First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4)(91)
“I love you, you know.”
She smiled gently. “I love you too.”
“I’m going to tell you every day.”
“I will be glad to hear it.”
He frowned. Just a little. That was not quite the response he’d been hoping for. “And … ?”
She brought one of his hands to her mouth and kissed it. “And I will tell you every day as well.”
“Much better.”
“To think,” she said, with what he could only describe as a mystified shake of her head, “you were right there under my nose, all these years.” She looked up, her eyes suddenly wry. “Do I have to thank Freddie Oakes? Please say I don’t.”
“Freddie Oakes?” Nicholas echoed.
“He did bring us together.”
Nicholas rolled his eyes. “We would have found our way. It just would have taken a little longer.”
She let out a long breath, slow and sustained, and Nicholas was pleased to hear only the slightest remnants of a wheeze. “People are watching,” she whispered.
He looked over at the building. The front door was open, and several of his classmates stood on the front steps.
“I’m fine!” Georgie called out. She waved, but then the exertion led to a little cough.
“Stop that,” Nicholas scolded.
“They’re worried. It’s sweet.”
“It’s not sweet, it’s intrusive.”
“Can you blame them?”
Nicholas supposed not. She had collapsed in front of a group of medical students. There was no way they were not going to be curious.
“Why are you here?” he suddenly thought to ask.
“Mr. McDiarmid has more papers. I wanted to tell you, and then I thought we could ride back to Scotsby together.”
“Forget the papers,” he said. “Let’s go home now.”
“No! The sooner you sign, the sooner we can move into the new house.”
“The house can wa—”
“The sooner we can be together,” she cut in firmly.
He tapped one finger against her hand. “You do have a point there. But then it’s straight to Scotsby. And you are remaining in the carriage while I deal with Mr. McDiarmid. I want you to rest.”
“Yes, sir,” she said with an uncharacteristically meek smile.
“And then when we’re home it’s more rest,” he ordered.
She placed her hand on her heart. “I promise.”
“Nothing too exerting.”
Her brows rose. “Nothing?”
He groaned. He’d been looking forward to many exertions.
“I see Jameson across the street,” Nicholas said. “I’ll have him arrange to have the carriage meet us at Mr. McDiarmid’s office. Do you think you can walk there?” They’d done the same walk just two days earlier; it was not far.
She nodded. “I think it will help, actually, as long as we go slowly.”
Nicholas dashed off to give Jameson instructions, then returned to Georgie’s side. Together, they walked through Old Town.
“Nicholas,” she said.
He turned.
“I love you.”
He smiled. “I love you too.”
They took a few more steps, and then, with a little tilt of her head, she said, “I just wanted to say it first.”
“Competitive, are we?”
“No,” she said, a small pulse of amusement in her voice, “I just wanted to say it without saying, ‘I love you too.’”
“Oh. Well, in that case, I love you, and I love you too.”
“Who’s competitive now?”
“Not me, surely.”
“Well, then, I love you thrice.”
“Does that even make sense?” he asked.
“I think it does, actually.” She let her head rest on his shoulder. Just for a moment; they could not walk more than a step or two in such a position. “Everything about you makes sense,” she said.
“That’s hardly true.”
“Everything about us makes sense.”
She was on to something with that.
“Georgie?” he said.
She looked at him.
“I love you.”
She grinned. “And I love you.”
“Too?”
“Always.”
He smiled. That would work.
Epilogue
A few years later
“Shouldn’t the doctor be doing this?”
Georgie smiled and assured Mr. Bailey that she knew what she was doing. “Dr. Rokesby often asks me to stitch wounds,” she said.
But Mr. Bailey was not appeased. He yanked his arm off the table, nearly causing her to reopen the small section of wound she’d successfully closed.
“I want the doctor,” he said.
Georgie took a breath and once again plastered a smile on her face. She understood why patients wanted Nicholas. He was the esteemed Dr. Rokesby, and she—despite all the knowledge she’d acquired these past few years—was, and always would be, Mrs. Rokesby.
She liked being Mrs. Rokesby. She liked it a lot. But it would have been handy at a time like this to be able to spear Mr. Bailey with a withering stare and say, “I, too, am a physician.”