Read My Favorite Countess Online
Authors: Vanessa Kelly
My Favorite Countess (28 page)
“Dr. Steele,” he said calmly, “Lady Silverton ultimately made the decision to request my services. I assure you I did not solicit the case.”
Steele flicked a venomous glance at Bathsheba. “Yes, I know who to thank for that. You should know better, Blackmore, than to leave these decisions in the hands of women. They are incapable of making rational choices in scientific or medical matters. Even more so when the woman is pregnant.”
Behind him, Bathsheba muttered something nasty.
“I'm sure your patients would be thrilled to know your opinion of their judgment,” John replied dryly. “I must decline, however, to argue the point. Or discuss my patients in public. As I said, I'm happy to call on you this afternoon, and explain exactly howâ”
Steele cut him off. “You can keep your explanations, Blackmore. I have nothing but contempt for a doctor who undermines his own colleagues, especially one who engages in dangerous medical practices.”
John was stunned by the accusation. “Dangerous medical practices? What the hell are you talking about, Steele?”
Bathsheba's fingers gripped his arm, breaking his focus from the madman in front of him. Her gaze flitted around the vestibule. John glanced around, cursing silently at the cluster of bystanders avidly listening to their every word. Wardrop and Sarah had also returned to the hall, and now stood with Bathsheba.
“Blackmore, we're keeping the ladies waiting,” said Wardrop, making the warning clear.
John nodded. “Forgive me.”
He gave Steele a brief bow and took Bathsheba's arm, ready to follow Sarah and Wardrop out to the Strand.
“I know what you did, Blackmore,” growled Steele. “I know what you did to that Irishman's wife.”
John froze, astounded the man could be that much of an idiot.
Wardrop gave a resigned sigh. He took Bathsheba by the arm and pulled her back to stand with Sarah.
Steele pulled his lips back in a self-satisfied smile. “You think you got away with what you did to that woman and her baby, but you didn't. I know all about it, and I'll see that you suffer for it, Blackmore. If it's the last thing I do, I'll run you out of Bart'sâand straight out of London, if I have to.”
John felt a sudden rush of feminine fury come up by his side.
“How dare you threaten him, you horrible man,” stormed Bathsheba, jabbing her finger right up to Steele's face. “Dr. Blackmore has the full support of Lord and Lady Silverton, and mine as well.”
Steele's smile widened into a taunting smirk. John clenched his fist as he prepared to wipe the gloat from the bastard's face.
“Blackmore!” Wardrop bit out the warning.
John could barely hold himself back. But Steele wasn't finished. Like some foul predator, he veered onto another track.
“Is Lady Randolph aware of your habit of visiting the stews?” he asked. “You spend so much time amongst the whores and thieves of St. Giles it's a wonder you find the time to attend to your paying clients.”
Bathsheba took a hasty step forward, but John held her back.
“He's not worth it, my lady,” he murmured. “Please come away.”
He grasped her hand and drew her after Wardrop, who had already started to lead Sarah from the building.
“Best watch your step, Blackmore,” Steele called out. “Who knows what other tales might begin to spread about you. Then we'll find out who your friends really are.”
Fury roiled in John's gut, but concern for Bathsheba quickly replaced it. Her hand trembled as he tucked it into his elbow. Even worse, she had turned as pale as milk. If she suffered any ill effects from this afternoon, he would hunt Steele down in the street and beat him senseless.
They broke from the shadowed interior of Somerset House into the sunny, bustling atmosphere of the Strand. John took a deep, calming breath. After the poisonous exchange with Steele, he welcomed the ordinary tumult of the city street.
He bent his head to murmur in Bathsheba's ear. “I'm going to fetch a hackney and take you home. I think it best if we forgo the visit to Gunter's. After this, I'm sure you must be in need of a rest.”
She stopped, dragging him to a halt in the middle of the pavement. Pedestrians hurried by, jostling them on every side, but she ignored them.
“Are you mad?” she snapped, glaring up at him. “I don't need a rest. I need to go back and strangle that pig for the things he said to you. When I'm done with him, I swear there won't be a person of any consequence in this town who will have anything to do with him.”
John felt his mouth drop open, but was too surprised to do anything about it. He was certain she would be mortified by what had just happenedâand angry with him for not shielding her from it.
Something deep insideâa subtle tightnessâbegan to ease. Not until that moment had he realized how unsure he'd been of her, or how it had pulled constantly at the edges of his consciousness. The scene with Steele should have sent her into full retreat. Instead, she had ripped up at the man, defending John as fiercely as a lioness defending her cubs.
He stared at her beautiful scowling face, her eyes glittering like emeralds in a perfect setting, and began to laugh. Happiness rustled up from his belly, and filled his chest with a sweet ache.
She crossed her arms beneath her chest. “Now what?” she huffed. “Really, John. Sometimes you can be the most irritating man.”
“Never mind. I'll explain later. It looks like Wardrop is hailing a carriage. Are you sure you don't want to go home?”
“Positive. What I'd like to do is walk. If I don't do something, I just might go back inside and give Dr. Steele another piece of my mind.”
He laughed again. “Well, we can't have that, as much as I'd enjoy seeing it.”
They joined Wardrop and Sarah, who waited patiently by a hackney.
Sarah gave Bathsheba a smothering hug. “Darling, are you all right?”
“Of course I'm all right,” Bathsheba grumbled, extracting herself from her friend's embrace. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Mrs. Ormond has expressed a wish to go home,” Wardrop said to John in a low voice. “I'm going to escort her.”
He cast a quick glance at the two women as they exchanged outraged and surprisingly salty comments about Steele. “And I suspect you and Lady Randolph might have a few things to discuss.”
John sighed. “It's that obvious, is it?”
Wardrop's eyes glinted with amusement, but he managed to look grave. “Blackmore, I haven't a clue what you're talking about.”
John grunted, but gave his friend's shoulder an appreciative squeeze.
Wardrop went to hand Sarah into the carriage, but hesitated. “John, be careful of Steele. He has his enemies, but he has friends in powerful places, as well.”
“As do I. Don't worry, I'll take care of Steele.”
Wardrop looked morose. “Abernethy will be sure to get wind of this. He'll be bound to think I'm mixed up in it, too.”
“I'll assure him you were an innocent bystander. By the time I'm finished describing what happened, Abernethy will know Steele is a complete ass.”
Wardrop snorted, obviously convinced that neither of them believed that. “And I'm the Princess of Cleves,” he retorted. “Yes, yes, Mrs. Ormond. I'm coming. Lady Randolph, it's been a pleasure, as always.”
With a wave, Wardrop followed Sarah into the hackney and they were off.
John turned to Bathsheba, who stood pensively watching the hackney disappear into the stream of carriages and drays clogging the Strand.
“Lady Randolph? Shall we go?”
She started. “Oh, yes. Let's be away, before that dreadful man comes out. I won't be answerable for my actions if I see him again.”
He took her arm and they made their way along the pavement toward Charing Cross. For several minutes, John was content not to speak, keeping her close by his side in the bustle of harried shoppers and rushing pedestrians. The life of the city flowed around them, but he and Bathsheba might as well have been strolling down a country lane for all he cared. He had eyes only for her. He studied her clean profile, offset by the frilly trim of her bonnet, and felt her small hand on his arm and the warmth of her body against his side. In that moment they belonged only to each other. The world didn't own them, and they had no responsibilities to anyone but themselves.
In a rare moment of contentment, John knew exactly where he was meant to be.
Bathsheba made no effort to break the silence between them, clearly taken up with her own ruminations. She looked solemnâeven graveâand every now and again she worried her lower lip as if she were trying to solve a puzzle.
As they skirted the chaos of Charing Cross, she finally lifted her gaze to meet his. The tiny frown that had creased her brow had disappeared, and she looked as if she had reached some kind of decision.
“John, may I ask you a question?”
“Anything you want, Bathsheba. I have no secrets from you.”
“What was Dr. Steele talking about when he accused you of using dangerous medical practices? Something about an Irishman?”
He sighed. He didn't want to recall that nightâor what he had been forced to do. Especially now, when he felt so close to her, so much at peace.
“O'Neill is an Irish immigrant in St. Giles. I am often called there to treat the poorâespecially those who cannot obtain admittance to Bart's or who are too afraid to go to the lying-in hospitals. His wife was in labor, but unable to deliver the child. By the time I was called to her bedside, it was too late.”
She listened carefully as he related what had occurred that night. Without going into graphic detail, he explained exactly what he had done. Even without the particulars it was dreadful enough, but if she were to marry him, she couldn't be protected from that part of his life. He could only pray she would understand why it mattered.
Bathsheba paced along beside him. A few times, her fingers dug into his coat sleeve but she heard him out. When he finished the sorry taleâmaking sure not to leave out O'Neill's accusation that he had murdered his wifeâhe fell silent. Bathsheba needed time to absorb what he'd told her. She needed time to decide if she could actually be the wife of a doctorâa doctor who didn't always live by society's rules.
As they left the din of Charing Cross and Cockspur Street for the relative quiet of St. James's Square, John had the unnerving sense that his future with Bathsheba hung in the balance. The bright sunshine, the warm summer air, the happy shriek of children playing in the square, it all seemed artificial as he realized with a chilling pang that he might lose Bathsheba right here and now.
“If you couldn't save her, why did Dr. Steele accuse you of engaging in dangerous medical practices?” she asked.
He hesitated, and she flicked her hand in an irritated wave.
“John, I know it is nonsense. You're a fine doctor. I understand that better than anyone. I'm trying to fathom how he could make such a ridiculous accusation.”
The chill in his body fled, and he felt the summer's warmth once again.
“Men like Steele received their training years ago, and still hold fast to the methods they most feel comfortable with. But there have been great advances in the study of midwifery, much of it coming out of France. That in itself,” he said dryly, “is enough to prejudice so narrow-minded a man as Dr. Steele. Instead of embracing those advances, he clings to the old ways and is threatened by those of us who seek change.”
She sighed. “And he's obviously greatly humiliated by losing Lord and Lady Silverton's patronage. I'm sorry about that, John. I didn't mean to cause you so much trouble.”
She looked so guilty that he could barely resist the temptation to sweep her into his arms and kiss the hurt away.
“Sweetheart, you have nothing to apologize for. Just the opposite. I'm relieved that Lady Silverton will no longer have to suffer from Steele's ignorance.”
She dimpled at him, and the roses returned to her cheeks. As they walked along, she peppered him with more questions about his work. He was happy to indulge her, and relieved beyond reckoning that she found it worth talking about.
All too quickly, they reached Curzon Street. “We're here,” he said, coming to a halt in front of her town house.
She gave a startled laugh. “Oh! I didn't even notice when we crossed Piccadilly. How foolish of me. Well, now that you're here, would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”
He shook his head. “I think I best get down to Bart's. I'd like to speak with Abernethy. Explain what really happened today, before the rumors grow too exaggerated.”
She started to look guilty again, but he gave her cheek a light brush with his index finger.
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