4. Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

C harles hated Nash Hall and everything it stood for, but he'd had no choice but to return to the place of his birth before his father sent someone to fetch him like a naughty schoolboy. He reminded himself that he was an independent man and that his father had no real power over him, but it didn't help much.

"Thank you, Benson." Charles handed his hat and cloak to the butler and followed him across the large marble hall and down a dark corridor to his father's study.

The butler knocked on the door and then stood aside for Charles to enter. "Mr. Charles, my lord."

His father sat behind his desk, his spectacles on his thin nose, his gaze on the accounts book in front of him.

"Good afternoon, sir."

Charles waited for a reply, his gaze drifting around the vast room, from the books adorning the shelves he was certain his father never read, to the dour family portraits and hunting scenes his father favored. Nothing had changed except he was no longer a small, scared boy desperately trying to win his father's approval.

His father's old tactic of making him wait to be acknowledged didn't work anymore, either.

For a while, the faint scratching of his father's pen against the paper and the tick of the mantelpiece clock were the only sounds in the vast room. Charles consulted his pocket watch and looked up to find his father's gaze fixed on him.

"You've taken long enough to get here."

Charles inclined his head. "I have an obligation to my patients, sir. I can't just up and leave."

"That's not what I've heard."

Charles had no reply but refused to look away or apologize. "Is there something specific you wished to discuss me with me, sir? I need to get back to work as soon as possible."

"In Millcastle?"

"That is where I have my medical practice." He wasn't surprised his father knew all about his recent change of address and had known exactly where to find him.

His father nodded. "Working for a self-made man, I hear."

"I thought you'd be pleased I'd found gainful employment."

"Not with a cit. A man of your rank should be working for the interests of his family."

"I'm quite certain you are fully capable of fulfilling all those requirements for many years to come without any help from me."

"I will agree that you are of no use to me in most matters, but there is one thing I need from you."

"And what is that?" Charles met his father's gaze. "Unfortunately, despite my profession, I am unable to perform miracles and resurrect your true heir."

"You will marry and produce an heir to continue my name and line."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Charles smiled. "Who on earth would want to marry me, and why would I want to perpetuate a line that considers me a failure?"

His father raised an eyebrow. "I have already found you a willing bride. You will be married by the end of the year."

"I beg to differ."

"You will do as you are told or suffer the consequences."

Charles shrugged. "You've already cut off my allowance and presumably written me out of your will. I know you can't take away the title, but that is meaningless to me anyway. So, what else can you do?"

His father opened a drawer in his desk and took out a stack of papers.

"It might interest you to know that I bought your London debts."

For a second, Charles fought to breathe before regaining the ability to speak.

"Thank you?"

"I don't want your gratitude. I want you to do what you are told."

"When have I ever done that?" Charles asked lightly. "In truth, you buying back my debts makes my life much easier."

"Ah, but the cost of doing so needs to be absorbed by the estate, which might necessitate other… economies."

"A few less racing horses in your stables won't cause you much pain, sir," Charles said.

His father looked directly at him. "I was thinking more about your mother's needs."

Coldness crashed over him and his fingers curled into fists as his father continued speaking.

"It would be more economical to find somewhere she can be confined more easily. In her less lucid moments, she does tend to wander, and one would not wish harm to befall her."

"No one here would cause her harm."

"One cannot guarantee that."

"What exactly are you suggesting?" Charles forced himself to ask the question.

"You're a physician, perhaps you might have recommendations for the kind of help she requires? I'm not suggesting we place her in a common asylum, but there must be more private establishments that would be able to restrain her… excesses?"

Charles leaned forward and placed his hands on his father's desk. "If you harm her, I'll bloody kill you."

"There's no need to be so melodramatic. You sound like your mother. Remember it's your debts that have brought about this unfortunate situation. Your marriage will help to secure your mother's future here." His father sat back, smiling. "Perhaps you might think about that. I require your agreement by the end of the month, or I shall pursue other options."

"This is contemptible, even for you."

"I am merely securing my line, son. All you have to do is marry and produce an heir, and I will destroy your notes of promise and make sure your mother's existence remains as pleasant and untroubled as I can make it."

Charles headed for the door before he said or did something that would make matters worse. Not that they could get much worse. He didn't care about the debts. His love for his mother would always come first, and his father knew it, which made his current position untenable. There was also no point in calling his father's bluff, as he always followed through on any promise he made.

"Mr. Charles? May I help you, sir?"

Charles only realized he was standing in the hall staring at the front door when the butler spoke to him.

"I'd like to see my mother, Benson. Do you know if it is a convenient time?"

The butler glanced at the clock. "Mrs. Jones just sent her lunch up, sir."

"Then she'll probably be awake and willing to see me." Charles found a smile as he headed for the stairs. "How are your family? All well I hope?"

"Yes, indeed, sir, and thank you for asking. My daughter's about to give birth to my first grandchild."

"Make sure to tell your midwife or doctor to wash their hands with soap before they lay a finger on her," Charles advised.

The butler nodded. "Is that the latest science from London?"

"It is. I won't bore you with the details, but it makes for a far healthier outcome for both mother and child."

"Then I'll be sure to mention it." The butler hesitated. "You will be staying the night, won't you, sir? It's started raining quite heavily. I would be wary of attempting to cross the ford in the dark when the river is already high."

"I'll stay the night, but I'll be off again at dawn."

"I'll make sure to inform the stables and kitchens, sir."

"Thank you."

The butler bowed and Charles continued up the stairs until he was outside his mother's suite of rooms. He knocked on the door, and her full-time companion, Miss Martha Evans, opened the door a crack.

"Dr. Nash! What a pleasant surprise."

She was a middle-aged woman who claimed some distant kinship with the family. She'd come to live at the hall and quickly become his mother's mainstay, steering her through the tempestuous swing of her moods with a calm good sense and kindness that Charles could only admire. What would happen to Miss Evans if his mother was taken away? Would she lose her occupation and her home as well? Charles wouldn't put it past his father to deal him a double blow.

"Miss Evans." He smiled at her. "How is she today?"

"Very much present and aware." Miss Evans lowered her voice. "She is looking forward to seeing you."

Miss Evan opened the door wider and turned toward the large, four-poster bed. "Look who has just arrived, my lady."

"Charles!"

His mother was sitting up in bed, a lace cap covered her fair hair. She had a lunch tray beside her and two small dogs curled at her feet.

"Mother." Charles strode across to the bed and bent to kiss her cheek. "You look very fetching in that cap."

"It is pretty, is it not? Martha made it for me. She is very clever."

Charles sat down on the chair next to the bed and carefully observed his mother's face. She looked as beautiful as ever, the only signs of her struggles evident in the hard lines around her mouth and on her brow and the overbrightness of her blue eyes. She had gotten a lot worse after the death of Charles's older brother, Benjamin, and had never quite recovered her nerves or equilibrium.

"Are you here for long, Charlie?" She nibbled at a piece of bread and butter and took a sip of hot chocolate.

"Alas, not for long. I have patients to see."

She sighed. "Is your father being horrible to you?"

"I think in his own way he is still grieving for Benjamin." Charles tried to be tactful. Setting his mother against his implacable father never ended well for her.

His mother snorted. "Paul is incapable of feeling; we both know that." Her lips thinned. "He barely bothers to come and see me anymore."

"One would think that was something to celebrate," Charles said.

Her grin was wicked enough to make him believe that the rest of it—the days when she was unable to get out of bed, or she cried, or raved, or roamed without purpose didn't occur—but he knew better. Such hope was treacherous and wishing she would simply get better was unhelpful. He couldn't imagine what would happen to her if she was held in a place where she wasn't loved or understood.

"Shall we go for a walk, Charlie?"

He glanced over at the window. "It's a charming idea, but it is pouring with rain."

"Is it? Then we can walk in the long gallery and make fun of all the family portraits your father prizes so highly."

Before he replied, Charles glanced over at Miss Evans. After she nodded slightly, he said, "I think that is an excellent idea." He smiled at them both. "I'll wait for you to get dressed."

* * *

It was only when he was on the mail coach heading back to Millcastle that he allowed himself to think about his father's threats. Unfortunately, his father knew his weaknesses and had set his trap well. How could Charles allow his mother to end up in a home for "distressed ladies"? He knew what such places were like—had visited the occupants in his professional capacity when he'd practiced in London—and none of them, even the most expensive, were happy places.

In his opinion, the moment someone was held against their will, even in the most luxurious of prisons, their life became subject to the whims of others who might not always have their best interests at heart and might even abuse that power for financial gain. He'd seen perfectly sane women incarcerated by their loving families simply for refusing to marry as directed, or for having an education or a belief of their own.

His delicate mother would wither and die in such a place. He couldn't be the architect of such a disaster, which meant his father had won… again. Everything inside him rebelled at such a capitulation. It had taken years to get away from his family and to learn how to channel his rage into more constructive outlets, but even there, he hadn't quite succeeded, which had led to his current predicament.

From his conversations with his mother and Miss Evans, he surmised that neither of them knew about his father's plans, which was some comfort.

His last act before leaving his father's house was to ask for two month's grace to consider his options and that, if he did agree, he had to meet his proposed bride before the wedding. His father, knowing he held all the cards, had graciously accepted his terms and sent him on his way with a knowing smile.

Charles sighed and leaned his head against the back of the seat. The woman sitting next to him snored away, her shoulder tucked firmly against his, stopping them both from being deposited on the floor as the coach dodged the potholes on the ancient road. Her booted feet were propped up against a wicker basket containing a chicken leaving little room for his long legs.

As a headache threatened, he closed his eyes and tried not to think about anything. He knew such behavior had led to his present woes but reasoned that a good sleep would clear the cobwebs and hopefully present him with some solutions on the morrow.

He had a profession he loved, a steady income, people who respected him, and a place to live. He wondered how his mother and Miss Evans would feel if he brought them to live with him and keep house? He had a terrible suspicion that any change in his mother's circumstances might cause harm, but surely being with him rather than with strangers would be an improvement? His last thought as he succumbed to the lure of sleep was that if he could find a way to thwart his father, he would do it.

* * *

Ruby was warming her hands at the nursery fire when the door opened and Dr. Nash came in, carrying what appeared to be his luggage. He looked like a man who'd spent the night in close proximity to others and smelled of the farmyard. His usually immaculate linen was rumpled, his boots were covered in mud, and a suggestion of stubble covered his chin.

He set down his belongings, removed his hat, and let out a ragged breath.

"Good evening, Miss Delisle. I came to check on your daughter."

Ruby frowned. "Haven't you been away?" Caroline had mentioned the doctor had been called away on family business at dinner earlier.

His eyebrows rose. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"One might have thought you'd be longing for your bed."

"I am, but the welfare of my patients always comes first." He glanced down at his sodden boots and grimaced. "I had to walk from town because the mail coach was so late. The ditch and road were partially flooded."

"Then I am happy to inform you that Nora is sleeping well, her cough has almost gone, and her temperature is normal."

"Thank you, but if you don't mind, I'll just take a peek at her myself." He washed his hands and moved past her toward Nora's door. "You may accompany me if you wish."

"I would do that regardless of your wishes," Ruby whispered as she followed him into the dimly lit room where her daughter slept like a little angel. "The nurse has just gone to the kitchen to fetch more coal for the fire. I am awaiting her return before I leave."

Dr. Nash felt Nora's forehead and then took her pulse before carefully tucking her in.

"Well?" Ruby asked.

"She seems perfectly fine." He came toward her and held the door open for her to leave ahead of him.

"Unlike most sick children, she has the benefit of a full-time staff to monitor her needs," Ruby said.

After shutting the door, they stopped in the nursery's central area where the children ate their meals and played under the watchful eye of the nursery staff.

"One would think that would be considered a blessing, Miss Delisle."

Ruby grimaced. "It is. It's just that sometimes all this—" She gestured at the room, the well-stocked toy shelves, soft couches, and thick rugs. "—feels unreal."

His gaze followed hers around the room. "We both know that the majority of people would bite off their own hand to achieve such abundance."

"And I am very grateful to my sister for everything she has done for me and Nora, but I also worry—" She abruptly stopped speaking and looked up at Dr. Nash. "I do apologize. You must think I have run mad."

"Hardly. I know madness when I see it." He hesitated. "You can say anything you want. I will keep your secrets."

She considered him for a long moment. "I think I am afraid."

"Of losing these comforts again?"

"That is part of it, but it's more that… I fear that I might lose myself if I stay here on my sister's charity, even if she never begrudges me a thing." She sank onto one of the chairs and stared down at her twisted fingers.

He nodded slowly. "Being beholden is never easy, even if the persons intentions are pure."

"I think they want me to become the old Ruby—the one they loved. They expect me to settle down and resume my place as if nothing happened." She slowly raised her gaze to meet his. "But I'm not that girl anymore. I have a child. I lived with a man I loved and experienced so many things."

"Then what do you want?"

"Some measure of financial independence? Some sense of self and pride in my own achievements?"

He smiled. "You could work in one of the local mills. I'm sure they'd be delighted to have you."

She raised her chin. "It wouldn't be the first time I've worked in a mill, Dr. Nash."

"I don't doubt it." He inclined his head an inch. "I'm merely asking the questions, Miss Delisle. I'm not trying to undermine you."

She sighed. "And yet this whole conversation is ridiculous. I have everything a woman could want, and I'm still complaining."

"I… have some sympathy for you." He paused. "I too chose a different path, one that my family did not approve of, because I hated the idea that I had to become the person they expected me to be. I can't say that decision has made my life easier, but I like the person I am far more than the old me."

Ruby attempted a smile. "Thank you for saying that. I still feel ungrateful. If I expressed such an opinion to my mother and sisters, they'd be dreadfully hurt."

"Then it's a good thing you spoke to me." Dr. Nash bent to pick up his bags. "My advice to you, Miss Delisle, is to work out exactly how you want your life to proceed and find a way to achieve your aims."

Ruby stood and curtsied. "Why thank you, Dr. Nash. When you put it like that it sounds so simple."

She surprised a smile out of him as he turned to the door.

"I'm glad to be of service, Miss Delisle."

She hurried after him and touched his shoulder. "Truly, I appreciate that you took the time to listen to me."

He looked down at her, his frowning gaze lingering on her mouth and for a second. A tremor of excitement went through her before he lifted his head.

"It was nothing. I wish you good night."

"Indeed." Ruby stepped away from him. "Thank you, again."

He left the room, leaving Ruby staring after him. She had no idea why she'd suddenly decided to confide in a man she barely knew and whom she suspected had little tolerance for the imagined woes of the privileged. But he said he understood her, and she believed him.

The nursery maid came through the servant's door with a bucket full of coal and smiled at Ruby. "Thank you for waiting, ma'am." Bridget set the bucket beside the fire and made a tsking sound. "I'll just wash my hands and put on a clean apron. I'm covered in coal dust."

"Then I'll leave you to get on," Ruby said.

"All the children are sleeping through the night now, which means I have very little to do." Bridget smiled as she untied the bow on her apron. "I'll be able to get some knitting done."

"I'm glad to hear it." Ruby went toward the door.

"She'll be as blithe and bonny as Miss Louisa before you know it, miss."

"I'm sure she will. Goodnight, Bridget."

"Goodnight, miss."

She was dispatched with a cheery wave and went toward her bedroom deep in thought. Even though Dr. Nash could be somewhat abrasive, his advice about deciding how she wanted to manage her life going forward was accurate. She tried to think about her ideal situation but was already aware that her options were limited. Poor women worked in the factories or at home. Ladies were protected by their families until they married a suitable man. She didn't fit into either category.

She slowly undressed and put on her nightgown. Were there careers open to women apart from the obvious one of marriage? She didn't have the ability to pretend she was a widow, and she had a child born out of wedlock. Lady's companions and governesses had to have spotless reputations. Most gentleman would consider her ineligible, despite her connection with Francis…

She sighed and got into bed, grateful for the warmth of the freshly banked fire and the thickness of the covers surrounding her. Perhaps like most gentlemen, Dr. Nash believed it was easy to make decisions and act upon them. As a woman, she didn't see a way to achieve her desires, and that wasn't helpful at all.