Chapter 1

Nigel

London, 1820.

The wind whistled through the cemetery, set high above the churchyard of St Maria. The yellow headstones looked grey today, for it was overcast and the rain lashed the stones persistently. Not once did the rain let up nor did the clouds part to greet the day with an ounce of sunshine.

“How apt,” Nigel Beille muttered to himself as he stood beneath the yew tree, watching on from afar.

The angels in heaven are crying.

He couldn’t be one of the mourners. He was not permitted, for he had no official association with the person laid out in that awful coffin. Yet he had to come. There was no chance that Nigel could stay at home and mourn alone, let his tears continue in the shadows. No. He had to come.

Standing beneath the boughs of a yew tree, the tree of new life and death, he stared at the churchyard, awaiting the arrival of the coffin. The rain made the ground sodden, the grass disappearing in vast puddles, as the rain dripped down the headstones like tears. In some parts of the cemetery, there were grander effigies and statues to commemorate the dead. One angle with white wings and a mournful face cast her eyes downward to the body beneath her, rather than the sky.

It was a dark place, one that made Nigel feel even worse than before. He screwed up the handkerchief in his hand and turned to face the open grave once more. It was a short distance up the hill from his position, so far that no one would notice where he stood hiding by the yew tree.

Adjusting his black frock coat and top hat that warded off the rain, Nigel stared at the cemetery gates open.

She’s here.

The coffin was carried by four pall bearers, each one with their heads turned downward. Behind them, the vicar led the way, along with the mourners behind him. There was not a dry eye amongst them, for they were all distraught.

If things had been right, Nigel could have been with them, one of the mourners. Yet nothing official had ever been said or discussed. His place was not with them but in the shadows, doomed to watch and mourn from afar.

Pressing himself closer to the trunk of the tree of death to stay hidden, he watched the coffin being taken up the hill. It paused by the open grave as the vicar said a prayer. When it was time for the coffin to be lowered into the ground, the cries of the dead woman’s mother grew louder. She wailed, inconsolable, and the sight of her made Nigel ache all the more.

He looked down at the ground, his vision blurring with tears, he fought hard not to let drop. The wet blades of glass before him were no longer in focus, and the sods of earth around his face grew distant.

I should have saved her. It was my task, was it not? The reason I am here is to save people.

Yet Nigel had been unable to save her.

Slowly, the coffin was lowered into the ground and the mother cried so much that her sister swept her up in her arms. The two clung onto one another, balling their eyes out as children, for they hardly cared who saw them now.

Nigel wiped his own cheeks, drying the few tears that had escaped after all. Taking off his top hat, he bowed his head, sending a prayer to God.

You have seen fit to take her. I beg of you, take care of her now in heaven, as she was never quite taken care of here. Amen.

He felt the drips of water soaking his light brown hair, making it curl in its damp state more than usual. He didn’t care how wet he became, he didn’t return his hat to his head, out of a mark of respect. Even when the rain mixed with the small mustache on his top lip, he refused to return the hat.

Slowly, the mourners left. One by one they threw sods of earth onto the casket, though it was damp and dropped onto the wood in heavy thuds. The mother struggled the most, and ended up flinging the soil down, her hand trembling so much. When the mother turned away, Nigel did too.

He planted his back to the tree trunk of the yew, desperate not to be seen. He closed his eyes and thought of the last time he had seen the woman in that casket, when she had breathed her last. To his last moments on this earth, he was certain he would be haunted by that image.

I failed her, but I will not fail another.

With this sudden determination in mind, he opened his eyes. He left hurriedly parting through the gravestones and choosing to head straight for the fence rather than the gate, so he would not bump into any of the other mourners and be seen. Clambering over the fence, he dropped down the other side, his boots falling ankle deep into a puddle. He looked down and cursed, but hardly cared enough to slow his pace as he marched on.

Now Nigel knew what to do. He might have failed that poor woman, but he would not disappoint another. There was much he had to do. He would improve his knowledge, seeking out new methods and ways as much as he could, sticking to the latest research in order to discover ways to help people with their health and wellbeing. There was something more he had to do too, another resolution that would keep him safe, so he would never have to feel this way again.

I shall not look at a woman in that manner. From now on, my heart will be closed off for good.

When he was a distance away from the graveyard, he placed the top hat on his head and sniffed. He wouldn’t let the tears fall anymore.

Chapter 2

Kathryn

Dorset 1824.

Kathryn slipped the earrings on, staring at herself in the vanity mirror.

“Pretty,” she murmured, admiring the earrings that had been leant to her. They belonged to her aunt and were a thank you gift from Sebastian, her cousin, who had expressed great gratitude for her help in uniting him with his love, Elizabeth.

Kathryn ran her fingers over the earrings, admiring the pearl and the delicate twist of the gold drop. They were truly beautiful. Ever since she was a child, she had admired them and longed to wear them, but now she had them, that luster had somewhat diminished, though it had little to do with the earrings.

“That was my doing,” she whispered and sighed as her eyes darted to her face. Her dark brown brows mirrored her hair perfectly that was swept back into a simple chignon at the nape of her neck. Her dark eyes were rather close together, her thin face and slanting nose almost elfin in places. She’d often been told she had a keen stare, but it was one that was easily shifted by the mischievous smile that was often on her lips.

That smile seemed a distance away now. Ever since she had nearly brought scandal upon the family, she had struggled with such smiles, just as she struggled to wear the earrings now.

Feeling unworthy of them, she took them off and replaced them in the jewelry box in front of her on the table.

Her aunt, Arabella, the Duchess of Gordon, was once a healer when she was young. Given the name Bona Dea, she wrote to ladies offering advice and healing herbs when needed, though that was many years ago. When she was accused of being a witch, she had retreated from such an occupation, that was until Kathryn brought the legend of Bona Dea back to life the year before.

Arabella’s son, Sebastian, had longed for a way to grow closer to his love, Elizabeth. It had been Kathryn’s foolish idea to suggest to the confused Elizabeth to write to Bona Dea to ask for advice, though Sebastian replied in the place of his mother. What had seemed like such a simple idea at first had become complicated, and at one time, there had been awful rumor spreading once again that Arabella was a witch.

Kathryn had felt the shame of their deception ever since.

Though all had worked out well for Sebastian, who had won Elizabeth’s heart, Kathryn felt the weight of what they had done considerably. It was her suggestion that had drawn Arabella into such gossip and scandal again.

It was my doing.

She pushed the jewelry box away, feeling so unworthy of wearing the earrings that she couldn’t bring herself to put them on again. She stood and brushed out the creases of her silken peach gown, trying to appear like the fine young lady she knew her mother wanted her to be.

Clara, now the Baroness of Aldington, and sister to the Duke of Gordon, had always been an elegant lady. In contrast, Kathryn felt like a bumbling fool compared to her mother. She was mischievous and had often gotten into trouble as a child. She was also a clumsy soul, and where Clara could walk into a room and captivate others with her elegant movements, Kathryn would fall in behind her, drawing eyes as she fell into a bundle on the floor.

Leaving the room, Kathryn crossed the landing and walked to the stairs, trying her best not to dwell on the earrings. When she heard Arabella’s voice in the distant regions of the house, echoing as she talked to Clara, Kathryn hurried her pace. Descending the stairs, she reached the lower floor and moved to the sitting room where she opened the door wide.

She took two steps in before she managed to trip on the corner of a rug. In danger of falling, she gripped the back of the chair where her mother sat. Clara laid a hand to her heart in surprise at the sound and flicked her head around, her brown eyes that were so like Kathryn’s own narrowing a little.

“God’s wounds, Kathryn. My heart cannot take such scares,” she said with a heavy sigh.

“My apologies.” Kathryn forced a smile, hoping she could cover up the fact she had tripped again.

Sat in a chair opposite her mother was Arabella, smiling sweetly as she lifted her teacup to her lips and laughed. Often could Kathryn trace some of Sebastian’s features in Arabella’s face, though he looked more like his father.

“Still tripping up?” Arabella asked.

“Thank you, for that, Aunt. I was trying to hide the matter from my mother.”

“You think I do not know when you trip?” Clara laughed as she raised her own teacup to her lips. “Sweetheart, you have barely walked straight since you first started tottering around as a child.” The two women laughed together.

Kathryn forced a smile, knowing it was all in jest, though she felt strangely uncomfortable at the words today. The sense of discomfort hung over her from staring at those earnings and her eyes settled on Arabella.

“Aunt, may I speak with you?” She rounded Clara and took care to find her seat without tripping up again.

“You can always speak to me, dear.” Arabella reached for the teapot and poured out another cupful, handing it to Kathryn. “What’s on your mind?”

“I wish…” Kathryn paused and looked at her mother. Clara was eyeing her carefully, with that same watchful gaze that had been in her expression ever since she found out that Kathryn was behind the scandal that had befallen them the year before. “I wish to apologize.”

“What for?” Arabella said softly.

“I wonder,” Clara said with full wryness, her light tone drawing Kathryn’s gaze. She loved her mother dearly, but her recent disappointment made her ache too.

“For what happened last year.” Kathryn returned her full focus to her aunt.

“Again?” Arabella spluttered, lowering her own teacup to her lap. “Kathryn, you have apologized countless times already. You do not need to do so again.”

“I feel I need to.” Kathryn didn’t bother raising her teacup to her lips but sat with it woodenly in her hands, feeling strangely out of place in her own sitting room. “What Sebastian did was at my suggestion. I feel entirely responsible for what happened next, the articles in the scandal sheets, all of it.”

“Kathryn, please, listen to me.” Arabella put her teacup down on the tray beside them and reached for Kathryn’s hand, taking it in her own. “What you did was revive a name that was trusted, and as I have understood from many ladies since, did some good. It’s a great surprise indeed to myself that my son could give such good advice to ladies, but he could, though I question how much medical advice he gave.” She winced at the thought. “What you did was an innocent act. Perhaps a little… misguided.”

“I was going to say a little inconsiderate,” Clara said, taking a clam sip from her tea once again. Kathryn looked at her mother, her spine crumpling under the weight of her mother’s disappointment.

“I considered Sebastian,” Kathryn tried to explain herself. “I apologize, for I fear it is only he who I thought of in this matter.”

“Then your heart was in the right place.” Arabella patted her hand in comfort before returning to her teacup. “Besides, perhaps it was time for the name of Bona Dea to be revived again. Ladies still send letters. Sebastian and Elizabeth sometimes answer with advice, and whenever anything medical arises, they come to me for my assistance. We are able to help people again. The good of that cannot be underestimated. Can it, Clara?” She appealed straight to her sister-in-law, clearly encouraging her to say something good.

“Yes, yes, I know all that,” Clara murmured with a heavy sigh. “Arabella, you do good work, as you always have done, but none of us were overawed by how you came to being accused of witchcraft, did we?”

Silence fell in the room as they all sipped their tears. Kathryn forced the bitter taste down, for she had forgotten to add any milk.

“Kathryn, you need not apologize to me anymore,” Arabella said after a minute or so of this awkward silence. “Your apology is accepted, and I for one do not see that you did anything so wrong.” She looked pointedly at Clara.

“Oh, do not look at me like that.” Clara tipped her head back, as if avoiding her sister-in-law’s gaze. “I know much good has come from it, but you must be in agreement with me that Kathryn’s plotting, her mischievousness can be a little…” She paused, struggling for the right word.

“Endearing?” Arabella offered with a humored smile. Kathryn looked at her aunt, sharing in that smile.

“Can you stay all the time?” Kathryn asked, making her aunt laugh.

“I think a better word is concerning.” Clara’s words made them both stop laughing. “Kathryn, you are a young lady now. I am sorry to say it, but it is high time you acted like one.”

“And of course, you were never so mischievous, were you?” Arabella asked, staring straight at Clara. “For your daughter must have got the attribute from somewhere.”

Clara smiled for the first time, looking straight at Kathryn. It was an expression that perplexed Kathryn greatly. She could have almost mistaken her mother for being a little proud of her.

“I love you dearly, Kathryn. It cannot be denied you are like me at times, but as your mother, I have to protect you. Even if that means protecting you from your own artful ways. That you may have gotten from me.”

“Is that a compliment? I can no longer tell,” Kathryn said, sitting forward in bafflement. When Clara didn’t answer, she returned her focus to her aunt. “I would like to say something more on this matter, as we’re dredging up the past. Aunt, I must confess myself fascinated by your story. It captivates me! Completely.”

“How do you mean?” Arabella said with a small, surprised laugh.

“How you managed to help people. How you cultivated an occupation for yourself, when so few women are permitted such an occupation themselves. It fascinates me more than I can declare,” Kathryn spoke with vigor, sitting so far forward the she was in danger of falling out of the chair.

“Kathryn.” Clara stood from her seat. “Here, let me rescue that teacup before you drop it when you clamber out of that chair.” She took the teacup away before Kathryn could indeed drop it.

“I admire your learnings so much, Aunt,” she continued on, determined to speak so openly now she had begun. “I’d be fascinated to learn more about it.”

“You would?” Arabella seemed equally enthused, sitting forward.

“Of course.”

“Well, if you are interested, I can lend you my notes on plants and botany. There is much in there one can learn.” Before Arabella had even finished her offer, Kathryn was already nodding, eager to accept. “I am sure your mother would not object, would you, Clara?”

“No, I would not.” Clara smiled softly. “After all you have done for dear Daniel, I know your knowledge is vast indeed.” She spoke of her brother, Arabella’s husband, with pain evidently tinging her voice.

Kathryn had heard much of this tale, how Arabella and Daniel had met when Clara called Arabella to the house. Daniel was suffering from a lung condition, and it was Arabella who helped him to manage it. To this day, he would occasionally have problems and coughing attacks, but Kathryn had been informed many times that he was infinitely better than he had been before he met Arabella.

“Yes, by all means share your knowledge,” Clara encouraged.

“I’d love that. Thank you.” Kathryn stood from the chair and clasped her hands together, excitedly.

“Well, on that good note, I must go home. Sebastian and Elizabeth are to come for dinner tonight, and judging by how Elizabeth complained at the scent of coffee last time she came, I suspect she has some news for us.” Arabella stood with a smile.

“What news is that?” Kathryn frowned, with her brows pinned together.

“One of the things that I shall teach you,” Arabella said softly. “Those carrying a child often reject the strong scents of coffee and other such drinks. Now, I must take my leave. I shall see you both tomorrow.”

As Arabella left, Kathryn stood dumbstruck, staring after her aunt. As the door closed, Clara sat down in her chair once more, sighing with her spine softening.

“How can she tell if Elizabeth is pregnant?”

“She knows everything.” Clara waved a hand and laughed. “She always has done.”

“Yes, but… pregnant! Imagine Sebastian as a father.” Kathryn giggled at the notion. “He’ll make a good father. Playful indeed.”

“Yes.” Clara’s eyes turned to Kathryn.

She knew that look. Clara had something to say. Kathryn fidgeted where she stood, trying to straighten her peach gown.

“What is it, Mother?”

“How do you know I wish to say something?”

“Because you are looking at me the way father eyes his business investments. As if you have a plan.” At Kathryn’s words, Clara sat forward, perching on the edge of her seat.

“That is because your father and I have a proposition for you. One we believe will help you.” She paused, chewing her lip for a minute before she went on. “We wish to send you away for a time.”

“Send me away?” Kathryn spluttered. She walked forward in her effort to reach her mother, and ended up kicking the table where the tea was placed. All the China danced on the surface as she hopped, managing to stamp down on her other foot. “Ow!”

“Don’t get yourself in a spin.” Clara stood hurriedly, reaching for her.

“I know I made an error last year, but please, do not send me away because of that. Mother, please –”

“Kathryn, you misunderstand.” Clara laid her hands on her shoulders, softening her tone. “I am not sending you away for good. My suggestion is to send you to my mother’s cousin, Lady Georgiana Bingley, Dowager Countess of Gloucester, for the summer. She is a fine lady and lives in London. She has excellent skills and a great sense of propriety.”

“Propriety?” Kathryn wrinkled her nose.

“Do not pull that face as if I have offered up a rotting flower in front of you.”

“Forgive me, give me a minute to straighten it again.” Kathryn jested and adjusted her expression, pulling an amused smile from her mother that she clearly tried to fight.

“You need a good tutor to be a fine lady, Kathryn. Perhaps exposure to London would assist you. I think Lady Georgiana could be of great help to you, and your father is convinced that traveling to London will do you good too. Once he gets an idea in his head, it is hard to argue with him after all.” She rolled her eyes. “Now, what do you say? It is not for so long but could help you very much.”

Kathryn wasn’t sure what to feel. Her mother’s disappointment had been palpable for so long that she wished to be better for Clara’s sake, but she was also saddened by the idea of parting from the home she loved so much.

Yet it would make my mother happy, and it is not for so long.

“If you wish it, Mother. Yes, I shall go.”

Chapter 3

Nigel

“Doctor Beille! At last, I have been waiting on your visit.” Lady Georgiana Bingley’s high-pitched tones rang around the house.

Nigel walked in through the corridor, nodding at the butler in thanks for showing him in. He passed through the corridor and followed the high voice, into the vast garden room at the back of the house. The great windows looking out onto the garden revealed bright sunlight and a formal lawn that had been made beautiful, with great swathes of cottage flowers, with purple and pink lupins, and white roses. Nigel’s eyes darted over those flowers as he searched the room, looking for his patient.

Lady Georgiana Bingley sat in a vast wicker chair in one corner of the room. In her hand was her usual lady’s magazine that Nigel knew was published by her daughter-in-law, the Countess of Bingley. He’d spent many a visit checking on Lady Georgiana to be inundated with information about the Countess of Bingley and her impressive magazine, though in truth, Nigel paid little attention. He had other concerns to concern himself with.

“Lady Georgiana.” He bowed in greeting to her and moved to her side. “Now, how do you far today since our last visit?”

“I am perfectly well,” she insisted, though she fiddled with the pearls at her neck in her way that let him know not everything was as well as she suggested. Tall and slim in nature, he’d often worried she carried too little weight in her older age. Her hair was turning white these days, and was pulled sharply back across her sloping forehead, ridiculously neatly. That white color contrasted the sharp green eyes all the more.

He'd heard some people call her eyes cold, though he had judged them to be warm enough, just like her countenance, once he had gotten to know Lady Georgiana. She was a formal and proper lady who on first meeting could seem rather intimidating.

“Shall we do a full check just to be sure?” he asked, placing down his leather medical bag on the table beside her.

“Well, if you insist it of me. I do declare I don’t know what all this fuss is about now. I am in peak physical form.” She held her arms open wide. “Yet my son insists on your visits.”

“The Earl worries for you, my Lady,” Nigel said nonchalantly as he pulled out a wicker stool to sit in front of her. “He is eager I come to see you regularly.”

“Yes, hardly surprising with your record.” She cocked her head to the side and examined him. “You have not lost a patient in years, Doctor Beille. That is indeed a record in this part of London when you consider what strife and diseases are on the rise. Goodness, I have been reading about it just now.” She thrust a finger down at the magazine she had dropped into her lap. “The ladies are most panicked.”

“There is nothing to fear. I can keep you well, my Lady.” He winked at her, encouragingly, and she laughed. “Besides, all of us running wild in panic like headless chickens in London will help, will it not?” he said wryly.

Lady Georgiana tipped forward her chin and laughed, covering her mouth.

“You are sarcastic indeed, Doctor. Not everyone will like you for it, you know.”

“At least you put up with me.” He smiled and took her wrist, tapping out her heartbeat on his knee as he calculated the rhythm. She was cold to the touch, but she always was, and it was hardly unusual in women of her advanced age. Her circulation was not that of a much younger woman. “Any aches or pains to declare?”

“None. Well…” Lady Georgiana paused before she went on.

Nigel hurried to gather a notebook and pencil, ready to write down her complaints. It was always the way with Lady Georgiana. She would insist she was in perfect health, then with a little pushing would reveal what actually was wrong. He supposed it was down to her sense of propriety and being used to her station. She hated to be thought of as weak.

She is strong indeed. I have seen it many times.

He’d been with her once after a fall where she had broken her wrist. She had recovered faster than any other woman her age with such brittle bones.

“I keep getting this fluttering in my chest.” She made a wave at her hand and avoided looking him in the eye, clearly not wishing to speak of it so much.

“And do you get dizzy with this feeling?”

“Sometimes. Other times not. It can calm down very quickly, as if it is a butterfly’s wings beating in my chest. Other times, it can last for many minutes.”

He noted down her symptoms. He’d recognized many times when taking her heartbeat that there was the occasional bump that did not fit with the rest of the rhythm. Sadly, there was little he could do for such things other than keep her calm.

“Let me see what I can do.” He perused his notes, coming up with a tonic of laudanum and chamomile which should help to keep her calm if such events came on again. “Any other complaints?”

“None.” She declared happily once again but turned her eyes out to the garden. There was a distance in her eyes that Nigel had recognized the last few times he had been here.

As a doctor, he was trained to look after a person’s body, but it had not escaped his notice that there was something bothering Lady Georgiana’s mind as of late. Whenever he visited these days, he usually found her alone, staring into the garden or at one of her magazines.

Her son and his wife were very busy and had lives of their own with their children. Though she saw them regularly, it still left plenty of time for isolation.

“How often do you leave the house?” Nigel asked slowly, taking hold of her wrist and turning her hand back and forth as he checked over her old injury.

“Occasionally.” She shrugged, as if it was no great matter. “I like my home, and my garden, very much.” She nodded out at the beautiful flowers. “If I venture far, then I fear…” She trailed off and swallowed, refusing to look at him now.

He knew that look.

She is so conscious of propriety that she is worried about confessing anything to me.

“We all fear things, my Lady,” he said, softening his tone as he released her wrist, for it was healing perfectly fine. “What is it you fear?”

“I fear…” She cleared her throat before finding the courage to continue on. “I fear falling when I am out and about. I could not stand the thought of injuring myself again in public.” She waved her hand pointedly in emphasis. “Imagine what people would say?”

“You should not think of what people say,” Nigel deepened his voice. “You enjoy the outdoors, my Lady. It is good for your health, and I wish you would make the most of it.”

“Is this another of your recommendations, Doctor?” she asked with an amused smile. “Walk beyond my garden’s walls?”

“Well, it helps if you do as a doctor asks. What are we here for otherwise?” His wryness brought another smile to her lips.

“I do not know.” She shook her head, returning to her focus of the flowers beyond the windows. “I would feel nervous of going out alone.” Her eyes shifted to the empty chairs around him.

Nigel looked at each wicker seat in turn, a thought occurring to him. By Lady Georgiana fearing going out, she was forcing herself into isolation. With so few people coming to see her, loneliness was only growing worse.

Sometimes a doctor’s advice shouldn’t just be about the body, but the mind too.

“Have you ever thought about taking on a companion?”

“A companion? What a notion.” She laughed comically at the idea, resting her chin in her bony hand as the skin around her green eyes wrinkled. “Ladies who hire companions cannot make friends without paying for them.”

“The words came from your lips, not mine, my Lady.” He continued in the jest with her. “I know what you mean,” he said, his tone turning serious, “but it is not always the case. Sometimes one just needs companionship.”

Her brows raised across her cracked forehead.

“Do you take your own advice, Doctor?”

“I am sorry?”

“You are a successful doctor indeed, one of a position too,” she gestured to him, and Nigel sat back. The matter of his birth wasn’t something he discussed very openly, for it did not concern him. He preferred to be known as Doctor Beille and nothing more. “You are old enough to be married, are you not? Yet you have not taken a wife.”

“No, I have not.” Nigel’s stomach knotted tightly as he turned away and fussed with his medicine bag, intent on suddenly looking busy with his work.

“You stare at your medicine bag the way I do my flowers, Doctor.”

“As perceptive as you always are, my Lady.” Nigel returned his focus to her with a sigh. “Yet my personal affairs are not what we are here to discuss. I am here to help you.”

“And who helps you?” she asked, that amused smile still in place.

“I am not in need of help.” He assured her. “Now, let me listen to your heart one more time. Let me see if I can hear this fluttering.” He took her wrist and found her pulse, counting it out on his lap as he calculated the beats per minute.

She stayed silent the whole time, staring out at her flowers, with her smile quickly slipping from its place. More than once did Nigel lose count and have to start again as he was so distracted by his patient’s expression.

More than anything did he wish to help her, to see Lady Georgiana full of life and happiness again.

There must be something more I can do.

The door opened before anymore discussion could take place between them.

“My Lady?” The butler, Mr. Trevor Hart, walked in, carrying a letter on a small silver card tray. “A letter has just arrived for you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hart.” She took the letter and retrieved her wrist from Nigel, breaking the red wax seal as Nigel turned his focus down to his notes.

It seemed Lady Georgiana’s heartbeat was regular enough, and the number of beats was similar to his last visits, but he made some extra notes to keep an eye on her condition and check the latest research on the matter of the heart. It was still a somewhat confusing thing, and the last time he had read up on the heart, there was little more to be learned.

“Oh, goodness.” Lady Georgiana sat back, fiddling with her pearls once again as she read the letter.

“Is all well?” Nigel paused with his notes.

“It is from the daughter of one of my cousins, Lady Clara Aldington.” She smiled softly. “I have not heard from her in many years.” She turned the letter over, her eyes widening. “I suppose this is what some would call serendipitous.”

“How do you mean?” Nigel asked, lowering his pencil down to the notebook.

“She has asked if her daughter can come and stay here for a while. She fears the girl has a lot to learn to become a young lady and hopes that introduction to my society and that of London can teach her much.” Lady Georgiana smiled. “I have not seen the child for a few years, though I suppose she will no longer be a child but a young woman.”

“You would have company, my Lady, and perhaps it would satisfy your need not to pay for a more formal companion.” His humored smile made her laugh softly.

“Yes, I do not wish to be seen to pay for friends.” She chuckled and waved the letter in the air before folding it up neatly in her lap. “I could consider it I suppose. I would infinitely prefer to make some use of my time. There is only so long one can sit here and stare at the flowers after all.” She trailed off, doing exactly as she said and turning to look at the blooms.

In the silence that descended, Nigel wondered if she lost track of time a little, or even realized if he was still there as she was so engrossed in looking at those flowers.

Yes, this girl could be the way forward. She could keep Lady Georgiana company and draw her away from this room a little, give her something to occupy her thoughts.

“Well, I think it an excellent idea,” Nigel declared as he stood from his seat. Lady Georgiana turned to look at him, slightly wide eyed as if shaken from her thoughts. “If you do intend to follow a doctor’s recommendations, then I heartily suggest you accept your cousin’s offer.”

“Bold indeed, Doctor.” She smiled. “Though I suppose I must do as you say.”

“It’s nice to know I’m listened to a little by my patients,” he added with a wry tone and bowed to her. “Until next time, Lady Georgiana.”

“Thank you, Doctor. As always.” She smiled in parting and moved to stand, but he waved a hand, urging her not to exert herself so, though they both knew that in his position, many other men would expect her to bow.

As he took his leave of the house, Nigel paused on the driveway by his chestnut horse who snorted in greeting. He glanced back at the house that was tucked away from the main roads of London. Some might have styled it a cottage, with rose trellises up the walls and surrounded by flowers and fresh lawns, but it was far too large to be a cottage to Nigel’s mind. The Dowager Countess had a fine home she had retired to, and as Nigel gazed at it, it struck him there was just one problem with this place.

It is too quiet. Perhaps this companion will do some good for Lady Georgiana after all.

He turned to his horse and climbed up into the saddle before riding away.

Chapter 4

Nigel

“I’ll bring it over now, Doctor.”

“Thank you.” Nigel smiled and retreated to the corner of the inn where he so often took his meals. The sun had dropped in the night sky so far that it cast the thinnest of yellow lights through the small windows of the inn. Tallow candles filled the space, with one rushlight in the middle of the table where Nigel sat himself. Shaking off his tailcoat, for the summer’s eve was a hot one, he sat heavily down into a settle bench and waited for his food.

Tonight, the inn was busy, and his friend, the innkeeper, Bernard, was rushed off his feet. It took many minutes for him to deliver the pigeon pie to Nigel with the ale and apologized profusely for the wait.

“You don’t need to worry, Bernard. I can see you’re busy. How’s the back, by the way?” he asked, taking the ale and gesturing with the cup to the large man beside him.

Bernard was a man who always ate the scraps off his diners’ plates to save money elsewhere. The result was a large belly and with his active job taking care of the inn, the extra weight and the labor had led to a bad back indeed.

“Oh, poor. Poor indeed.” He shook his head, making his jowls tremble.

“Have you tried the tonic I gave you?” Nigel asked, sitting forward and resting his elbows on the edge of the table.

Bernard glanced over his shoulder in the direction of his wife, Sarah, who stood at the bar serving other customers.

“She says I’m not to drink too much. We can’t afford much more of it.”

“Bernard, please, just take it.” Nigel pleaded with him. He’d seen for himself when examining Bernard that he was in excessive pain. “I can always look at lowering the price of the tonic if it’s needed.”

“You would do that?” Bernard’s eyes widened.

“Yes, of course. But remember our deal.” Nigel gestured to his rounded stomach. “Lose a little of that weight as well. It may keep your warm, but it’s what is making your back so bad.”

“I remember, Doctor. Thank you. Thank you so much.” He hurried back off to the bar with a fresh spring in his step.

Nigel smiled as he watched him walk away. His customers were both poor and wealthy, he didn’t discriminate or choose between them, and as he never did this occupation for the money, he did not mind what he was paid for his services.

As long as I help people, that is what matters most.

Nigel turned his attention to his food and pulled out a book he’d managed to purchase after leaving Lady Georgiana’s house, discussing problems of the heart and its rhythms. As he ate, he finished the ale quickly and saw out of the corner of his eye a slender hand that took the empty cup.

“Would you like another, sir?” a woman’s gentle voice asked.

Nigel looked up, so shocked at the fair face before him that he was tongue-tied for a minute or too. She had great blue eyes and rich brown hair. Her cheap gown showed she was a girl who worked at the bar, and when she caught him looking, she smiled all the more.

“Erm, yes. Thank you.” He nodded at her, offering up a few more coins.

She hurried away and returned a few minutes later with a fresh ale that she placed down in front of him. When she didn’t go away at once, Nigel was distracted, staring at her once again.

Well, I can’t deny everything, can I? I’m still a man.

As much as he divided himself from women these days, a beautiful face was still captivating.

“Would you like some company, sir?” She gestured to the empty settle bench opposite him and offered another one of those sweet smiles.

For a second, Nigel didn’t say anything. A brief imagination flashed in his mind of accepting her offer and sitting down with her, talking for a short while. It would be an indulgence indeed, to allow himself to smile and talk with a young woman as fair as her.

I must remember my resolution.

“Not tonight. Thank you.” He looked away from her down at his book, pretending to be keenly interested in what he was reading.

“Very well. Night, sir.” She retreated from the table and moved back toward the bar.

When he was certain she had turned away, Nigel lifted his head enough for his eyes to follow her. He admired her another time, taking in the hair, the curve of her neck and the way she walked. It did something to him, stirred something deep within his gut, an intense longing. Yet she was gone so fast behind the bar that it dampened the feeling fast.

Returning his focus to his food and his book, he tried his best not to think about her again. He thought of the heart and the way it pumped blood around the body, how many ventricles there were and the latest theories on what stimulated the heart to pump at all. He read of some evasive ideas, of one man who though it was a person’s spirit itself that kept the heart beating. There was another who proposed it was some sort of signal, like the connection of nerves. Lastly, there was some mad theory of it being heat in the body.

All rubbish, I am certain.

Distracted at the end of the evening when the beautiful woman came to collect his empty cup and plate once more, he could not sit still anymore. He left the inn, much sooner than he normally would have done, waving to Bernard in parting as he stepped outside.

It is for the best.

* * *

As darkness swept in, Nigel climbed the last of the stairs up to his attic rooms. The corridor was small and poky, he even bumped his shoulders repeatedly against the walls as he struggled in the darkness, fumbling in his pockets to search for a key.

It didn’t seem to matter how cramped the conditions were, Nigel had no intention of purchasing anything larger.

This will do for a doctor like me. Why would I need anything vaster than this?

He eventually managed to put the key in the lock and turn the door, stepping inside. Dropping his medicine bag and his book to the nearest table, he reached for the mantelpiece and hunted for a tinder box, lighting a small rushlight.

The feeble flame cast a small amount of light across the room, so he raised it higher, allowing it to fall on as many things as possible. The buttery light revealed the stacks of books, some falling off shelves for there were so many. The table that should have been a dining table was set up more like a desk, with so many doctor’s notes and books that the oak surface was barely discernible at all.

Pushing some of the books to the side, Nigel retrieved the notebook where he had made notes for Lady Georgiana that day and laid it flat with the others. Amongst the papers on the table were the periodicals that Lady Georgiana had given him, written by her daughter-in-law and some of the other successful society ladies the Dowager Countess liked to talk so much about.

Nigel dropped one of his books on top of the periodicals. He’d accepted them when Lady Georgiana offered one day, but he’d taken no further interest in them as he spent too much of his time reading and researching his own business affairs. There were new books on anatomy that he had yet to add to his collection, and he knew that Lady Georgiana had recently acquired a set of books on the studies of an Italian doctor that he was most keen to read.

Finding his eyes sore after reading so long that day, he rubbed them, trying to soothe some of that feeling and stepped back from the table, turning to look at the rest of the room.

On the far side was a small armchair beside a fire, and another stack of shelves bearing books beside it. Discretely hidden by the shelves was a door that led to his bedchamber and garderobe. He stepped through this door, taking the rushlight with him, intent on finding some peace.

After undressing, he laid down on the bed in nothing but a loose pair of breeches. It was too hot to think of wearing a nightshirt or pulling the covers over his body. He laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling with the rushlight beside him. Frequently, he considered blowing the flame out and casting the room into darkness, but every time he closed his eyes, he found sleep was a great distance away.

His mind was too active. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the beautiful face of the woman from the inn and wondered what could have happened if he had invited her to sit down with him. They were a distance apart in positions, but that was far from what was on his mind. He imagined other things instead, indulgences of her being in the same bed, of stolen touches, things that would excite and make his body shudder.

“No.” He spoke aloud as his eyes opened.

He’d promised long ago that such things were no longer for him. He’d closed down his life to the idea of a partnership with anyone.

As he sat up in the bed, with Lady Georgiana’s words from their meeting that day coming back to him.

“Do you take your own advice, Doctor?... You are old enough to be married, are you not? Yet you have not taken a wife.”

Nigel pushed the words away angrily and stepped off the bed, abandoning the idea of sleep altogether. He told himself it was the heat that made it too difficult. How could he possibly sleep when the air was too hot?

Standing, he took the rushlight and moved back to the main room of his apartments. He thrust open the window, trying to let in a little of the cool night’s breeze, then he sat down in the chair by the window and reached for one of his many books. Turning the pages to his bookmark, he absorbed himself in the world of his teachings, trying to focus on them as much as possible.

He was there for so long that the rushlight burnt out completely, just as his eyes slipped shut. He drifted into a restless sleep where he saw many things.

He saw Lady Georgiana, staring at the flowers as she held a hand to her chest. She was in pain, or frightened, he could not tell, but when he spoke to her, she would not say what scared her so much. She merely continued to stare at the flowers.

He followed her gaze, looking out to the garden where he saw someone wandering between those flowers. He couldn’t see the figure clearly, but he could tell it was a woman from the silhouette that revealed a gown. She wandered through the garden with ease, trailing her fingers across the blooms.

Then abruptly, the image in his mind changed.

Nigel was no longer in the sunny garden room of Lady Georgiana’s house. He stood in the cold doorway of another room, where the air felt like ice and there was dew on the tip of his nose. He stepped into the room, bending down beneath the low timber beams, his eyes set on the bed.

Nigel woke up. He dropped the book off his lap as his head turned around, frantically in the darkness. He breathed heavily as the heat struck him and he remembered he was not in the cold room anymore.

It was a dream, a memory. That is all.

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