Leslie Lafoy (21 page)

“It’s more than the simple things like colors, Simone,” she shot back. “He’s never asked me what I like to read or what my interests might be beyond caring for injured animals. To him I’m nothing more than a superficial thing with a pretty face and a kind nature.”

“In other words,” Carrie offered, her tone even and calm, “he doesn’t think that you’re particularly intelligent or interesting.”

“He considers me a typical society female, a genteel adornment whose only purpose and interest is in making his life easier. And, most importantly, he’s made absolutely no effort to see if his assumptions might be wrong.”

Simone shook her head and then brightened. “I could hit him upside the head with a blunt object if you think it would help him see how shallow he’s being.”

“Thank you, but no thank you,” Fiona replied crisply and firmly. “If he can’t see it for himself, then…”

For a long moment they rolled on through the streets of London in conversational silence. Caroline finally broke it by quietly asking, “How long are you going to give him to achieve enlightenment on his own?”

“I don’t know,” Fiona admitted, discouragement taking the place of her anger. “I keep hoping. Why, I don’t know.”

Carrie’s smile was soft and almost knowing, “Perhaps it’s because you see that he does have some qualities that are really quite remarkable and to his credit.”

“It could be.”

“That,” Simone offered brightly from her side of the carriage, “and maybe a little bit of falling in love with him.”

Fiona shook her head. “If something happened to him, if he were injured or killed, I’d feel horrible and I’d undoubtedly cry—but just as much about the cruelty of life as for the loss of Ian. Not exactly a clear sign of undying love and devotion.”

Carrie chuckled and reached over to pat her on the hand. “A wise woman once told me that only weak and spineless girls died of lost love. And she was right, Fiona dear. I love Drayton dearly and with all my heart. But I wouldn’t wither up and pass away of a broken heart and shattered spirit if he were taken from me. I’d cry and cry, yes, and then there would come a day when I straightened my shoulders and got on with living without him. Being able to live without a man isn’t a measure of your love for him.”

“Then what is?” she asked.

Simone replied breezily, “I’d say the real measure is how easy it is to tolerate his stupidities.”

“Simone,” Carrie chided. “The idea is to be helpful.”

“Well, if she’s thinking that a man in love with her is always going to be considerate and thoughtful and sensitive every day for the rest of her life, she really does need help. To my thinking, Fi,” she went on, “the measure of our love for them is in how easily we can refrain from not only killing them in the moments when they’re considerably less than likable, but also how easily we can forgive them for being decidedly, selfishly human.”

Fiona had to admit that it was an intriguing way to look at the matter. Very Simone-esque.

“And I must say,” her wild sister continued, “that you seem inclined to give Ian Cabott the benefit of the doubt more often than not. I’d suggest that the next time you see him, you grab him by the coat lapels, jerk his handsome face down to yours, kiss him senseless and see what happens next.”

“Simone!” Caroline squeaked.

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes, Carrie. I’m not suggesting that sweet little Fiona throw him to the ground and rip his clothes off of him.” She grinned wickedly across the carriage at Fiona and quickly added, “Although I can tell you from experience that that’s a great deal of fun.

“That reality aside,” she said with a chuckle, “the ‘what happens next’ that I mean is to notice whether your toes are curled and he’s suddenly the most perfect man God ever made. Even if the illusion lasts just a second, it’s a sure sign that you love him.”

Fiona nodded, wondering if Tristan had had any idea at the time of the handful he was marrying. God love the man; she was going to be extra nice to him from now on. As for taking Simone’s advice on how to discover her feelings for Ian Cabott … Well, she might. But only if she were completely at her wits’ end and her only other choice was to walk away and abandon all hope. Maybe he’d be different tomorrow, she offered herself. Maybe he’d realize how he’d been treating her and make everything right between them. Why she clung so resolutely to that hope, though …

*   *   *

Ian stood in the hospital garden, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to ease the tension from his aching muscles and trying not to analyze every decision he’d made in the chaotic rush of surgery. What was done was done and there was no going back to change his mind and do things differently. He’d trusted his instincts and known that the odds had been against all of his skills more often than not.

Despite that logic, that certainty, the failures weighed heavily on his soul. As they always did. He looked up at the stars, hoping that his mind would empty as his gaze wandered across the sparkling heavens.

A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He was going to have to buy Fiona some diamond necklaces. Not that she needed them to be beautiful. No, if ever there was a woman who could outshine a king’s ransom in jewels … God, he could see her lying in the sheets, wearing only a satisfied smile and a delicate strand of diamonds and emeralds. The pendant would drop low, to lay just at the top of the valley between her creamy breasts. A beacon to …

Ian sighed and shook his head to dispel the vision. He was so tired of fighting himself and how much longer propriety could hope to win … Every day his desire for Fiona deepened while his ability to marshal gentlemanly restraint frayed a little bit more. There wasn’t much left of it at this point.

He’d told himself it was merely a matter of their recent close proximity—that Fiona’s redecorating of his house and their shared meals with Charlotte brought them into too much contact. Staying away as much as he could hadn’t helped, though. The instant he went home all the rational explanations fell apart and his determination to keep a safe distance ebbed away. Her smiles and obvious pleasure at the task of transforming his world warmed his heart and relentlessly shredded his resolve.

Yes, he was losing the battle. So badly that he’d been thinking lately about how it wasn’t at all uncommon for husbands and wives to present big, healthy, bouncing babies to the world a month or two “prematurely.”

As though Fiona deserved those whispers on top of all the others swirling through London’s Society. That he’d asked her to marry him was common social knowledge already. That she was still seriously considering his proposal after the Lady Baltrip debacle … Everyone thought she was crazy for giving him the benefit of the doubt.

From out of the darkness, William Mercer came to stand beside him and roll his own shoulders. A fine surgeon, Mercer was. And a good and caring man who had no doubt been put on this earth for only two reasons: to be a doctor and the world’s best father and grandfather.

After several long moments, Ian’s colleague said quietly, “We did the best we could.”

“Yes, we did. Sometimes that’s the only consolation.”

Mercer nodded in silent agreement and looked up into the stars. “My wife tells me that you’ve asked Lady Fiona Turnbridge to marry you.”

Apparently everyone in London knew. “I have. She hasn’t accepted, though.”

“You’ve made an excellent choice. I hope you think she’s worth the wait for a decision.”

It took a moment for the man’s words to penetrate the fog in his mind. “Oh?” he asked carefully. “What have you heard about her?”

Mercer chuckled. “I’ve actually met her. Several times, in fact. I’d seen her at my lectures a half dozen times before she first approached me. She always sits in the very back and well away from the other students. At first having a female, and such an attractive one at that, in attendance created quite a stir, but she handily rebuffed the untoward advances and conveyed the seriousness of her interest.

“She never speaks, of course,” Mercer went on, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Ian’s jaw was slowly sagging. “Never draws attention to herself in any way. But even before we spoke, I knew in watching her that she was the best of my students. Always a full tick ahead of everyone else. Always has the answer while the others are still turning the question over in their minds.”

Ian closed his mouth, moistened his lower lip and then dragged enough air into his lungs to ask, “You are talking about your internal anatomy lectures, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes. It is my specialty.”

“And Fiona has attended.”

Mercer nodded enthusiastically. “Not just attended. She listened carefully, took copious notes, made the most incredibly detailed drawings, and then, later in the course, approached me after dismissal to ask some of the best questions I’ve ever been posed. She’s keenly intelligent and I have to confess that I had true regrets and second thoughts every time I denied her request to attend the operating theater. If she weren’t a female, she’d make one of the best physicians in England. She’s amazing. Just amazing.”

He’d always known that she was amazing, but he hadn’t had the slightest inkling as to just how amazing. Not the slightest. He thought back, remembering bits and pieces of conversations he hadn’t fully understood or appreciated at the time, the mysterious shadows that had darkened her eyes when he’d ever so blithely dismissed her efforts to tell him about herself and her abilities.

Mercer laid a hand on his shoulder and gently asked, “You didn’t know any of this, did you, Dunsford?”

“No, I didn’t,” he had to admit. “And that I didn’t reflects poorly on me.”

“She hasn’t mentioned her interest in medicine to you?”

“I haven’t been listening.” He swallowed down the thickening lump in his throat and reached for his pocket watch. “Mercer,” he said, noting the time and quickly putting the timepiece away, “would you mind overly much if I lit out of here on you?”

“Not at all,” the other man assured him. “They say they’ve brought everyone in who had a chance. I think we’re done for the time being. Tomorrow, though…” He shrugged.

“If you have to go back in on someone sooner, send a runner,” Ian instructed. “For the next hour, I’ll be at my home. After that I’ll be at Lord Egan-Smythe’s. Don’t let a ball deter you from sending a runner there if need arises.”

His colleague shook his head and offered him a tired smile. “I’m impressed that you have the strength to even consider dancing.”

“I’m not going to dance, Mercer. I’m going to grovel for forgiveness.”

“Good luck to you, then. If it helps any, I can’t think of any other woman—excepting Mrs. Mercer, of course—who would be worth the sacrifice of dignity.”

“Thank you,” Ian replied as he headed for the stable at the rear of the hospital. Calling back over his shoulder, he added, “And send for me if you need to.”

Mercer waved him on, then turned and went back inside.

It took just a few minutes for Ian to be on his way. The fatigue that had gripped his mind as he’d come out of the surgery was gone, replaced by a driving sense of clear purpose. He had been an idiot. A presumptive, self-absorbed idiot who, when he wasn’t wallowing in the misery of his every waking moment, had spent the last two weeks being surly and resentful to a decent, caring human being.

Well, there were degrees of humanity and degrees of caring. And until Mercer had ever-so-unknowingly smacked him right between the eyes a moment ago, he’d had no idea that he’d been so damned shallow. God Almighty, it was a miracle that Fiona hadn’t killed him.

*   *   *

Fiona sighed and leaned her elbows on the balcony balustrade. She’d spent so much time on ballroom balconies in the last two weeks … People were going to start thinking of her as a human gargoyle. Better that, she supposed morosely, than being considered the pathetic little mouse who dutifully went to the ball while the Duke of Dunsford cavorted about London with God only knew who and doing what God and everyone else knew good and well. If she saw one more pitying glance tonight she was going to … to … Well, she didn’t know what she was going to do other than be even more unhappy than she already was.

A shadow fell across the marble tiles of the balcony. She arched a brow as she watched it advance slowly. Hopefully, it belonged to one of the hordes of randy, badly mannered bachelors who haunted balls looking for easy prey. She was very much in the mood to blacken an eye or two. Maybe even mercilessly mash some toes. All she needed was the slightest provocation.

The shadow stopped just as a breeze wrapped the scent of a familiar cologne around her senses. She straightened, her heart thundering and her knees weak. Gazing out over the garden below, she wrapped her fingers around the granite railing and waited for him to step to her side.

“It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?” he said, remaining behind her.

His voice sounded very different than usual. There was a softness to the deep timbre that she’d never heard before. “The stars are very close,” she answered. “It looks as though you could reach right out and pull one down. I hope that the crash wasn’t as bad as everyone thought at the beginning.”

She heard him sigh. “It was probably worse,” he supplied, easing to stand beside her at the railing. His gaze still fixed on the stars, he added, “We did what we could, as best as we could, but sometimes life and death are in hands more powerful and determined than our own.”

Deep in her soul, an ache bloomed. “I’m sorry, Ian. It has to be very difficult to try so hard and fail.”

He nodded slowly and then softly cleared his throat. “Dr. Mercer sends his regards.”

“How nice of him,” she said as her heart skittered.

“He told me that he always regretted and had second thoughts about denying you permission to attend his operating theater lectures.”

Yes, the Beeps was definitely out of the bag. And since there was no point in claiming that the esteemed Dr. William Mercer was mistaken, she accepted the situation with all the grace and nonchalance that she could muster. “I suspect that he’s the only one of the teaching physicians who has regrets. When I asked Dr. Turner if I could attend a circulatory dissection, he not only told me no, but also barred me from his lecture hall.”