Read My Favorite Countess Online
Authors: Vanessa Kelly
My Favorite Countess (33 page)
All the pulses in Bathsheba's body throbbed, matching the driving beat of her heart. Why couldn't he understand what she needed from him?
“John,” she pleaded, sick with the thought of losing him, “I've already had one husband who nearly destroyed my life, leaving me with almost nothing. I can't go through that again. I need to know I can depend on you.”
Shock, then fury, blazed on his face.
“Jesus Christ, Bathsheba! Do you really have the nerve to compare me to that bastard?”
She hated herself, but she had to say it. “You leave me no choice,” she flung back. “You refuse to see the danger in what you do, and you're willing to risk everything, including my future, and Rachel's.”
He stepped forward to loom over her. Inwardly she quailed, but she stood her ground. When he spoke, his mouth barely opened, so tightly did he clench his teeth.
“I'll always take care of you. And Rachel. You have my word.”
She shook her head. Misery surged through her veins and swirled through her body, snatching the air from her lungs.
“You won't. You're convinced that you will, but your work, your . . . your mission will always come first. I won't be able to stand that. I must come first, John. Before anything else in your life.”
“You
will
come first. Always.” He spat each word out, as if the taste of them was sour.
will
come first. Always.” He spat each word out, as if the taste of them was sour.
Bathsheba covered her eyes, blocking out the sight of his fury. Her heart fluttered in her chest, beating against her ribsâagainst fate. She desperately searched for a way out.
There wasn't any.
“I don't believe you,” she whispered.
Silence fell between them. The air in the small room grew stifling and heavy, settling around them like a shroud.
Finally, John stirred, letting out a great sigh. “Bathsheba, what in the name of God will convince you?”
She dropped her hand. He gazed down at her, implacable and stern.
“You know very well. Give up your work in the stews.”
He shook his head. “If you truly loved me, Bathsheba, you wouldn't ask that of me.”
Shame and grief strangled her. But then resentment welled up, swamping those other feelings. How many times in her life would a man insist she give up everything in order to prove her love?
Her determination came flooding back.
“Perhaps not,” she replied. “But I will not risk my security, or Rachel's, for any man. Not even for you, John.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “Then where does this leave us?”
She defiantly tilted her chin. “You will not stop?”
He gave her one, last searching look. “No.”
Her heart folded in on itself. “Then I can't marry you, John. I hope you can forgive me.”
She walked stiffly to the door, every muscle in her body screaming with leaden misery. As she reached for the knob, she glanced over her shoulder. John stood in the center of the room, still as a statue.
“And I hope you can forgive yourself,” she whispered.
Chapter 25
“Lady Randolph,” intoned a deep masculine voice. “May I have a moment?”
Bathsheba glanced up, meeting Lord Silverton's azure gaze as he descended the imposing marble staircase of his town house. Handing her parasol to a waiting footman, she conjured a friendly smile and stepped forward to greet him. He didn't return it, regarding her instead with a cool distrust.
Inwardly, she sighed. The last thing she needed was another confrontation with a hardheaded, arrogant man. She'd had enough of that lately to last a lifetime.
At the thought of John and their awful encounter, her smile wavered. Her spirits were low, and she was exhausted from lack of sleep, but she still believed she'd been right to reject him. At least that's what she told herself when she crawled into bed every night, her heart aching with loneliness and regret. But what other choice had the stubborn man given her?
“My lady, are you well?”
Silverton's voice, sharp with concern, brought her back to her senses.
“Quite, thank you,” she said in a cheerful voice as she gave him her hand. “It's just this terrible heat. It makes one feel quite out of sorts, doesn't it?”
“To say the least,” he said, his handsome face easing into a cautious smile. He gave a quick nod to the footman, who retreated to the front door.
“Allow me to escort you up to my wife,” he said, giving her an elbow.
She took his arm, praying she wasn't in for a lecture. Lady SilvertonâMeredithâmight like her, but Bathsheba had no illusions her husband felt anything for her but disdain.
“I was very happy to receive Lady Silverton's note this morning,” she said pleasantly, trying to lighten the tension. “I hope it means she's feeling better, if she's able to have visitors.”
Silverton led her to the staircase. “I'm afraid not,” he replied heavily.
Bathsheba studied him more closely and was startled to see him looking pale and heavy-eyed, as if he too hadn't slept well in days.
“I'm sorry to hear that,” she said. “I hope Dr. Blackmore has found nothing seriously wrong.”
She had to force herself not to stumble over John's name.
Silverton hesitated as they reached the top of the stairs.
“Lady Randolph, I'm sorry to say that Dr. Blackmore is no longer my wife's physician.”
“What?” she blurted out, stunned by his words. “How is that possible? Please tell me you haven't brought Steele back to attend her. The man's a pompous ass.”
She winced as soon as the words left her mouth. His lordship would undoubtedly escort her right back down the stairs and toss her into the square.
“I beg your pardon,” she apologized. “I had no right to say that.”
To her surprise, he gave her a smile, and not one of the chilly social ones he employed to keep people at a distance. This one was broad and warm, a dazzling grin that sent a ripple of pleasure up her spine. If not for her demented obsession with John, she might have fallen in love with Silverton right on the spot.
“That smile of yours is lethal, you know,” she said, shaking her head. “I hope you realize that.”
He laughed. “I'll take that as a compliment.”
Taking her arm, he guided her down a hallway to the back of the house. His smile faded.
“As it happens,” he said, frustration etched on his features, “I share your opinion of Dr. Steele. Unfortunately, Dr. Blackmore has declined to treat my wife. He sent a letter yesterday withdrawing his services. I called on him immediately and asked him to remain on her case, but he refused. No argument I could make was able to change his mind.”
Bathsheba's stomach twisted into knots. Surely John wouldn't do something like this to punish her. There had to be another reason. “Did he say why?”
Silverton's eyebrows shot up. “You haven't heard?”
The ominous question kicked her heart up into her throat. “No. I . . . no, I haven't heard anything about Dr. Blackmore. Please tell me.”
He stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway. “I'll let my wife do that. She's eager to see you. If I hadn't agreed to send her note 'round to your house, I think she would have stolen a carriage and driven there herself.”
Despite her anxiety, Bathsheba couldn't help smiling at Silverton's aggrieved expression. “I'm happy she sent for me. And I'll be glad to help in any way I can.”
He paused, his hand on the doorknob as he perused her face. “I'm sure you would,” he said softly. “You've surprised me, Lady Randolph. I don't mind telling you that.”
“Don't let it bother you. I frequently surprise myself.”
After a brief flash of that devastating smile, he turned serious again.
“Meredith tires easily. I would ask you to be aware of that. If she is not watched carefully, she tends to exhaust herself.”
Impulsively, Bathsheba laid a hand on his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I promise, my lord. Your wife is safe with me.”
He opened the door and gestured her in. Bathsheba stepped into a sunny, delightful sitting room painted in shades of blue and pale lemon. The marchioness reclined on a large velvet sofa, her ample form wrapped in a crimson silk shawl.
“My love,” the marquess said in a cheerful voice. “Here is Lady Randolph to visit you.”
As Meredith struggled to get up, Bathsheba dashed to her side, several steps in front of Silverton.
“Lady Silverton,” she scolded as she helped Meredith into a sitting position. “Don't you dare get up. You know very well you needn't stand on ceremony with me.”
The marchioness drew in a shallow breath and flopped back onto the cushions. By this time, Lord Silverton had come behind her, gently inserting some extra pillows behind her back. Although looking wan and exhausted, she managed to give him a loving smile. Bathsheba had to bite back a foolish pang of jealousy.
After settling herself, Meredith extended a hand in greeting. “If we're not standing on ceremony, then you must call me by my given name, remember? And I promised to call you Bathsheba.”
“I remember,” Bathsheba replied. She snatched up the silk shawl from where it had slithered onto the floor, and draped it around Meredith's shoulders.
Lord Silverton dropped a kiss on the top of his wife's head. “I'll leave you ladies alone. Don't forget, Meredith,” he admonished tenderly, “you're not to wear yourself out.”
Meredith sighed as her husband left the room. “Honestly, I think this whole thing has been harder on him than on me.”
“That I doubt,” Bathsheba said, sitting down on a dainty Sheraton chair across from the sofa.
“You're right,” Meredith replied morosely.
Bathsheba laughed. Meredith blushed and gave her a shy smile, already looking better than she had just a few moments ago.
“I'm so glad you came to see me,” the marchioness said. “Since Silverton saw Dr. Blackmore yesterday, I've been longing to speak with you. It's so unfair,” she flared, her silver eyes glittering with outrage. “The hospital board had no right to treat him so shabbily.”
Bathsheba's heart thudded at Meredith's alarming words. “I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. I was indisposed for the last several days, and kept to my house.”
She hadn't been sick at all, of course, unless one counted being sick at heart. But after her fight with John, she hadn't been able to stand the thought of re-embarking on her campaign to find a husband, or rattling about town. Not only had she driven away the only man who ever really loved her, she was right back in the same ugly situation she had been in a few weeks agoâunder the hatches, waiting for the debt collectors to pull her to pieces.
Meredith's eyes opened wide with surprise and consternation.
“It's all right,” Bathsheba said. “You can tell me.”
The marchioness hesitated only a moment, but it was enough for Bathsheba to realize she should brace herself for the worst.
“The Board of Governors at Bart's informed Dr. Blackmore a few days ago that his services were no longer welcome,” Meredith explained. “Apparently, a man living in St. Giles went to Bow Street and swore out a complaint with the magistrate. He claimed that Blackmore murdered his wife and newly born child.”
“O'Neill,” Bathsheba whispered, stunned that her fears had come true so quickly.
“I beg your pardon?”
Bathsheba shook her head impatiently. “Go on.”
“Dr. Blackmore was brought into Bow Street for questioning. It was all nonsense, of course, and he was released, but the director of the hospital was furious.”
Bathsheba clenched her gloved hand into a fist. “That would be Dr. Abernethy.”
“Correct. He insisted the board dismiss Dr. Blackmore on the grounds that his conduct reflected poorly on the hospital and the board.”
Bathsheba leapt up, unable to sit still a moment longer. “That's a lie! He's the best doctor they have.”
“I'm sure he is,” Meredith replied in a calming voice. “But apparently there were also concerns about his work in the East End. It would seem Dr. Abernethy had already warned Blackmore that his practice of going into the stews was damaging to the hospital's reputation. Dr. Abernethy took his concerns to the Board of Directors and, unfortunately, they agreed with him.”
Bathsheba began wearing a path across the plush carpet, not caring if she looked like a madwoman. Furious with John for not heeding her warnings, she was even more furious with Abernethy and the fools on the board for their cavalier treatment of him.
Meredith watched her with sympathy, and something rather more perceptive. But she held her tongue.
After a few moments trying to expend her futile rage, Bathsheba came to a halt, more questions springing to mind.
“I understand John's anger,” she said. “But why won't he treat you? How does what happened at the hospital affect his practice?”
Meredith grimaced. “You've really not heard any of the gossip these last few days?”
Bathsheba shook her head.
The marchioness sighed. “Dr. Blackmore has some powerful enemies. Word of his dismissal from Bart's, and rumors about the murder accusation, spread like fire through the ton. Silverton heard that the worst gossip was started by physicians jealous of his success. I don't need to tell you how quickly this kind of thing can destroy a person's reputation. Sadly, most of Blackmore's patients abandoned him immediately. His practice is in ruins.”
Bathsheba sank back into her chair. Her anger drained away, replaced by a suffocating despair.
“We both know how unforgiving the ton can be,” she said. Then she straightened up, frowning. “But I still don't see why John won't treat you. You don't care about the rumors, do you?”
Looking forlorn, Meredith spread her hands over her enormous stomach. “Of course not. Silverton pleaded with him, but Blackmore wouldn't be persuaded. He's closing his practice, and in a few days' time will move north to be near his family. Since my babies aren't due for another month, I must find someone else to treat me.”
“I . . . I don't know what to say,” Bathsheba stuttered. She never would have believed John would abandon a patient, no matter the circumstances. But surely not Meredith, a woman whose pregnancy must remind him of his sister's.
The marchioness gave a fatalistic shrug. “Dr. Blackmore told Silverton that the sooner he left London, the better. The gossip would fade more quickly if he did, with less damage to his reputation. Fortunately, he knows someone who can take over my caseâDr. Wardrop, his colleague.”
Even though anguish shredded her heart, Bathsheba tried for a reassuring smile. “Dr. Wardrop is an excellent doctor. He'll take wonderful care of you and the babies.”
Meredith sighed. “That's what Blackmore assured Silverton, but Dr. Wardrop is away from London until Tuesday. His assistant promised to have him come to Grosvenor Square immediately on his return.”
Bathsheba suddenly noted Meredith's white face and drawn expression. Further discussion of John's situation would do the marchioness more harm than good. Besides, there would be plenty of time to brood over the whole mess later.
“Well,” Bathsheba said in a bracing voice, “that's a relief. I'm certain you'll like Dr. Wardrop. He's a most engaging man, and quite an outrageous flirt. Not that you would care about that, with a husband as charming as Lord Silverton.”
Meredith narrowed her eyes, ignoring her conversational feint. “You're not fooling anyone, Bathsheba. You might as well tell me what happened between you and Blackmore.”
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