The Lady in the Tower (3 page)

“You also
forgot to mention he’s deliciously handsome.”

“Handsome?
Thornton?”

Catherine
opened one eye. “If you say he isn’t, I’ll be forced to call you for a liar.”

Jane supposed
Thornton had a certain male beauty. He had the strong jaw and aquiline nose of
an aristocrat, and his now-bronzed skin belied the life of a simple peer.
“Perhaps,” she said grudgingly. “Catherine, what is the point of mentioning
these things?”

“Point?” The
duchess sighed and closed her eyes again. “I’m not sure I have one, my dear.”

Jane narrowed
her gaze. “Rest.” She left, quietly shutting the morning room door behind her.
She turned toward the entryway, pausing when she realized she wasn’t alone in
the foyer; Thornton stood at the bottom of the staircase, leaning casually
against the newel post.
Ready to pounce like a lion.

“Lady
Kilkenny
, I couldn’t allow you to leave without speaking to
you first.” He left his indolent pose to step forward, leaning on his
fashionable cane, to stand squarely in her path.

She instantly
felt cornered, but refused to move. “I’m surprised you remember my name.”

“Let’s just
say you left an impression.”

“I’m sure
anyone who argues with you leaves an impression.”

To
her surprise, his mouth quirked in amusement.
“It’s been
some months since last we met, and clearly not under the best of
circumstances.”

“That is
certainly one way of putting it.”

His gaze
dipped to her blue frock and grey pelisse. Goodness, she’d been in such a rush
to assure herself Catherine was well she’d completely forgotten to remove her
coat.

“It’s been
quite a while since your husband’s passing and yet you do not wear black.”

She drew
herself up to her five foot five inch height. “My husband deplored seeing me in
black. It is in his honor that I don’t wear it.”

“Hmm.”

He was doing
it again, making that noncommittal sound. What did it even mean? It reminded
her of when he’d ministered to Albert, “hmm”-
ing
her
every suggestion and question. “I don’t—”

“Sensible,
really.”

She blinked.
“I beg your pardon?”

“Sensible, I
said. It’s a ridiculous tradition, wearing black, for what an entire year? Why
does society demand one display one’s grief for all to see?” He shook his head.
“I’m amazed how people spend such time looking to the past rather than moving
forward.” He gestured to her gown. “As you’ve done.”

“Well . . .
that’s not . . . I mean, it is, but . . . Thank you. I think.”

“Of course.”
He frowned. “Did you think I judged you otherwise?”

She looked at
him, measured his face. They’d both shifted throughout their exchange, yet she
was surprised to realize that they were now standing closer to one another
–
much
closer. “I’m not sure what I think.”

“I find that
hard to believe. You strike me as a woman who
very
much knows her mind.”
He smiled.

The oddest
tingle went through her. “I do know my mind, which is to my detriment, some
would say.”

“Hmm.” His
gaze flickered over her, lingering on her hair. “Not that you wouldn’t look
stunning in black. Especially with that blond hair of yours . . . lovely.”

For the first
time in her life, Jane found herself speechless. As she stood there, struggling
for something to say, she became aware of other things. For one, how very tall
he was. The top of her head barely reached his collarbone. She could smell his
aftershave, too, a woodsy blend of spice and male. And standing this close, the
bluish shadow of his whiskers at his jaw were clearly visible. She curled her
fingers into her palm, wondering how those whiskers would feel under her
fingertips.
Good God, I must stop this.
 “I’m sorry, but I must be
on my way.”

“Of course.
I’ll have Higgins bring your carriage around.”

“I didn’t
bring a carriage. Higgins can call a hackney.”

His brows
lifted. “You came in a hired vehicle? Then I shall see you home in my
carriage.”

Her fingers
tightened about the handle of her bag. If he overwhelmed her in the duchess’s
front hall, what would he do in the confines of a closed carriage? A spark of
curiosity mingled with something else, both of which she ruthlessly pushed
aside. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”

“Not
necessary, but sensible. Ah, Higgins. Perfect timing, my good fellow.”

She turned to
see the wizened butler emerging from the back of the house, Thornton’s hat and
coat in hand. “I took it upon myself to have your carriage brought around,
sir.” He thrust the accouterments at Thornton as if he couldn’t be rid of the
man fast enough.

Of course
Thornton had
his own
carriage. His patients could
afford to pay far beyond the usual physician’s salary. She couldn’t decide if she
was impressed, or envious.
Probably a measure of both.

As Thornton
donned his coat, Higgins turned to her. “How is Her Grace, my lady?”

“She’s
resting, Higgins. Please assure she is not disturbed.”

“Certainly, my
lady.”

Thornton
suddenly turned to Jane. “I’d give her to . . . luncheon, would you say? Before
anyone should disturb her?”

For the second
time in as many minutes, Jane was left thunderstruck. Before, when Albert had
been ill, Sir Richard hadn’t deigned to include her at all.

Jane nodded to
the servant. “Sir Richard is correct.”

Higgins
frowned. “But she’ll need her breakfast, for she had nothing to eat.”

“Her Grace
needs rest more than food right now. However, if she’s yet to stir by luncheon,
look in on her, but
quietly.
If she’s awake, then by all means bring her
something but keep it light.”

“Agreed,”
Thornton said. “No roasted beef, or cream sauces. If she’s still sleeping,
leave her alone. She can eat when she awakes.”

Higgins looked
resentful, but Jane gently pushed the point home. “Is that understood,
Higgins?”

The servant
cast another doubtful look at Thornton, but nodded. “As you say, my lady.”

“Thank you,
Higgins. Her Grace is lucky to have you to care for her.” At this, he beamed,
and straightened as much as his stooped spine would allow.

Thornton held
the door open. Outside on the curb stood a well-rigged black landau. “May I
have your direction, my lady?”

The thought of
sitting in another closed carriage, especially with Thornton so close, was
enough to unsettle her insides. But to refuse his offer now, after his
professional courtesy, would seem mean-spirited.

With a mental
sigh, she gave him her address and accepted his hand into the carriage. She
only hoped, for both their sakes, she wouldn’t regret the decision.

Richard tilted
his head to consider his traveling companion. So this was the “wicked widow.”
Despite the October chill, she wore neither bonnet nor gloves; rather than
boots, she wore thin slippers,
the
sort one might wear
to tea. He thought it highly likely that, in her determination to quickly come
to her friend’s side, she’d barely remembered to don the coat. It had been
interesting to watch her attend the duchess.
I wonder the purpose of the
essential oils.
He would ask, but as soon as the carriage had lurched
forward, she’d turned to stare out the window as if transfixed by the scenery,
thereby eliminating the need for conversation.

Perhaps that’s
for the best.
And yet he couldn’t stop looking at her pure profile. Such
a lovely nose, and those lips—He shook his head at his ridiculous
thoughts.
I’ve seen lovely women before; there’s no reason to think this one
is any different.

Perhaps he
felt this way because he’d known and respected her father. There weren’t many
in London’s medical field
who
did not know of Sir
Reginald Fitzgerald. His surgical skills had been widely lauded, and as a
student, Richard had been fortunate to observe the old man in action in the
surgical theater. He’d been so impressed that he’d toyed with the idea of
quitting the Royal College and apprenticing surgery instead. Napoleon had
altered that plan, and despite everything that had happened to him on the
Continent, Richard regretted nothing.

He noted how
Lady
Kilkenny’s
lips were now pressed into a stubborn
line. She was both more and less than his memory recalled. He’d remembered her
beauty, of course. He’d been hard pressed to forget it.
Wheat-blonde
hair with a bewitching tendency to curl.
Storm-blue
eyes that reflected every thought and emotion.
A feminine, lithe figure
that belied a will he had discovered was indomitable at best, and
inconveniently irritating at worst.

When he’d
first met her, resentful of his presence and distressed at her husband’s
looming death, her loveliness had affected him far more than it should have. As
was only proper, she’d been oblivious to his reaction, which he’d hidden as
well as he could, and for that he was thankful. But for a man who prided
himself on his professionalism, the fact that he’d let her bother him at all
still rankled.

Since then,
he’d been tantalized with her appearance in the scandal sheets as the “wicked
widow.” There were several circulating stories, each with varied degrees of
sensational, indecent accounts. One had her stripping naked to swim in the
ornamental lake at
Ranelagh
. Another had her
carousing with gamesters in Vauxhall. The most recent had her undressing a man
in the lobby of a hotel.

One thing he
had been able to gather from the stories: apparently someone always ended up
naked.

He tried
reconciling the image of the “wicked widow,” the memory he had of her from
nearly a year ago, and the woman who sat across from him now. When he’d first
met her, grief and exhaustion had given her a veil of fragility. Then, after reading
about her in the gossip columns, his imagination had added layers of sultry
sensuousness. But now that he sat across from her in his own carriage, and
could actually see her and not just rely upon his overly excited imagination,
he realized that Lady
Kilkenny
reflected neither of
the images he’d cultivated. Instead of delicate paleness, her complexion had
the creamy rosiness of good health. Instead of audacious brazenness, she
appeared every inch the collected, elegant gentlewoman.

That wasn’t to
say she wasn’t bold, for she was. She’d had no trouble interjecting herself
this morning into his consult with the duchess.

It had been an
interesting morning. Clearly she and the duchess were far more than
acquaintances. However, the needs of the patient always came first, despite
what the physician wanted, desired or even needed. This was the only reason
he’d allowed her to progress at all with her so-called essential oils. Since
the duchess had seemed to be soothed by them, and Jane’s presence, there had been
no harm in allowing it.

He flexed his
sore calf, the cold making it ache. If his companion hadn’t been with him, he
would have stretched his leg onto the seat opposite. But as it was, the seat
was occupied, and he found that despite his discomfort, he was glad of it.

The landau
shuddered suddenly as it hit a bump in the road and he gritted his teeth
against the pain that launched through his leg. He glanced at his companion,
and was gratified that she didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she was gripping the
door handle as if ready to fling it open and make a mad dash for freedom.

She’s a bundle
of nerves, this one.
“I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing. I admired
him greatly.”

Her gaze
finally turned his way. “Thank you.”

“Did he teach
you?” At her raised brow, he continued, “You dealt well with the duchess.”

“He taught me
everything he knew,” she said simply.

When Richard
thought of the blood-soaked procedures a surgeon dealt with, he couldn’t keep
the disbelief from his tone.  “
All
of them?”

Her eyes
flashed. “I needn’t have attended the Royal College to be a capable healer. I
assisted my father whenever he had patients at the house, and I steeped his
potions and tonics when he became too busy—” she gave him a low look,
“—speaking to lecture halls filled with boys who wouldn’t know a forceps
from a lancet.”

“Well, of
course they wouldn’t know. They were there to learn, weren’t they?”

Her reply was
to fold her generous mouth into a mulish line.

He waited for
her to continue but she instead became focused on her hands, which she gripped
together in her lap. Something about the way she sat there, stiff and aloof,
walled off in her tower of ill-perceived certainty and misconceptions, dared
him to storm her walls.