Chapter 10

Chapter

Ten

N igel

Nigel looked over the papers in front of him. He longed to be reading, but he had correspondence to catch up on first, and the letters were tiresome to him.

At the top of the pile was a letter from his elder brother, Robert. The letter went into detail mostly about Robert's own life, as was his usual style for writing such a letter. Nigel tried to concentrate on the words, knowing he should make more of an effort to stay in touch with his elder brother.

‘Well, one can hardly complain, can they? When there are such events to enjoy! You know, Nigel, it is about time you attended more of these events with me. I know our father wishes for it too. He fears what people will say when they hear of your proclivities…'

Nigel broke off, feeling his hands ball into fists either side of the letter on the table.

"Proclivities," he muttered in anger. "You mean my career." Standing from the table, he crossed the room and poured out a glass of brandy from the bottle. Unlike his father and brother who surrounded themselves with crystal carafes and decanters, refusing to have a drink ever from a bottle, Nigel was not so fussy. He poured out the drink and gulped the first, before topping up the glass and drinking the next one much slower.

Pulling at the cravat around his throat, he loosened it, then threw it off altogether and shed his tailcoat too. Night had drawn in, but the heat of the day hadn't softened with it. He dropped the coat to the back of a nearby chair and lit two candles on the table to keep him company.

Eventually, when he could summon the will, he sat back down in his chair and continued with his brother's letter. Robert went on for some time, pleading with Nigel to attend more events. As much as Nigel wished to write back and point out that at least he was doing something useful with his time, saving lives, and how standing in a ballroom making small talk would do little for that, he knew he could not.

The deal he had made with his father years ago was that he would still attend some events of the ton, if in return, he could do his career. Nigel could still remember profusely the way Robert had last looked at him when it came to discussing his profession. Robert's nose had wrinkled, and he lifted his chin an inch higher.

Now he looks down on me as he looks down on so many others in this world.

Nigel took another gulp from his brandy and pushed his shirt sleeves up to his elbows haphazardly, preparing himself to write a reply to his brother. The words came slowly, for he had been putting off this answer for so long. In the end, he promised Robert he would attend a few of the season's events this summer. He also wished his brother well and hoped the tenants were flourishing under his care now that their father had handed over the responsibilities of the tenants to him. One particular line stood out to Nigel in his answer, for it was an offer he had made before, and one that had been ignored by his brother.

‘As always, I would be happy to look into the state of some of the tenants' health if it is of concern to you. I know the last time I visited the farmland that some of the laborers were struggling with ill backs and sore muscles. It is something I may be able to help with.'

Even as Nigel read the line, he could already picture what would come in Robert's answer. Knowing him, he wouldn't even refer to the section at all and just leave it out, as if Nigel hadn't mentioned such a thing.

A sound at the window drew Nigel's attention. Putting down his letter amongst the other papers, mixing it with other correspondence, notes he had made on the matters of the human heart's rhythm, and also the periodicals Lady Georgiana had given him, he stood and moved to the window.

He flung it open, hoping for a breath of fresh air, though there was none. He looked down out of the windows, searching for what the source of the sound may have been.

The street was a relatively quiet one, startling for this end of London town. At the edge of the street was a quiet inn, with the sign that read ‘ The Bell Inn' swinging above the door, flanked by the light of a burning torch pressed against the wall. Customers milled in front of the inn and some drunkenly staggered outside of the door, heading home with their feet plaiting beneath them.

Further down to Nigel's end of the road, the lane was narrowed, and the tall timber buildings squashed together. As it was London, these apartments were hardly cheap, despite the fact they were no grand thing. Nigel could have afforded more, and the one time his father had come to visit him in these apartments, he had insisted that Nigel move somewhere finer, yet Nigel refused.

Here, he was at least close to his patients. That was more important than any fine apartment he could purchase or rent in Covent Garden.

Another sound drew his attention far down the street. People wandered up and down, and a woman walked forward, a hood pulled high over her head. Nigel frowned as he stared at her, rather worried as to why a young woman was walking so alone in this street of all that she could have chosen. More than once, Nigel had seen the drunks leaving the inn and staggering against these walls, their stomach contents erupting from them.

"Hurry home," he whispered, as if the woman would hear him. She disappeared into the shadows of the road, and he retreated inside, moving back to his table full of notes.

He sealed his reply to Robert, burning the red wax stick in one of the candles beside him until it dripped on the letter. Reaching beneath the papers, he found the stamp seal he used to address his letters to his family, bearing the emblem of the family's name. Yet for some reason, he could not bring himself to use the seal. He turned it over in his palm instead, watching as the red wax dried on the envelope, completely blank.

As he watched the wax dry, his mind wandered to someone he should not have thought of. He thought of Miss Fitzroy from earlier that day and his meeting with her and Lady Georgiana. He thought of her eager smile, the way she had peered into his medical bag so playfully, and how she had pressed those leaves to her nose, her eagerness to learn more about his trade strangely compelling.

"Stop thinking of her," Nigel ordered himself, yet by uttering the words allowed, he only seemed to bring her to his mind much more than before.

He imagined Miss Fitzroy was before him, with that dark hair fastened temptingly into another one of those simple chignons. He saw her smile and wished she was there to talk to, to lean toward, maybe even do something more with…

"Stop it," he muttered allowed again. There were many reasons he should not be thinking of Miss Fitzroy. She was young, quite na?ve, he was sure, in her approach to botany and medicine. Forming an attachment to the young woman was ill advised indeed, especially as she would soon be gone. She was only here for the summer and would eventually return to Dorset with her family.

I shall not indulge in some foolish idea of an attachment. I loved before; I will not do it again.

This was perhaps the greatest reason why he could not let himself think about Miss Fitzroy. He had vowed never to be close to a woman again. Miss Fitzroy, despite her charms, her eagerness, her wit that could make him laugh, would not change his mind.

Boards creaked beyond the door and there was a low thud, as if someone tripped as they walked up the stairs in the building. Nigel looked toward the door, wondering who else would have a cause to climb so high up in this building, for his apartment was the only one on the top floor of the building. The rooms had characteristically sloping ceilings, with dark corners where the candlelight could not reach.

A light knock sounded at the door.

"Who is it?" Nigel called in uncertainty. No sound followed, though there was a low thud again and he could have sworn he heard a woman's voice muttering in some sort of pain.

Hurrying to his feet, he pushed back his chair and moved to the door, stepping around the stacks of books in his room and the table full of the latest medical instruments he had acquired. There were bone saws and forceps, as well as quinine, kept in a tall glass jar, and long wooden stethoscope.

Reaching for the door, Nigel opened it, stepping back to allow some of the candlelight from behind him to fall on the person before him. At first, he saw nothing, only someone cloaked in rich black material. Then a pair of slim hands reached for the hood and started to slowly lower it.

It was the woman he'd seen walking down the thin alleyway.

Why is she here?

Yet this question was soon replaced by other much more burning questions as he saw the face revealed in that candlelight.

Miss Kathryn Fitzroy lowered her hood to her shoulders, revealing a small smile. From the way she shifted her weight between her feet then reached down to rub her hip, he guessed that she had stumbled on the top step and perhaps walked straight into the banister.

Words failed Nigel as he stared at her. For a second, wild fantasies entered his mind. Every thought he'd allowed himself to have in moments of weakness came to him. With Miss Fitzroy here in his rooms, those wild imaginings did not seem as mad as they may have seemed earlier in the day.

"What…" He stepped back, getting a hold of himself. "Miss Fitzroy, what on earth are you doing here?"

"Good evening to you too," she said with a sudden smile. Her eyes flitted past him to his rooms.

"Miss Fitzroy!" Angered at himself and the tightening knot of excitement in his stomach to have her here, he found sudden volume in his voice. She pressed a finger to her lips, glancing back over her shoulder and down the stairs, fearful of discovery. "Do you have any idea what this means?" He stepped toward her, pressing his arm against the doorframe. Her head snapped to him, but she didn't move back. They were standing rather too close together. "You are visiting me at night, without a chaperone. This is outrageous. This will be scandalous. You are the daughter of a baron. God's blood, if you were seen here… I shudder to think what people will say."

"You do always have a lot to say yourself, do you not?" She smiled, seeming amused by the idea, then she rolled her eyes. "No one saw me. Trust me in that."

"And yet you could be seen at any point!" He stepped even closer toward her, peering up and down the landing and across the staircase. She still didn't move away from him, and Nigel was suddenly all too aware of how close they stood together, when he was not properly dressed.

He moved back, clearing his throat.

"I know you need lessons in propriety, Miss Fitzroy, but even you must realize what danger you have now placed yourself in when it comes to the opinions of the ton?" He waited for her to answer, noting the fact that her smile had slipped completely away.

Smile again, Miss Fitzroy. I beg of you.