The Irish Healer (21 page)

“I do not know what else you could have had in mind.” She squared her shoulders to staunch the humiliation spreading from head to toe. “I am committed to becoming a teacher back in London, Dr. Edmunds. But thank you for your offer.”

Rachel pushed away from the wall, but he grabbed her hand to keep her from fleeing. “My only thought was that I know you don’t like London. I simply hoped to make you happy.”

“Why?”

“Ah, Miss Dunne.” How softly he said her name, gentle as the sigh of a breeze tickling a stand of reeds. “Because I have come to care about you.”

His words stopped her. He lifted a finger to her cheek, brushed away a strand of hair captured against her lips, tossed there by the wind. Tenderly, he traced the outline of her face. She shivered beneath his touch.

He closed the gap between them. His hand dropped to her elbow and grasped it, pulled her nearer. “You are like a brilliant star, Rachel. Impossible to resist.”

He was going to kiss her. She could see the intent in his eyes. She must not let it happen. A kiss would mean something, promise something, that would never come to pass.

Rachel pulled free of his grip and ran back to the house, sprinting along the rocky narrow path between the fields. He called after her but she pushed on. If she stopped she might let him kiss her. Because she wanted him to. Wanted to feel that connection, that binding.
You are a fool, girl. A stupid fool
. Tears stung, distorting her vision. They fell in a hot, salty stream as she stumbled along, her skirt snagging on a stand of thistle taken hold along the path.

Distracted, she failed to notice a tree root arcing across the path in time to evade it. Her foot caught and she hurtled to the ground.

“Rachel!” shouted Dr. Edmunds.

Her hands bled from where she’d scraped them along stones and scattered branches. Quickly brushing off the gravel stuck to her palms, she pushed herself up onto her knees and tried to scramble to her feet.

“Wait, don’t get up,” Dr. Edmunds commanded, throwing down his hat and dropping next to her, taking hold of her shoulders to keep her from rising. “You might have hurt yourself.”

“I am fine. You can release me.”

“You will stay here until I’ve determined that you can get up.”

She shimmied free of his hands and planted her feet on the ground, intent upon rising. Her left ankle protested with a razor-sharp twinge of pain.

He noted her grimace. “If you attempt to walk on that ankle, Miss Dunne, you’ll only injure it more.” He reached beneath her skirts and examined her ankle through her half boot.

Rachel slapped off his hand and flicked her skirts back into place. “My ankle is fine.”

“Don’t be stubborn.”

She had every intention to be stubborn. “Is the ankle swollen, Dr. Edmunds?”

“Not yet.”

“Then I can walk.” She pressed her palm against a nearby stump and stood. The ankle throbbed and she bit her lip. She would not wince and she would not rely on him to help her back to the house, let him put his arm around her waist or the crook of her elbow Not when the simple brush of his fingertips made her crave more than he could ever give.

“At least lean against me so I may guide you back,” he said.

“I shall make my own way.”

“Rachel, really—”

“My name is Miss Dunne. In case you have forgotten that I am not a servant.”

He frowned. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

She lifted her chin and turned away, headed for the house. With every step, her ankle throbbed. It was worth enduring, she told herself, though she had to clench her teeth to keep from crying out in pain. The ache was the price she would simply have to pay for salvaging her pride.

“She’s a right pretty one, sir. I’d ’ve chased after ’er.”

James turned to face the voice. A shepherd with a battered tricorn hat crooked an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth rising with it. His dog, flopped at his feet, looked up at James with the same amused, expectant expression.

A local and his dog were smirking at him. How appropriate. “Do you work for the steward of Finchingfield House?”

“No. Fair View, sir.”

“Good thing for you.”

Undeterred, the shepherd jerked his head in the direction of Miss Dunne’s limping form, now past the edge of the fields and halfway across the lawn. “She’s not got too far. You could catch ’er yet.”

And do what? Apologize for wanting to hold her close, feel her tucked against his chest, her lips on his? Or apologize for knowing he had nothing more to offer her than a hasty embrace and a kiss?

“I believe you have sheep to tend to,” said James, his frown deepening.

“That I do.”

The man doffed his hat and whistled for his dog to follow, his shoulders shaking with laughter as he strolled away.

James slapped his hat against his thighs, scrubbed a hand across his eyes, and started back toward the house. Even impulsive fools like him still had responsibilities to attend to. Apologies, however, would have to wait until he figured out exactly for what he was repenting.

CHAPTER 19

James evaded Miss Dunne until she and Mrs. Mainprice left for London. His conscience, however, was far more difficult to evade. There was only one thing for him to do—humbly ask Miss Dunne’s forgiveness and tell her she could leave his employ early, if she wished. He would pay her the totality of the salary he had promised, help her find suitable lodging, and understand if she left immediately.

The prospect sat heavy as a lump of sour cheese in his stomach.

James went through the motions of preparing for his own return to London. Peg was left behind to help ready the house. James mounted his horse and turned it down the lane for town. London approached quickly—more rapidly than he desired—the city swallowing the countryside in small bites until the fields and hedgerows were totally consumed and there was nothing to see but houses and shopfronts and traffic. Nothing left to face but his impending duty to an innocent young Irish woman.

Joe sat on the house steps, teasing a neighborhood cat with a piece of twine he had found somewhere. Spotting James, he tucked the twine in a pocket and jumped up to hold the horse’s reins while James dismounted.

“Good mornin’, sir. ’ave a good trip home, did you?”

“Good enough. I made it home and in one piece.”
Did I pay a sliver of attention?
He could have been robbed and not even noticed. “Did the others return safely?”

“Mrs. M and Miss Dunne got back las’ night ’bout ten, I’d say. Also in one piece. Or two pieces, I s’pose.” Joe barked a laugh at his joke, then muffled it when he realized James wasn’t laughing along.

“Where is Miss Dunne at the moment?”

“In the library. With ’er ankle wrapped.” Joe uttered the last words reproachfully, as if he blamed James for Miss Dunne’s injury.

Good heavens, had the entire household already heard about what had happened between them?

“She twisted it while out walking,” James explained tersely. “Take my things up to my chamber. If anyone is looking for me, I’ll be in the library discussing the packing of the books with Miss Dunne.”

He pounded up the stairs, Joe making a speedy decision to drop the horse’s reins to yank open the front door before the master reached it.

Miss Dunne stood in front of the center of the bookcases, staring at a closed book in her hand as if trying to decide what to do with it. She didn’t hear him as he entered the room; she continued staring, her head cocked to one side, like a marionette waiting for the puppeteer to twitch her strings and move her to action.

“Miss Dunne, I must speak with you.”

The book thudded to the floor as she spun around. She winced at the hastiness of her motion. “You startled me, Dr. Edmunds.”

James came no closer to her. It would be better for the both of them if he maintained some physical distance. He shut the door behind him.

“I am not going to repeat my despicable actions, Miss Dunne,” he reassured. “I’ve closed the door because I thought you might appreciate this conversation being kept private.”

Eyes averted, she nodded. The tension clung like the damp of a humid summer day. She shifted her stance, the sway of her skirts revealing a strip of cloth binding her ankle. So far as he could tell, her leg readily supported her weight; her fall hadn’t badly injured her.

Does that make me feel better, though? Less guilty?

James cleared his throat, the apology heavy on his tongue. “You know what I came in here to say. I need to apologize for attempting to kiss you.”

Miss Dunne rolled her lips between her teeth.

“You are a decent and honorable young woman whom I admire,” he continued, sweat gathering, “and I owe you nothing less than my utmost respect. You surely don’t deserve to be pawed like some common girl. I made a horrible mistake, and I am sorry. Forgive me.”

The next words he’d practiced, the ones that were most important of all, never left his mouth. He could not tell her to leave his employ early, if that was what she wished to do. Selfishly, he couldn’t bear to have her withdraw from his life one second sooner than she would be forced to.
God, I most need forgiveness from You
.

Miss Dunne blanched. Maybe she was considering not forgiving him. Maybe she contemplated how to best skewer him like a roasting pig with words of righteous indignation. He deserved every bit of her condemnation.

“I accept your apology for wanting to kiss me, Dr. Edmunds,” she replied at last, her voice unwavering and rich with calm dignity.

The composure she displayed lanced his heart more than any angry rejoinder could have done, reminded him just how extraordinary she was.

“I apologized for
trying
to kiss you, not for wanting to kiss you,” he clarified. “I find I cannot apologize for that. God save me, I know I should, but I cannot and never shall.”

Her gaze jumped to his, those incredible eyes, the color and depth of a pool of tranquil water, searching his face. He had yet to learn how to read the thoughts contained within them. Maybe God was at last being merciful by sparing James the ability.

“Do not let me disturb you any further,” he said, and turned to go.

Rachel stared at the closed library door for what seemed an eternity, but must have only been mere minutes. She should walk away right now, pack her carpetbag and leave. Not that she had anywhere to go. She had returned from Finchingfield to a note from Claire saying her brother had discovered she’d pawned her ring and was so angry he’d banished her to the family estate in Weymouth. Rachel had no one to turn to now and only a few shillings to her name, Joe having sent
Claire’s money to Ireland as he’d promised. She could hardly leave without receiving the salary Dr. Edmunds owed her . . . and would never pay if she abruptly quit. But heavens, how she wished she could march out the front door and never have to face him again. Cease to feel the yearning that stretched her taut as a fiddle string. He wanted to kiss her.

She wanted him to fall in love with her.

Rachel picked up the book she had dropped and placed it upon the desk just as Joe scampered into the library.

“Eh, miss, the blokes from the movin’ agency ’ave just come with the crates . . .” Joe cocked his head to peer at her. “Aw, don’ go lookin’ all glum about that. I’ll ’elp you wiv ’em.”

“It’s not the crates, Joe,” she answered. “I am just a little sad that I shall be leaving you all soon.”

“You knows we’ll all miss you terrible too. ’cept Moll, I s’pose,” he added honestly, with a wicked grin. “An’ mebbe Peg.”

Rachel smiled; it was better than crying. “I will recover from my melancholy.”

“I’m glad to ’ear that. ’ate to see you sad. ’specially with Molly still green an’ the master stalkin’ around, ready to bite off someone’s ’ead like ’e’s mad at the world—”

“Yes, well, send the man from the moving agency up, will you, Joe?” She interrupted Joe to avoid hearing about Dr. Edmunds’s foul mood, even if she felt some satisfaction in the knowledge he might be sad too.