Lily’s side, and now one of them awoke, causing a necessary pause in the conversation.

“Oh, I can hardly hear myself think,” Isobel exclaimed, as Granville screamed at the top of his lungs.

This, in turn, awoke Rubiana, and a scene of general chaos now ensued as the nanny hurried in to take charge.

“The children are quite exhausting. How I wish I could be in Venice with Alicia,” Lily said, and Isobel smiled.

“It’ll be a while before they reach Venice. They’re not even in London, yet. I had a letter from Ernest this morning – they’d stopped at the school in Manchester on the way,” she said.

Lily rolled her eyes.

“All he does is think about his work. Poor Alicia – will she ever get to Venice?” she said.

The nanny had succeeded in quietening the two children, but Isobel knew it would only be a few moments before something further disturbed them. She had called on Lily with the intention of keeping her company in the absence of Alicia but had been glad to unburden herself of her fears surrounding the new doctor. He was simply not experienced enough to be of any real use, and if he did not show signs of improvement in his practice, Isobel knew she would be forced to remove him.

“I’m sure she will. But I should be going, Lily,” Alicia said, rising to her feet.

But as she did so, a knock came at the nursery door, and Lily’s butler announced the arrival of none other than Doctor Wilkinson himself. Lily looked surprised, even as the doctor now entered the nursery.

“My Lady, your husband asked me to call on you. He told me you’d been feeling unwell of late,” Simon said, glancing at Isobel, who nodded to him.

Lily smiled.

“Oh, my darling Maximilian. He’s always thinking of me. I don’t want to trouble you, doctor, though it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve just been hearing all about you. But I’m sure you’ve got far more important things to be dealing with than my minor ailments,” Lily said, glancing at Isobel, who blushed.

But Simon shook his head.

“I’m a doctor, my Lady – any illness concerns me. What are your symptoms?” he asked.

“I should be going,” Isobel said, but Lily shook her head.

“No, you can stay, Isobel. It’s nothing I wouldn’t want you to hear,” she said, and Isobel sighed.

She knew what Lily was doing, and now she stood meekly at her friend’s side, watching as Simon examined her.

“You’ve just given birth, haven’t you?” Simon said.

“That’s right – twins, Granville and Rubiana,” Lily said, casting a proud look towards the cradle.

Simon smiled – the same reaction Isobel had seen in several others when introduced to the unusually named children.

“How delightful. And are you feeling tired? Have you fainted at all?” he asked, and Lily nodded.

“Constantly. And I almost fainted last night. Maximilian had to catch me to stop me from falling,” she said.

The doctor touched the back of his hand to her forehead. Isobel watched with interest. He seemed far more capable in his dealings with Lily, even as she had seen none of this capability the day before at the school.

“You feel cold to the touch. Are you shivering?” he asked, and Lily nodded.

“That’s why I’m wrapped in this blanket. But it’s not cold. I had to have a fire in the bedroom last night. Poor Maximilian had to sleep in his dressing room, he was far too warm,” she said, and Simon nodded.

“Yes…I don’t think we need to draw blood,” he said, and Lily looked at him in horror.

“Is it something serious, Doctor?” she asked, but Simon shook his head.

“I don’t wish to go into undue detail,” he began, but Lily waved her hand.

“Oh, nonsense, we’re quite happy hearing whatever detail you wish to give us, Doctor Wilkinson. Don’t spare our sensibilities,” she said, even as Isobel might have preferred him to do so.

The doctor smiled.

“Very well. When a woman gives birth, she naturally loses a considerable amount of blood. The loss of blood can cause anemia. In effect, you need more blood, my Lady, and it’ll take some time for your body to produce it. We recommend a diet rich in nutrients – red meat, spinach, even beer,” he said, and Lily laughed.

“Oh…well, that shouldn’t be difficult,” she said, glancing at Isobel, who smiled.

She had been impressed with Simon’s calm and ordered examination, his questioning to arrive at a diagnosis, and now his prescription of treatment.

“And she won’t suffer any long-term problems?” Isobel asked.

“None at all. These things happen. It’s often the cause in women after childbirth,” he said.

Lily clapped her hands together.

“Oh, what a relief to hear it, Doctor Wilkinson. I feared something terrible was happening to me. I’ll see to the change of diet, and perhaps you’d call on me in a week or so,” she said, and the doctor nodded.

“It would be my pleasure, my Lady. I’ll see myself out,” he said.

Lily glanced at Isobel, giving her a pointed look. Isobel knew what she was thinking, and she called out to Simon, telling him she would accompany him if he would wait for a moment. He nodded, smiling, as he stepped out of the nursery.

“You owe him an apology, I think,” Lily said, lowering her voice.

“I don’t owe him anything of the sort. I wasn’t rude to him. My opinion was my own,” Isobel said, glaring at Lily, who raised her eyebrows.

“I think he’s proved himself more than adequate as a physician,” she whispered.

“Perhaps he has, we’ll see,” Isobel replied, for she was not about to change her opinion of Simon entirely.

Having bid Lily goodbye, Isobel stepped out onto the landing, finding Simon examining the portraits of Maximilian’s ancestors. The couple now occupied a house on the estate once belonging to a great uncle of the present duke, gifted to them following their marriage. It was a pleasant dwelling, though lacking the grandeur of Burnley Abbey itself. Isobel was now a frequent visitor, and Lily would often invite her to take tea in her sitting room, along with other aristocratic women in the district.

“It’s a pleasant dwelling, isn’t it?” Isobel said, as Simon looked up at her and smiled.

“It is, yes,” he said.

Again, Isobel wondered as to his background. What sort of home had he grown up in, and what were his circumstances? Aristocratic life was no doubt a mystery to him, but she had been impressed by the way he had handled the exaggerations of Lily’s apparent condition.

“Though it’s nothing compared to Burnley Abbey itself – a fine house. I’m sure my brother will invite you to Leamington Grange on his return from the continent,” Isobel said, and Simon smiled.

“That would be very kind, I’m sure,” he said, even as Isobel knew she was being churlish.

There was no reason why she herself should not issue such an invitation. Her parents had suggested they would be only too glad to play host to the new doctor, and her father, in particular, had expressed a desire to speak to Simon about his studies on treatments for conditions of the eyes.

“You’d…be welcome anytime. Even without my brother being here,” Isobel said, as they made their way down the stairs to the hallway.

One of the maids came to see them out, and they paused together by Isobel’s carriage. She did not know whether to offer the doctor a lift. He had arrived unexpectedly, and she assumed he had made his own arrangement to complete his rounds.

“That’s very kind of you, Lady Isobel. But I wouldn’t wish to intrude,” Simon said.

“You wouldn’t be. We’d be glad of your calling on us. Tell me, is your accommodation satisfactory? My brother offered lodgings to you, but I understand you’ve taken the house occupied by the previous holder of your position. Is Mrs. Fielding proving adequate in her duties?” Isobel asked.

She had made it her business to discover where the doctor intended to live, and to know something of his domestic arrangements. Her own maid had told her the doctor was to employ two maids from one of the villages close to the estate, along with a cook and a manservant. It had surprised her to learn this, given the modest size of his income. Simon nodded.

“Quite adequate, thank you. She’s having it furnished for me, and the servants are there now. The previous incumbent left in rather a hurry. He had considerable debts, I believe,” the doctor said, and Isobel nodded.

Doctor Tobias Parry had been a well-known figure in the district, but he had spent lavishly, and was known for his unfortunate losses at the gambling tables. His departure had been swift, and no one knew where he had gone.

“He did, yes. But if you approve of the house, so be it. It doesn’t matter to me where you live, so long as it’s adequate for the performance of your duties,” Isobel replied.

“More than adequate. But I should be going, Lady Isobel. I’ve got several more patients to see before the end of the day, and then I’ll call in at the school and check on Timothy,” he replied.

Isobel nodded.

“And don’t forget to examine the other children, too,” she said, but Simon smiled.

“I’ve just been there to do so, my Lady. I couldn’t find anything wrong with any of them. But we must be vigilant,” he said, and nodding to her, he set off in the direction of the town.

Isobel watched him go, thinking of Lily’s words about misjudgment.

“Perhaps I was wrong,” she admitted to herself, as she drove back to Leamington Grange in her carriage.

“Have you seen the new doctor today, Isobel?” her father asked, when she joined her parents in the drawing room for tea.

“I have, yes, Father. He called on Lily whilst I was there. There’s nothing wrong with her, not really – it’s the blood loss after birth. She’s tired and feels cold all the time. He prescribed a diet of red meat for her,” Isobel said.

Her father smiled.

“And what of the children? Have they taken to him? He’s to be their physician, after all,” he said.

The duke took a keen interest in the affairs of the school, but he had trusted Isobel with its running, insisting she be the one to make decisions whilst Ernest was away.

“His bedside manner leaves something to be desired. I don’t think he’s used to children,” Isobel said, and her father laughed.

“He’ll have to learn, won’t he? He’s unmarried, then? What of his background?” Isobel’s father asked.

But Isobel could tell him little he did not already know. She knew nothing of the doctor’s past – not even where he had been born – and as for family…

“I assume he’s unmarried. Yes, I’d know,” Isobel replied, for the doctor had given no indication of a vocation other than that of medicine.

“We’re lucky to have a young man like that in our midst. You should invite him here, Isobel. I told you I’d like to talk to him about his interest in the development of blind children. Aren’t I a case study in myself?” her father asked.

“No, Father – I don’t want you subjected to the prods and pokes of a physician,” Isobel exclaimed, horrified at the thought of her father reduced to an object of medical examination.

But the duke laughed.

“And how can one expect progress in the treatment of disease without observation? We need men like Doctor Wilkinson to advance progress, Isobel.

“Yes, true enough, I suppose. As it happens, I’ve already invited him here. He appears diligent in his duties, though…” she said, her words trailing off.

She did not want to openly criticize the new doctor. He had only been in their midst for a few days, but Isobel was still not convinced as to his complete suitability – his diagnosis of Timothy having left much to be desired.

“Though what?” her father asked, even as Isobel shook her head.

“No, it doesn’t matter, Father. You can judge for yourself,” Isobel said, willing to give Simon a chance, even if her first impression had not been as she might have hoped.