2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

W illa was wrong.

She should have stayed in the foyer.

Or, at the very least, she should have entered the library quietly instead of exploding into the room like a stampeding elephant.

When she came in, Dr. Anderson’s back was to her, and only his broad shoulders and height registered at first. He was enormous and browsing the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, which suddenly looked much smaller with him in front of them.

“Dr. Anderson?”

Speaking his name caused her new savior to turn around, and once he did, Willa was struck mute.

Silenced by a handsome face.

And not merely handsome. No, that word was simply too lackluster to describe the man before her. Standing there with her eyes wide, and mouth gaping open, she decided that calling him handsome showed a complete lack of imagination, and, if there was one thing for certain, Wilhelmina Fairweather had imagination in spades.

Yet, at this very moment, it was failing her .

A poet was needed. Yes, that was it. A grand master of the craft who could properly express how the good doctor’s crystal blue eyes and luscious full lips melded so seamlessly with his chiseled features and tan skin. And how his midnight black hair and shadow of a beard only added to the allure.

She was well aware she was rudely staring, having never glimpsed such a man in all her life, but she could not stop herself. It was as if an exotic fairy tale creature had fled the pages of her books and come to visit Haven House, daring to beguile them with its beauty.

And then he went and did the most horrendous thing possible, catapulting the situation from mildly uncomfortable to dire in under a second.

Dr. Noah Anderson smiled.

Good heavens .

Could a heart stop from witnessing a mere presentation of teeth? Willa certainly never thought it possible, but here she was, lightheaded and unable to focus.

“Wilhelmina Fairweather?”

Her eyes went even wider. The way he said her name had goosebumps breaking out across her skin. She could almost taste the rich timbre in his voice, and it reminded her of the time she drank a glass of her father’s whiskey on a cold winter’s night. The amber liquid had slid down her throat with a heated caress, warming her insides as it made its way to her belly.

A dark eyebrow arched when she remained silent. “You are Ms. Wilhelmina Fairweather, are you not?”

The friendly tone there a moment ago now held a hint of annoyance, sparking her own temper. How dare he come here with a face like that and presume she could carry on a civil conversation.

“Ms. Fairweather,” he drawled, propping one of his muscled shoulders on a bookcase. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, although perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “Yes. ”

A lie, of course, but there was no other choice. It was the best she could do without looking like a complete fool, and for him to expect her to articulate any piece of information about herself since he turned around was a ludicrous assumption on his part.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine.” The farthest thing from fine, Willa fanned herself, attempting to cool the growing rush of heat that bordered on the obscene. “Thank you for inquiring.”

“So, you are Wilhelmina?”

He straightened to step closer, and she instinctively retreated until her back met the wall, knocking a framed picture askew.

“Ye-yes,” she croaked, wondering how he could have such a well-defined jawline. Surely, having such a feature and flaunting it so brazenly must be illegal. “I am Wilhelmina Fairweather.”

Understanding something was off, he halted in his advance. That perfect jawline ticking as he surveyed her state. “I’m Paul Anderson’s cousin.”

“The doctor,” she replied nervously. “You are the doctor, and I am Wilhelmina.”

“Cal asked that I examine you. He mentioned your lung issues, and I can already see I have my work cut out for me.”

Pressing her lips together, she attempted to quell her rapid breathing, not wanting him to realize what was currently happening had nothing to do with lung spasms.

“Nod, if you understand, Ms. Fairweather.”

Dear God, did he think her a simpleton? She couldn’t fault him for it, but still, he could have the decency not to make a show of it.

Willa stuck her nose in the air. “I quite understand.”

“Good.” He returned to the bookshelves and continued searching through the selections. “By the way, your Keats collection is lacking.”

“Only because I do not care for Keats.”

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste.” Sliding a novel from its spot, he flipped through the pages. “However, I see you have two copies of The Modern Prometheus . I know Cal’s not a reader, so I assume this is either yours or one of your sisters, and I find that interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?”

His big shoulders shrugged. “Even though it was written by a woman, most of the females in my life can’t handle it. They find the story disturbing.”

It was her turn to arch an eyebrow. “Perhaps it’s time you associate with women who have stronger stomachs.”

And there was his taunting smile again.

“May I borrow it?” Snapping the book closed, he held it in the air. “Reading of Dr. Frankenstein and his monster always seems fitting this time of year when we lose the heat of summer and trade it for dreary autumn skies.”

“You may,” she replied. “And I happen to enjoy autumn. Summer and spring are my least favorite seasons.”

“Why is that?”

If he were truly planning to treat her ailments, she shouldn’t keep things from him, but with honesty came a price. A lesson learned from her mother. Being open and honest with another person provided them with ammunition to use against you later.

“My spasms lessen once the heat departs,” she explained. “I can spend time outdoors if I choose to.”

Her description intrigued him. “You said spasms. Is that what it feels like?”

Moving off her spot on the wall, she nodded. “I cough and cough but can never get it under control. Then I lose my breath. It feels as if I’m empty of oxygen and can’t replace it fast enough.”

Hearing her symptoms had him crossing the room. Without permission, he laid a hand on the flat of her back and another on her lower rib cage. “Breathe in and out for me.”

A blush seeped into her cheeks, but she did as he asked, focusing on the opposite wall. “I’ll bring my bag on the next visit,” he murmured, closing his eyes to focus while she inhaled and exhaled. “We need to gather a baseline before I recommend treatment.”

Dr. Noah Anderson smelled as lovely as he looked, and his scent overpowered her with every draw of air through her nostrils. Sighing, she took a moment to enjoy his nearness.

“Why don’t you like Keats?”

Eyes still closed, he had whispered the question, and Willa prayed for her heart to remain at its current pace. “I much prefer Poe if I am to read poetry, and I also enjoy his shorter narratives.”

The hand on her rib cage slid higher, his thumb grazing the underside of a breast. The touch had been unintentional, but even so, it didn’t halt the flood of salacious thoughts from taking over Willa’s brain.

Once last year, while on one of her winter walks through the forest, she happened upon a worker from the mill secretly meeting with his sweetheart. The couple had no inkling of her presence and kissed with such abandon that Willa had stopped, transfixed by the sight.

And she still didn’t move as they carried on, not even when the mill worker opened the woman’s shirt to lavish her breasts with his tongue. It had been wrong to watch, but a jealous curl of yearning had left Willa frozen, the pain reminding her that this brazen act of passion was something she would never have. It became even worse when, in a frenzy, the woman dropped to her knees and tried to lower the man’s pants.

Willa had left the couple then, returning to Haven House with the bitterness of a pathetic destiny in her mouth. Fate would never allow her to know pleasure like she had witnessed out there in the forest. It would never give her a moment of feeling unrestricted and adored. Destiny had dictated early on that no man would ever desire her in the way the mill worker had desired his woman that day. She would forever live feeling like she was alone in the world, married or not.

“Murder and mayhem, is it?” Opening his eyes again, Noah grinned down at her. “From a person who owns multiple copies of The Modern Prometheus , I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. ”

Breathless from having him this close and with the irony of being in such a state not lost on her, Willa returned his smile. “I do love my monsters.”

Neither said anything for a long minute, each studying the other carefully. Noah, likely doing so for scientific purposes, while her reasons fell more along the lines of committing every perfect line of his face to memory.

“Do you wish to tame them?” he asked softly. “The monsters, I mean.”

“What’s the good in loving a monster if you wish to tame it?” The corners of her mouth tilted upward, the movement drawing his gaze. “They’re created to wreak havoc, and suppressing a monster’s nature would be unfair. Let them run wild, I say.”

“And have you ever run wild, Ms. Fairweather?”

Her mother chose that moment to sweep into the room. “Dr. Anderson, I am Margaret Fairweather, the Lady of Haven House.”

Unbothered by her mother’s glacial stare, Noah removed his hands. “It is lovely to meet you, Mrs. Fairweather. I was chatting with your daughter while admiring this lovely library.”

Margaret didn’t seem impressed, which wasn’t a surprise to Willa. “According to my son, you might be able to help us deal with Wilhelmina?”

Deal with Wilhelmina .

Her father wasn’t the only one excited by Willa’s possible betrothal to John Richards and eventual departure from Haven House. Stephen and Margaret Fairweather never agreed on anything except for this. Grace, the firstborn, had been their favorite, and Cal would forever be the golden son. Lucy was the baby of the family, but it was different with Willa. They tolerated her but not much else.

Noah must have heard the undercurrent in her mother’s statement and frowned. “I’ll do my best to help your daughter in any way I can, Mrs. Fairweather.”

“And what assessment have you come up with thus far? ”

“Nothing as of yet,” he replied, brows knitted together as he took the two of them in. “We were becoming acquainted over ?Keats and monsters made by men.”

The heavy oak front door of Haven House slammed shut, rattling the walls of the library. The sound elicited a grimace from both Willa and her mother.

“While at Haven House, you’ll do well to remember that men themselves can also be the monsters, Dr. Anderson,” Margaret said as her husband’s gruff commands echoed in from the foyer. “They don’t always need to create them.”

Stiff from standing silently in the parlor’s corner, Willa stifled a yawn. Lucy caught her eye and, likely just as sore, did the same.

Two hours.

Every female in the room had stood at attention for two excruciating hours while Willa’s father held court with Cal and the Anderson brothers. The talk ranged from her brother’s adventures at school to the local lumber business before finally landing on Beau and Noah’s rank , as her father called it, within the Anderson clan.

“As the eldest, I would think it should be you instead of Beau becoming Paul’s second,” her father stated, grilling Noah yet again on his choice of becoming something as ridiculous as a doctor. “Why waste your time? There’s no money in medicine.”

The flicker of annoyance Willa had witnessed earlier now shone deeply in Noah’s eyes. Unlike every other living creature within a fifty-mile radius of Haven House, he wasn’t afraid of her father and had sat politely, albeit irritated, through the barrage of questions.

“I don’t find helping others to be a waste of time,” Noah replied coolly from his spot on the settee next to his brother. “There are many who are unable to receive the care they might need due to a lack of people practicing proper medicine. ”

Not caring for the answer, Stephen Fairweather reclined in the wingback across from the Anderson brothers. Calvin sat a few feet from their father in the secondary wingback while Willa’s mother stood behind him, suffering along with her daughters. Bonnie did the same, never leaving Margaret’s side.

“Take Willa, for example.” Noah gestured in her direction, and Willa felt herself blushing all over again. Not since they exited the library had he even spared her a glance. “From what I’ve learned, she would benefit from the aid of someone like me.”

Her father’s head rolled on his thick neck to give her a once over, and the heat brought on by Noah’s attention quickly turned to ice. “Mr. Abernathy has kept her alive this long,” he grumbled. “Willa’s care and upkeep are not a poor man’s endeavor.”

Noah’s strained, polite smile slid into a hard line, and Beau shifted uncomfortably beside him. “An endeavor I’m sure you, as a loving father, take on with the utmost reverence,” Noah said. “There is no greater gift than having the means to care for a sick child.”

Willa almost felt sorry for the poor Anderson brothers when her father’s attention returned to them. “It’s like an investment, you see. Willa is no beauty, but not as bad off as that homely Sanderson girl prancing around Hollingsdale society currently.”

Noah’s dark brows snapped together. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Stephen Fairweather was never one to mince words, and while her family often foolishly hoped for the best when he opened his mouth, Willa quickly surmised that today would be no exception.

“Even at her advanced age, Willa has caught the eye of a newly made bachelor. A man who owns the largest plot of untapped fertile land in the area,” her father explained. “If I can have it in exchange for Willa, well then, that will make up for the expense she has caused us and will one day provide a profit after I use the land to expand.”

Observing her father’s words sink into Noah and Beau’s brains was a bit like watching a magnificent ship sinking spectacularly into the ocean. Willa was no expert on the matter but had read extensively on such things, mystified by the accounts of survivors. The slow, shocked expressions on the brothers’ faces deepened the more her father’s statement penetrated their minds and—metaphorically speaking, of course—reminded her of how she thought those poor ship passengers might have looked as they went down.

“Richards will be at The Gathering, correct?” Cal asked. “If he’s serious about Willa, I’d like to speak with him. There’s a section of land in Hollingsdale I’ve had my eye on. It’s an ideal spot for us to build a second Fairweather homestead, and it turns out that John Richards holds the deed.” Her brother aimed a grin at her. “Perhaps Willa can give him one of her sweet smiles, and we’ll nab an extra piece of the pie while we’re at it.”

Both Anderson brothers paled while her mother looked positively aglow over the idea of moving to town. “Gentlemen, please remember that Mr. Richards’ interest in Wilhelmina is merely speculation. We’ll have to wait and see how he engages with her before any plans can be made.”

Noah’s eyes snapped to Willa, but she refused to look at him, keeping her gaze trained ahead, just as her father preferred.

“Are you saying you’ve had no interaction with this Richards person and are considering his hand in marriage?” Noah asked, sounding somewhat angry. When she didn’t reply, he turned to Cal. “Is he aware of her illness?”

The question hurt, and unable to hold her tongue, Willa finally spoke. “I am more than my illness, Dr. Anderson. I will make a good wife to John Richards or any man lucky enough to have me.”

Her father’s harsh laughter filled the parlor. “You are an invalid who offers no value. Lucky would be the very last word I would use to describe the man willing to take you on, Wilhelmina.”

Embarrassment singed her cheeks, but Willa showed no emotion at his jab, having been taught the consequences should she do so.

Beau cleared his throat. “Will there be many people at The Gathering tomorrow?” he asked, obviously searching for another topic. “My brother and I have already been informed we’re attending.”

“Oh, yes!” her mother said, seizing the opportunity. Margaret’s heart might be black, but she despised her husband and would never give him the satisfaction of knowing how his comments hurt one of them. “We should have well over sixty guests.”

“Oh, I would say we’re closer to a hundred at my last count,” Bonnie said proudly. “It will be a lovely Gathering this year.”

Noah abruptly stood, moving around the center table where the tea service was arranged. “My apologies.”

“Uh, yes.” Beau joined him, looking rather relieved to be leaving. “We really must be going.”

Willa allowed her gaze to roam, and like a moth to a flame, it connected directly with Noah’s. She thought he must have no manners at all since he dared to openly stare at her from across the room. “My apologies,” he repeated when he knew he held her attention. “I look forward to helping in any way I can.”

“As long as you’re not expecting us to pay, Dr. Anderson,” her father said sarcastically. “Wilhelmina is yours to do with as you like.”