An Honest Heart (25 page)

“What is it, Doctor? What do I need to do?”

He cleared his throat one more time and tore his thoughts away from Caddy. “I have taken the liberty of booking passage for you on a ship leaving Portsmouth in four days’ time. I will send letters of introduction with you so that once you arrive, you will be shown the highest hospitality by a good family.”

Winifred stiffened and regarded him through narrow eyes, her head canted at an angle that screamed suspicion. “Arrive—where?”

His throat caught. He swallowed and looked her squarely in those questioning eyes. “Bathurst.” At her continued expression of askance, he added, “It is a town in New South Wales, Australia.”

Mrs. Longrieve gasped. “You’re suggesting I go to Australia with them?”

“Not
with
them, exactly. But you would be in the same vicinity.” He stood and paced to the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back. “Bathurst is a good place—much like the country villages here in England. And the people to whom I am sending you will care for you as if you are part of their own family.”

“How can you know that?” The fear in Winifred’s voice now had an edge of curiosity to it.

He regained his perch on the chair beside her. “Because the people I am sending you to are my family.”

He took her hands in his. “I do not expect you to make a decision right now, but I will need to know soon. I booked the tickets while I was in London, because there was no time to waste. The ship leaves Portsmouth early Tuesday morning. We would need to catch the evening train on Monday to ensure you are there in time to board.”

Mrs. Longrieve had gone chalky pale, but Neal knew it was from fear and indecision, not from any medical cause. “I shall call day after tomorrow to hear your decision. If you have any questions in the meanwhile, I am at your disposal. Oh, and I would appreciate it if you would not tell Miss Bainbridge of this arrangement.”

Winifred frowned. “Why? She has been nothing but good to me.”

“Miss Bainbridge can be . . . unreasonable when it comes to the subject of Australia.”

A slight smile deepened the lines bracketing Winifred’s mouth. “Aye. I’ve heard a few choice morsels about thieves and murderers from her over the past few days.” Her eyes narrowed. “I know you’re trying to protect yourself by not letting her know you have family there. But if my suspicions are correct and you’ve developed feelings for yon seamstress, best to tell her the truth as soon as you can. If she has the same feelings toward you, where your kin live won’t matter to her.”

“I hope you’re correct, but I must wait until I feel the time is right. I shall see you on Saturday.” He bowed to the woman, then let himself out of the room.

He was halfway across the street before he realized he’d left his valise behind the counter in the store. He paused, trying to decide if he should risk returning for it now or wait to get it when he returned in two days.

“Did you forget something?”

He closed his eyes against the waves of emotion Caddy’s voice brought. Slowly, he turned. She stood on the walkway outside her shop, his valise hanging loosely at her side as if she were accustomed to carrying heavy loads. Given her line of work and the absence of a man in her shop, she most likely was.

A few strides closed the distance between them. He reached for the bag, but when his fingers wrapped around the handle, they wrapped around Caddy’s fingers as well. Goose bumps raced up his arm at the contact, sending a frisson of electricity straight to his heart.

“May I know of your plan for Mrs. Longrieve?” She swallowed hard, but did not release the bag.

He wanted to tell her everything, but he did not believe she was ready to learn everything yet. “No. I am sorry. There are . . . delicate issues involved.”

“Were these issues what took you away to London?”

“Not precisely.”

She released a frustrated huff. “Then why did you go? The Longrieves needed you here for the trial. And some rather unsavory rumors have circulated ever since your sudden departure.”

He decided to enjoy the chance to hold Caddy’s hand, after a fashion, for as long as she wanted to keep possession of the handle of his valise. “What rumors?”

“That you are an inveterate gambler, and that Macquarie and Birchip work for a debt collector.” She dropped her gaze to where their fingers entwined and pulled away as if she hadn’t noticed his touch before.

He allowed the bag to swing down to his side. “I am no gambler, and I owe no debts.”

She shook her head. He’d expected her to look relieved by his statement, but her dour mood persisted. “It doesn’t matter if it is true or not—the rumors have permeated Oxford society. And I have . . .” She pressed her lips together and would not meet his gaze.

“You have . . . ?” he prompted.

She squared her shoulders and raised her chin, her stormy blue eyes meeting his. “I have had three customers cancel orders for gowns because, they told me, they do not want to patronize a seamstress who associates with a known reprobate.”

His heart sank. Never before had the secret of his past affected anyone but him. He’d managed to keep it hidden so well that no one in Hampshire had learned the truth until after Grandmamma’s death. And he’d been keeping his secret from Caddy—from everyone in North Parade and Jericho—to protect her. To keep this very thing from happening.

“Can you not tell me why you went to London? Can you not share with me what terrible thing happened in your past that you’re afraid others might find out?” Caddy took a step forward, her throat exposed as she lifted her chin high to maintain eye contact with him.

The words formed in the back of his throat. “I was—” The expectation in Caddy’s eyes, and the slight part of her lips, made his heart race. He could not bear to see her once again dissolve into anger and disgust. “I cannot. It is . . . If it became generally known, my medical practice would crumble.”

He backed away from her, ready for her to tell him to leave and never return.

She matched his steps, staying mere inches from him, even though she had to cant her head back fully to look up into his face. “I do not know what could be so bad that you cannot tell me, even knowing that I would keep any confidence you share. I will not try to force it from you. I hope, someday, you might come to trust me enough to tell me. However, there is something I must know.”

He steeled himself for the question he was certain she would ask, trying to decide if he was willing to lie to her about his place of birth.

“Can you promise me that you are not doing anything nefarious or criminal? I believe you are a man of integrity, but I may be risking my business by continuing to associate with you if your secret involves anything illegal.”

He set his valise on the street and clasped Caddy’s right hand in both of his, bringing it to his lips. The contrast of the soft skin on the back of her hand to the calluses on her fingertips and palms reminded him of everything he admired and respected about her. He pressed her hand to his chest over where his heart pounded. “I promise, I am involved in nothing criminal, nefarious, or illegal. And I swear that one day I will tell you all. But now . . . The time is not right.”

Her eyes flickered as they danced back and forth, searching his. Finally, she nodded. “Very well, then. Tea is in one hour. I hope you will join us.”

Neal opened then closed his mouth. After everything that had passed between them . . . after he’d told her he did not trust her enough to share his secret with her . . . she invited him to tea? “I would be honored.” He kissed the back of her hand again, released it, and picked up his valise.

She backed away from him until she bumped into a protruding window box with a slight grunt, her aim for the door having been slightly off.

He grinned at her, tipped his hat, and backed away a few steps until she disappeared inside the shop. She waved at him through the window in the door. He waved back. Then, whistling an old country tune, he returned to his flat to bathe and change clothes to be presentable for tea with Caddy Bainbridge.

She might not be ready now to hear of his origin, but he was certain—at least, he prayed he could be certain—that once she fell in love with him, she would not care that he’d been born in the place she seemed to hate the most.

He had a feeling that would not be too long from now.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

E
dith climbed gingerly from the carriage, stiff after the hour-long ride from Wakesdown to Chawley Abbey. She had no desire to spend time with Lady Carmichael, but if she planned to marry the woman’s son, she might as well start learning how best to endure her company.

The butler ushered her straight into the house and up the wide, worn stone staircase in the medieval building. If Edith had her way, a new, modern mansion would be built on the next rise over—higher, with a more commanding view of the surroundings. She’d be more than happy to allow Lady Carmichael to have this monstrosity as her dower house. Even with the carpet runners, wallpapers, and tapestries, a chill hung in the air that could never be chased away in an ancient heap like this.

She waited to be announced before sweeping into the sitting room, then dropping into a curtsy in greeting.

“Miss Buchanan, please, do come in and sit.” Lady Carmichael waved a bejeweled hand toward the two armchairs opposite the settee where she sat. “You have had a long drive. May I offer you tea or some other refreshment?”

Though parched, she did not want her future mother-in-law to believe her gauche by taking tea before teatime. “No, thank you, my lady.” She folded her gloved hands demurely on her lap and did her best to appear shy and retiring.

“I hear your house party was a
grande réussite
. Every young woman who has called in the past weeks has had nothing but Wakesdown Manor and the Buchanans on her lips.” A slight smile played about the corner of her thin mouth. “And the Americans. I have heard no end of your cousins, the tall, good-looking Americans. Though the praise is more flattering toward the young man than his sister. Am I to understand correctly that your
cousine
has landed Lord Thynne? How on earth did she manage to steal him away from you, my dear?”

Anger, hot and sticky like melted candle wax, oozed through Edith, but she did her best not to let it show. She cocked her head and pursed her mouth in a coy smile. “Now, Lady Carmichael, how could I even think of Lord Thynne when there has been no one for me but Oliver—Mr. Carmichael—since we were children?”

Actually, the first time she’d met him, and for at least ten years afterward, Edith had done her best to avoid being in his company. It was only after seeing how many young women flocked to him in the drawing rooms and ballrooms of London during her debut season when she’d forced herself to reevaluate her feelings toward him.

Lady Carmichael simpered, her expression looking no more genuine than Edith’s felt. Her brows—as pale as Edith’s were dark—raised a bit more, adding even more ridges to her forehead. “Yes, well, childhood fancies rarely lead to lasting attachments as adults. But
c’est la vie
.” The baroness’s rings sparkled in the sunlight beaming in through the old leaded-glass mullioned windows as she waved her hand.

Annoyance dripped down Edith’s spine at the woman’s affectation of throwing in French words and phrases. It was her way of reminding others that she had spent part of her girlhood in Paris when her father relocated the family there after the war and then returned to England a very wealthy man.

Edith thought it only served to remind people that Lady Carmichael came not from the aristocracy or the gentry but from the merchant class. According to Edith’s father, it had been quite the scandal when the heir to Chawley Abbey and the Carmichael barony had married a woman well below his social station, no matter how wealthy her family.

Which gave Edith the perfect argument against Lady Carmichael’s insisting the daughter of a baronet was not of high enough birth to marry her son.

“When do you leave for London, my lady?”

Lady Carmichael picked an invisible speck of something from one green silk sleeve before answering. “Monday. Tonight we will bid
adieu
to our household with the servants’ ball. So naturally, we cannot travel tomorrow. Lord Carmichael is very traditional and believes it would blacken our souls to board a train on Sunday. So we wait until Monday. Do I remember correctly that your younger sister is being presented this season?”

“Yes. The fifteenth of April. We also plan to leave for London next week so she has time for her final fitting before we go to court.”

“You went to a modiste in London rather than depending on our local talent?” The baroness twisted a long gold chain around her finger.

“Yes. And after what has happened with my local seamstress, I am very happy we did.”

Lady Carmichael stilled, eyes widening. “Oh? Has your seamstress been involved in a scandal?”

“Not a true scandal, no. But some unsavory rumors have been connected with a man she has been known to keep company with.”

“Do tell.” Lady Carmichael leaned forward, her face more animated than Edith had ever seen it.

Like a coconspirator, Edith also leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Apparently, my seamstress started keeping company with a young doctor who was new to her area. One day, two strangers appeared and started asking after the doctor. No one knew anything about any of the three men. Then last week, the doctor suddenly disappeared and has been gone ever since. Mr. Carmichael says the two men were debt collectors and the doctor is an unrepentant gambler.” Edith gave a delicate shudder and shook her head. “I always thought Miss Bainbridge of better character, but now that her true nature has revealed itself, I can breathe easier knowing I did not put my sister’s presentation gown in such low hands.”

Lady Carmichael stiffened and her eyes narrowed. “Surely you are not speaking of Miss Bainbridge?”

Edith widened her eyes in feigned shock and remorse. “Oh, dear, I had forgotten Oliver said you occasionally patronize her. But did he not tell you of the woman’s . . . indiscretion? ’Twas he who told me, after all.”