Lady of Milkweed Manor (25 page)

“I do not see why he’s here,” Beatrice Lamb was saying, her lip curled. “A bone and blood man at a ball-it’s revolting. What were our hosts thinking?”

“The man is not a surgeon, Beatrice,” the friend consoled, “he’s a physician, or plans to be.”

“Still, it turns one’s thoughts in a most gloomy direction, seeing him.”

“He’s treated their little nephew, I believe, to most satisfactory results.”

“Well, send him home with an extra guinea, then, but don’t dress him in tails and expect me to dance with him. Just imagine what those hands have touched.”

The two girls passed out of earshot, and Daniel stepped forward, embarrassed and contemplating the quickest route to claim his coat and make his exit when a more pleasing voice called to him.

“Mr. Taylor. I am surprised to see you here.”

He turned and saw the welcome face of Charlotte Lamb. “Yes. I am not often invited to such as this.”

“And why not, I wonder?”

“It seems people do not like reminders of illness and death and I’m afraid that’s what people think of when they see me. Do you?”

“Well, I don’t know. I-“

“Forgive me, Miss Lamb. I had no intention of raining on your pleasure this evening.”

“Now I see why many a wise hostess has left you off her guest list.” She smiled at him, clearly teasing, hoping to put him at ease.

“If you wonder if seeing you brings my mother to mind,” she continued, “I suppose it does. But you needn’t worry that you have ruined my evening. My mother is never very far from my thoughts.”

“You miss her a great deal, do you, Miss Lamb?”

“I do. But it is not a morbid missing, I hope. I think of her often and strive to remember her. I plan to tell my children all about her someday.”

“I have little memory of my own mother-she died when I was quite young.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Taylor. Why have you never told me this before?”

He shrugged.

“And worse, why have I never asked?”

“Do not make yourself uneasy. You have had your own worries.

“You must think me a terribly self-interested person.”

“Caring for your mother is not selfish, Miss Lamb. Or if it is, it is the best kind of selfishness, I think.”

“You know, my mother was the least selfish person I think I’ve ever known. She would do anything for anybody, especially her children. I should like to be a mother like that someday.”

“I am certain you shall be, Miss Lamb.”

The music started, and after a glance at the musicians, Mr. Taylor looked back at Charlotte, clearly unsure of himself.

“I am a terrible dancer, Miss Lamb, but if you would care to…?”

“I would, Mr. Taylor. Very much. It’s only that … I’m afraid I have promised the first two dances to another gentleman.”

At that moment, emerging from a sea of feathered hats and swishing gowns, young William Bentley appeared, looking dapper in a fine tailcoat, striped waistcoat, and extravagant cravat that had no doubt cost ten times what his own had. At least Daniel had the pleasure of looking down at the boy, whose height barely surpassed Charlotte’s.

“There you are, Miss Lamb,” Bentley said with a bow. “I’ve come to claim you.”

“Mr. Taylor,” Charlotte said, turning to him, “may I present Mr. William Bentley, Mr. Harris’s nephew. Mr. Bentley, this is Mr. Daniel Taylor, physician’s apprentice and long-time family friend.”

“Physician, eh? And you have known Miss Lamb for some time?”

“A few years now, yes.”

“So you are uniquely qualified to give me your professional opinion about her.”

“How so?”

“Is it just me, or is she not absolutely perfect?”

“Mr. Bentley, please,” Charlotte protested. “I am not perfect, as Mr. Taylor knows very well.”

“Do you, man? Has she some hidden flaw, some malady I’ve yet to discover?”

“Mr. Bentley, you are speaking utter foolishness. Come, the other couples are starting.”

“Very well. Excuse us, Taylor.”

While Charlotte danced with William Bentley, Daniel went to retrieve his coat, then sought out the host and hostess to say his thank-yous and farewells. He felt the coward, running off with his coat tails between his legs, but he had used up his courage for one evening. He was just making for the door when the music paused. He glanced over and saw Bentley escort Charlotte from the dance floor and bow, excusing himself to claim his next partner. He noticed Charlotte’s head swivel as she looked about the room. She must have seen him and guessed his route of departure, for she crossed the room at a diagonal and met him at the foot of the stairs.

“Mr. Taylor, you are not leaving, I hope?”

“I am afraid so.” He lifted slightly the coat over his arm.

“Oh dear. I was hoping to see if you are as terrible a dancer as you claim.”

He laughed. “I can assure you on that point, madam.”

She looked at him steadily. “I would rather judge that for myself.”

At the time he was unaware that her words had been rather forward, nearly a breach of etiquette. But clearly she was aware, for her face turned a pretty shade of pink. “Though I realize it is bad form, begging a partner this way.”

He laid his coat and hat on a nearby chair and offered his arm. “Very well. But you have been forewarned.”

Daniel soon proved that his assessment of his dancing skill was honest indeed. He was painfully aware that his steps were ungainly, his form inelegant. He did not pretend to enjoy the sneers from the other couples he inadvertently jostled, nor the dance movements themselves. What he did enjoy, however, was being with Charlotte Lamb, holding her lightly in his arms and gazing into her lovely face. When she smiled up at him, he felt as though he was not such a poor dancer after all.

When the music ended, Daniel escorted Charlotte from the dance floor. “You know,” he said, “when you said you had promised your dance to another gentleman, I immediately assumed you meant Mr. Harris.”

“Did you? I wonder why. Mr. Harris rarely dances, and when he does, it is only with the finest, most handsome lady in the room.

“Charlotte, there you are.” Charles Harris appeared, looking elegant and confident in black-and-white evening attire. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

Charlotte swallowed, clearly stunned.

Smiling at her hesitancy, Mr. Harris slanted a glance at him and said, “Unless you are otherwise engaged?”

“Mr. Taylor and I have just been dancing.”

“Taylor, is it? Oh, yes, Webb’s apprentice. How do you do.”

Daniel opened his mouth to reply, but Harris had already returned his attention to Charlotte. “Come, Charlotte, we have not danced since you were a girl.”

“I was just telling Mr. Taylor that you dance but rarely.”

“Not so rarely.” He held out his hand to her, and she looked at the hand, the slight bow, the wry grin. She placed her white-gloved hand in his.

“If you will excuse us,” Harris said to him.

Charlotte looked back at Daniel, lips parted, clearly wanting to say something to him, even as she was being drawn away by the charming Charles Harris.

“Mr. Harris rarely dances, and when he does, it’s only with the finest, most handsome lady in the room,” Charlotte had said.

Well, his record is unchanged, Daniel thought, wondering at the leaden disappointment in his stomach. What had he expected, for her to refuse Harris? And why should she?

A week after that long ago ball at Sharsted Court, Daniel had walked briskly from the study and presence of the Reverend Mr. Gareth Lamb, hat in hand, disappointment in his chest.

He had made it out the vicarage door, past the garden, and onto the road toward the village when he heard rapid footfalls behind him. He knew who it was, of course. He had hoped to take his leave without this encounter. He did not wish to share his humiliation with anyone. Nor could he forget the triumph on the vicar’s face as he assured him that his daughter shared his views. Daniel took a deep breath before turning around.

She looked more like the girl-Charlotte again, rather than the poised young woman he’d danced with last week. Cheeks flushed, eyes wide, hair loose from her run, falling around her face, more concerned for the feelings of others than proper appearances. The girl he’d fallen in love with in the first place.

“You’re leaving?” she asked between breaths. “For keeps, I mean?”

“Yes.”

“Without saying good-bye?”

“I thought it best, under the circumstances.”

“Oh … I suppose I should apologize for spoiling your dignified parting by chasing after you in a most undignified manner.”

He smiled at this in spite of himself. “Your father would not approve.

She looked at him meaningfully, her earnest eyes sad. “No, he would not.”

He looked away from her, toward Doddington, grasping his hands behind his back. He felt her gaze on his profile.

After an awkward moment, she asked, “Are you sure you must go?”

“Charlotte, I am sure of very little. Except that I need to improve myself. I am determined to complete my studies at the University of Edinburgh and become a licensed physician.”

“But Oxford or Cambridge would be so much closer.”

“I am afraid I haven’t the status nor means for either of those institutions. Dr. Webb recommends Edinburgh it is where he studied.”

“You admire Dr. Webb.”

“Yes. My own father is a surgeon, but I want to do more than set bones and cut out offending bits …” He paused. “Forgive me. That was terribly unfeeling of me.”

She gave him a tiny smile. “You certainly do not have Dr. Webb’s discretion.”

“Quite right. Another thing I shall have to improve upon.”

“My mother was quite fond of you just as you are.”

“Thank you. I am honored.”

“Father, however …”

“Yes, Miss Lamb. I quite understand. Your father himself has made his opinion of me quite clear.”

She opened her mouth as if to say more, to apologize, perhaps, but instead she pressed her lips primly together and said no more.

Knowing there was little more he could say on that subject, or any other, Daniel Taylor bid farewell to Miss Charlotte Lamb and to Doddington, determined to rarely think of either of them again.

Since they may be hindered by sickness, or for that they are too weake and tender, or else because their Husbands will not suffer them, it will be very necessary to seeke out another Nurse.

JAMES GUILLEMEAU, CHILDBIRTH OR THE HAPPY DELIVERIE OF WOMEN

CHAPTER 18

n the London townhouse of Lady Katherine and Mr. Harris, Sally sat in a rocking chair in the third-floor nursery, holding the small boy in her arms, enjoying the warm weight of his compact body against her bosom. Holding him both comforted and pricked her heart. She missed her own dear boy, a few miles away with her sister. She had only seen him once since coming here the previous month. ‘Tis for you I’m doin’ this, she thought. I’m savin’ every shilling. We’ll have us a better life, Dickie. You see if we don’t.

The lady of the house entered without knocking, and Sally sat up straighter in the rocking chair, quickly making sure her frock was properly done up.