“Good evening, Miss Barchester,” he greeted her in his deep, mellifluous voice.
“Good evening, Dr. Darke.” While she’d been convalescing in bed, he had briefly introduced himself to her, but this was the first time she’d met him on her own. As his gaze flickered over her garb, she diffidently tweaked at the skirts. “I hope I cause no offence, sir. This was the only dress Mrs. Tibbet provided for me.”
A flash of pain passed through his eyes so quickly she thought she’d imagined it. Inclining his head, he said graciously, “Not at all. I’m glad to see that frock being worn again. You look most charming.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated before adding, “May I ask when the younger Dr. Darke is due back?”
“Not for a while, I’m afraid, according to the message he left me.”
So it came about that she sat down to dinner alone with Elijah Darke. He was most impressed by the meal she’d persuaded Mrs. Tibbet to prepare and told her so. He talked about the new hospital he was helping set up, and about his son who had recently joined his practice. Julian, he informed Nellie, was a great help to him, especially now, when the hospital consumed most of his time, and the years were catching up with him.
“But my son is a very different physician from me,” he said as they ate lemon syllabub. “Julian is full of unique ingenuity, for he’s not just a doctor but a gifted engineer too. He views the human body as a superb piece of machinery and comes up with the most amazing ideas. Take, for example, his inventions for replacing lost limbs. Most clever and innovative. I’m very proud of him, though I don’t often tell him that.”
Nellie felt herself grow warm as Elijah’s praise for his son only intensified her shame. When would Julian return so she could apologise to him?
“Well, it’s good to see you back on your feet, Miss Barchester,” Elijah declared when they had finished their meal.
“I feel much better.” She hesitated as she perceived a hidden question to his seemingly ordinary observation. “I want to thank you and your son for your kind hospitality. I’m very grateful to you both, and—and you can rest assured I will not overstay my welcome.” But where would she go from here? For a moment complete panic blanked out her mind. She was penniless and friendless and had nowhere to go. Even the clothes on her back were not her own.
Elijah Darke waved his hand. “Oh, you’ll not be leaving so soon, I hope. Not when you’ve shown such promise with Mrs. Tibbet. I haven’t enjoyed such a satisfying dinner in a long time. And besides, you are still recuperating from your nasty assault.”
“I am much obliged, but I’m not sure I should trespass on your hospitality indefinitely.”
“Come, now. You would be doing me and Julian a great favour if you could persuade Mrs. Tibbet to cook appropriate meals. A great favour. You’ve no idea how much I detest porridge for dinner.”
Nellie couldn’t help smiling at that and assented, even though she suspected this was only Elijah’s way of allowing her to stay without feeling she was a burden.
As they rose from the dinner table, there was a knock at the front door, and the thought that Julian had returned caused her heart to start hammering. But when Elijah opened the door, it was not Julian but a stranger who strolled into the hallway.
“Heigh ho, Doctor. Do you have a dram of whiskey for a thirsty rascal?” The man greeted Elijah in a jovial manner. Spying Nellie further down the hallway, he doffed his hat and sketched her an extravagant bow. “Why, good evening, miss.”
As Elijah made the introductions, the stranger stepped forward, his eyes fixed on her, but just a few feet away he stopped abruptly, his smile freezing. A hot flush swamped Nellie’s body. The blood surged into her cheeks and thudded in her ears, drowning out Elijah’s voice. The stranger continued to stare. All she could think was how ugly she must appear to him, and how vain of her to care about a stranger’s opinion. It ought not to matter what he thought of her, but somehow it did. As her damp hands clutched at her skirts, the stumps of her missing fingers itched madly, reminding her of their absence, and the scars on her cheeks tingled too. Elijah was saying something, but she couldn’t hear for the rushing noise in her ears. Unable to withstand the pressure, she mumbled something incoherent, before turning away to hasten up the staircase.
Julian arrived back at Monksbane with his growling stomach reminding him he hadn’t eaten all day. He saw to his horse, then foraged for bread and cheese in the kitchen. His father, as usual, was still up and would stay up reading past midnight. Julian sat with him but was disinclined to tell his father how he’d spent the majority of his afternoon. Elijah seemed preoccupied with more pressing matters.
“I heard from Lord Penton that he’s selling Lime Hill to an investment company who wish to divide it into building lots,” Elijah said.
Lime Hill was just to the south of Monksbane, separated by a few fields and a small wood. Their neighbour, Lord Penton, had lost a fortune through injudicious investments, so the sale of Lime Hill was no great surprise, but the thought of suburban streets and houses springing up so close by depressed Julian. “I suppose it’s selfish to begrudge people space for decent housing,” he said. “But I hate the thought of having the city right on our doorstep.”
“It is inevitable.” Leaning back, Elijah contemplated the volumes of books lining his library. “Soon, the metropolis will have us in its sights, and it will be our turn to feed its insatiable appetite.”
“We’ll never sell our land!”
A brief smile flickered across Elijah’s weary face. “Never?” Julian opened his mouth to argue, but his father waved him away. “It’s too late in the night to debate the matter. Go to bed, son.”
So Julian bid his father good night, lit a candle and made his way upstairs. He had almost reached his bedroom door when he heard a creak behind him and turned to find Nellie peeking at him from her room. Nonplussed, he stopped, not anticipating their meeting so soon. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been furious with him, but now her expression was far from angry.
“Miss Barchester?” he said stiffly, wary of the wrath that had previously come whirling out of her without warning.
She left her room and stood in front of him, her hands clasped in front of her, her expression clouded and uncertain. “Dr. Darke, I must offer you an abject apology,” she said in a hesitant voice. “Earlier today I accused you of the vilest ambitions, but I realise now you were only trying to help me. I’m truly sorry.”
At her humble words, his coolness instantly melted. “I’m sorry too,” he said, striding forward. “I should have explained myself first, not thrust that thing in front of you so impetuously.”
She nodded and blinked, relief spreading across her face. “I would like very much to see your artificial fingers. Right now, if you’re not too tired.”
He had been tired, but not anymore. “It would be my pleasure,” he replied warmly.
Pulling her shawl around her shoulders, she fell into step beside him as he held the candle aloft to light their way down the staircase. As they stepped out into the freezing night air, he said to her, “I heard from my father about Mr. Derringer startling you earlier tonight. I must apologise for him. Gareth is an old family friend but a bit of a scallywag, and sometimes he forgets his manners. He didn’t mean to distress you.”
She pressed her lips together. “No, I should be the one to grow a thicker skin. People will stare at me, and I need to become accustomed to that.”
Her grimness took him by surprise. It seemed ludicrous that she should be so ashamed of her appearance. To him the scars on her face were not hideous defects but symbols of her grace and strength of character. Hers was not a soft, soothing beauty but one tempered by adversity. Her body, scarred though it was, was infinitely lovely, and the way her diaphanous gown flowed over her curves only served to highlight her attractions.