First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4)(18)

“I would be happy to take a look at it after dinner.”

“He’ll be asleep, I’m sure. Violet insists upon an early bedtime.”

“Tomorrow, then.” It was good to talk about medicine, to remind himself that there existed an area of his life where people looked up to him. Where he could say something and have it assumed that he knew what he was talking about.

In Edinburgh he was his own man.

He was still learning, of course. Nicholas was not so conceited to think that the breadth of his knowledge exceeded that which was left to learn. He doubted he’d ever know more than what was left to learn. It was part of why he so enjoyed the pursuit.

He looked past Georgie toward the head of the table. Violet was chatting with Billie, but Edmund’s attention was not hard to catch. “How is Anthony’s—”

He looked to Georgie.

“Hand,” she supplied.

“Hand,” Nicholas repeated. “Georgie said he needed stitches?”

“All healed,” Edmund said with a grin. “Or at least I assume so. He tried to take a punch at Benedict yesterday and it didn’t seem to bother him to make a fist.”

“Nor when you grabbed said fist to put a halt to the altercation,” Violet said with the sort of smile exclusive to mothers of boys.

“I’ll give it a look tomorrow if you like,” Nicholas said. “There can be less obvious signs of infection.”

“I’m fairly certain he’s healthier than a horse,” Edmund said, “but by all means.”

“It’s so lovely to have a doctor in the family,” Violet said to no one in particular. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“It would have been helpful back when Billie was small,” Lady Bridgerton said. “She broke both her arms, you know.”

“Not at the same time,” Billie said, with just enough amused boredom to remind everyone that this was not a new exchange.

“Have you set any bones?” Georgie asked him.

“A few times,” Nicholas said. “We are all required to learn. But it’s not like reading philosophy where one can open a book and study. We can’t go about breaking bones just so we can learn to set them.”

“That would be splendidly gruesome,” Georgie murmured. Her eyes narrowed, and Nicholas allowed himself a moment just to watch her think. He’d long suspected she had a devious streak.

“What?” she said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re looking at me.”

“You’re sitting next to me. Where else am I to look?”

“Yes, but you were—” Her lips pressed together. “Never mind.”

He felt himself smile, but waited until after the footmen had removed the soup bowls before saying, “You were trying to figure out how to break a bone, weren’t you?”

Georgie’s eyes lit with surprise. “How did you—”

“Oh, please, it was obvious.”

“What are the two of you talking about?” Nicholas’s mother trilled.

He gave her a look. He knew that tone. He’d heard it employed with his older siblings. And Georgie’s older siblings.

His mother was playing matchmaker, but she was also trying to avoid the appearance of playing matchmaker. Trying, but failing, because she was too curious to hold her tongue when she thought she saw something happening. Because what if she could intervene and make things better?

He knew his mother. He knew his mother well.

“We’re talking about how to break bones,” Georgie said plainly.

Nicholas didn’t bother to hide his grin.

“Oh.” His mother looked disappointed. And perhaps a bit queasy.

“I recommend falling from a tree,” Billie said. “Twice if you can manage it.”

“But not at the same time,” her mother said.

Billie turned to her with some exasperation. “How would one fall from two trees at the same time?”

“If it can be done, I have every confidence that you will be the one to figure out how.”

“Such faith in your eldest daughter,” Billie said in a dry voice. “It is positively uplifting.”

Conversation slowed when the next course was served—rack of lamb with mint jelly, herbed potatoes and French beans with butter, and duck terrine with courgettes.

Georgie turned to Nicholas with a look of pure camaraderie. “Toasted cheese and rack of lamb. We are outdoing ourselves tonight.”

Nicholas nearly groaned with pleasure at the first bite. “I can’t remember the last time I had such a good meal.”

“Is Scottish food so very dreadful?”

“The Scottish food in my rooming house is.”

“Oh,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Did you think I traveled with a chef?”

“No, of course not. I thought—well, to be honest, I don’t think I did think about it.”

He shrugged. He would have been surprised if she had.

She cut her meat slowly, then used her knife to add a bit of jelly. But she had a faraway look in her eyes and did not bring the food to her mouth. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” she said.

His own fork paused about two inches above his plate. “My gustatorial deprivations?”