A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(28)

Her grip tightened on a small black valise. “As for me, I do not suffer ignorance. I came here to attend Miss Grayson. I assure you, I have the training and experience to provide her with excellent care, despite the efforts of some”—she shot a look at Toby—“to limit me, simply because of physical characteristics given me at birth.” Her eyes flashed as she turned to Joss.

“One would think you’d have some sympathy.”

Well.

Joss inhaled slowly, considering. This Miss Osborne was either an impolitic fool or an example of cleverness. A physician, did she call herself? In a minute’s time, she’d managed sharp pokes to both of his raw, open wounds—his lingering grief over Mara’s death, and his frustration with the restrictions that accompanied his mixed parentage and illegitimacy. For a purported healer, she was a real pain.

Now she had the temerity to suggest he should reward her acid nature, endorse her abilities just because they shared this tenuous link of skirting social convention. As if it made them allies. He could not deny her access to Bel, Miss Osborne’s gaze insisted, without impugning his own intelligence.

His alternative, of course, would be to deny her skills as a physician and turn her away—

thereby siding with Toby. Joss suppressed a growl of annoyance. It was a devil’s bargain, either way.

Miss Osborne knew it, too. As they stared one another down, her thin eyebrows arched with anticipation. Oh, she was clever. The woman was no fool.

“Very well.” Joss made a dismissive bow. “Mrs. Prewitt will show you to my sister’s chambers.” Damned if he’d do it himself.

“Thank you.” Lucy smiled, in an obvious effort to dispel the tension. Watching Miss Osborne ascend the stairs, she whispered, “Please don’t mind Hetta. She rather delights in being shocking.”

“I understand, Lady Kendall.” As Lucy followed her friend above-stairs, Joss turned back to his study. Miss Osborne did not know her good fortune, to be able to choose the occasions on which she gave offense. People found Joss shocking as a matter of course, whether he delighted in it or not.

Toby’s smooth voice stopped him halfway down the corridor. “I can’t believe you’re permitting this.”

Joss sighed. Would the man never leave?

Toby continued, “And here I thought you were the intelligent brother.”

“And here I thought you were smooth with ladies. You didn’t display any of that reputed charm with Miss Osborne. After the way you insulted her, I could scarcely turn her away. Poorly done, Aldridge.”

“Oh, leave off.” Toby lowered his voice as he closed the distance between them. “If a dead wife entitles you to become a full-time prick, I should think an invalid betrothed earns me a moment of incivility. If Isabel’s condition fails to improve—or God forbid, worsens—I will send for my doctor immediately, and you will have hell to pay.”

Joss stared at him. He’d never heard that tone from the man before. What a day this was. Mangled contracts, tipped inkwells, female doctors … and now this insufferable ass began to demand his respect. Worse, Joss felt compelled to give it. “Agreed.”

“Good. Now agree to let me see her.”

“I would let you see her. If—” Toby was three risers up the stairs before that “if” halted him mid-step. “If she wished it. But she doesn’t.”

“What do you mean, she doesn’t? I’m going to be her husband in three weeks.”

“She’s not your wife yet. For now, she’s just my sister. And my sister doesn’t want to see you.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“There you are. At last.”

Bel looked up from her reading. Toby stood at the entrance to her private sitting room, holding a parcel under one arm and stealing the thoughts straight from her mind. There he was. At last.

She wished she could stand to greet him, but her head was spinning. Throughout her illness, she’d suffered bouts of dizziness. Spying his dashing figure in the doorway only made matters worse. Perhaps she shouldn’t have agreed to see him so soon, but she’d been putting him off for more than a week now.

She laid aside the newspaper, forcing her lips into a tight smile. Oh, how she longed for him to turn away, so she might pinch a blush to her cheeks. Maybe she could manage the appearance of better health, if not the corresponding strength.

But she could tell, Toby was having none of it. “How pale you are,” he said, placing his parcel on the table and sinking onto the divan next to her. He made an impetuous motion as though he would embrace her, then seemed to think better of it. Bel didn’t know whether to be grateful or disappointed.

He asked, “Do you know how sick I’ve been with worry? I’ve come by the house every day, you know. Why wouldn’t you allow me to see you?”

Warm brown eyes scanned her appearance. Bel felt his gaze catching on the dark circles beneath her eyes, the sallow tone of her cheeks, the dull texture of her hair. She must be hideous, and of course he looked as suave and handsome as ever.

“How could I have allowed you? It isn’t proper.” She fidgeted with the handkerchief in her lap, picking at the tatted edge. It wasn’t quite a lie; just an incomplete truth. She couldn’t very well tell him honestly, I couldn’t let you see me until I felt completely assured of my sanity. She’d spent days floating in and out of feverish dreams, terrified that, like her mother, she would never fully return from them. Even once the fever left her, she’d lain awake in bed all night, scouring the darkest corners of her mind for any flitting moths of madness.