Chapter 15

Chapter

Fifteen

Nigel

T he silence stretched out between them as Nigel looked at Miss Fitzroy. Tongue-tied, he struggled for words. He knew he should have sent her away and said with finality that he didn't need her money, and certainly had no wish for it, but it was the passion with which she had spoken that left him dumfounded.

She opened her reticule and reached inside, pulling out some coins. She placed them one at a time on the table, stacking them high, just like his books were.

"Wait, Miss Fitzroy?—"

"I can pay, see? I wish you to know that I mean my promise. I would pay you for your services," she said hurriedly. "It would be fair, would it not?" She halted, looking up at him.

Nigel didn't even glance at the money, for it mattered nought to him. He earned a good living in his career, and he had an annuity from his father too, it was just that he chose not to spend it. He was not a man for the fine things of life, and they brought him little comfort. It was why the money interested him so little.

"I've baffled you again, have I not?" Miss Fitzroy asked with a sudden laugh.

"A little." Nigel allowed himself to share in a smile with her.

"Well, at least that is a better response than the anger."

"I was not angry," he insisted. She merely raised an eyebrow, and he smiled once more. "Perhaps a little."

"You were outraged!" She giggled. "All I ask is you consider my offer seriously, Doctor, before you reject it outright. You have dedicated your life to helping people. Is it so wrong for me to wish to do the same with my life?"

Her words captivated him. Slowly, he walked around the table, moving back toward her as he drew his fingers along the edge of the table. She faced him, so hurriedly that she elbowed one of the sacks of books. They both darted to catch them together. He caught three, she caught another two, though one slipped down completely and landed on his foot.

"Oomph!" He tried to hold in his grimace of pain.

"That was a rather heavy tome, was it not?" she asked, scrunching up her face.

"Well, I'm not one for light reading, sadly on this occasion." He dropped the books back on the table and reached down to pick up the other. He lowered it to the table too as he straightened up to look at her.

She was fidgeting now, barely standing still as she shifted her weight between her feet and looked at him with only what he could describe as pure excitement. She chewed her lip and tucked one of the dark locks of her hair that had escaped her updo behind her ear. He was almost tempted to help her, to push that lock back too, but he knew how mad that would be.

This is inappropriate enough as it is…

"Tell me something," he whispered, watching her closely now.

"What?"

"You have suggested that your mother would not approve of your endeavors. Why then do you wish to do them?" He folded his arms over his chest and suddenly realized that his cravat was missing. Having tried to be so well dressed tonight, earlier he had taken it off in frustration when he thought she was not coming. It was too late now to return it, especially as his neck had been open to her throughout their conversation.

She will think of me as a poorly dressed fool!

"My mother would not be so disapproving of wishing to help others." Miss Fitzroy shook her head. "Far from it, for she admires my aunt greatly for what she has done. It's just that she wishes me to be a fine lady too, and in truth, I have no such desires." She shrugged. "I'd rather do something useful with my life, than parade around in fine rooms, simply trying not to make a fool of myself when I trip on doorjambs and rugs."

He smiled with her, recognizing something of himself in what she had said.

It is just the same, the recognition that there is something more to this world.

"You have gone quiet, Doctor." She no longer fidgeted but looked straight at him. "Is something wrong?"

"No. I was just thinking something… It does not matter." He found it hard to tear his gaze away from her.

She has a good heart, a sympathetic one too.

He had met so many young women in his line of work, both affluent and poor. He was ashamed to think it, but most of the women of the ton he had met these days he found to be either proud or out of touch with realities. Even those who had an empathetic heart did not always make the effort to understand the wider world around them, something he had always been keen to do. In contrast, Miss Fitzroy was exactly the sort of woman he had not seen in a long time. She had heart, curiosity, and a determination that was admirable.

"Doctor?" she murmured after he continued to stare at her, struggling to say anything. He tore his gaze away and looked down at the table beside them, focusing on the money she had laid out.

I could help her. It would be assisting in a fellow healer, one with the same mission in life as me.

If he helped her without any formal agreement, then it could start something rather too intimate between them, too close. Yet if he agreed to take the money, then there would be a wall between them. As she had said, it would be a matter of business, an understanding, that would be all. Perhaps then he could look at Miss Fitzroy as he would a pupil or an apprentice, and he could desist from this constant thought of her and push away his desire.

"If I was to say yes – if…" he reminded her hurriedly when she clapped her hands together. "It would be a business deal, yes?"

"Yes, it would. It would be a fair understanding. You get something and I get something too," she murmured, gesturing between them with her brandy glass. "Is that so awful?"

He raised his glass to his lips, buying time before he answered her, sipping the liquid that had a pleasant burn at the back of his throat.

This could work.

Nigel reasoned that if he did teach her, not only could he keep her at a distance because of the money, she would soon be gone too. At the end of the season, she would return to Dorset, and he'd be free of temptation.

"Is this a ‘yes?'" she asked excitedly.

"Not quite."

"Oh, God's wounds. What more do I need to say to you?" she pleaded, stepping toward him. Nigel turned and sat on the edge of the table, toying with the coins beside him on the surface. She moved so near and as he sat down, he was brought to her eye level. "Do you wish me to drop down to my knees and beg you?"

"Pray, do not do that," he said fast. The mere image of such an idea put a thought into his mind that should not be there.

"Then what more do I need to do?" she begged; her fervor so plain that he was captivated by it.

"Talk to me," he said simply. "Tell me more about what you learned from this aunt of yours."

"You wish to know?"

"I do. Tell me something about what you know and how you wish to help people. I need to understand your thinking if I am to even consider agreeing to your proposition." His words must have given her hope, as she smiled broadly.

"Well, it all began last year." Miss Fitzroy started a tale that Nigel had not been prepared for.

She told a story of her cousin, Lord Wareham, or as she called him, Seb. How the two of them had discovered a box that belonged to her aunt, how it was filled with old notes and letters from various customers. Some letters were advice, to help women with aching hearts, and others were detailed accounts of health problems. Where Lord Wareham had ended up more intrigued in the letters that offered advice, Miss Fitzroy had been drawn toward the medical matters. Miss Fitzroy had poured over the notes that had been made by her aunt and had even read notebooks that her aunt had recently given her.

"You should see the way people talk about Bona Dea in Dorset," Miss Fitzroy said with a smile as she came to the end of her tale. "It is with pure awe!"

"Is that what you crave?" he said hesitantly. "Some sort of fame for your good doings?"

"Far from it." Miss Fitzroy laughed at the notion as she sat on the table beside him. Somewhere in the midst of their conversation, he'd gone to retrieve the carafe of brandy. He now filled up their glasses, and she took another small sip before she went on. The liquor had made her cheeks flushed, and with her animated speech, Nigel was quite entranced, waiting for her to go on. "Aunt Arabella has been so fortunate to occupy a place of anonymity. Maybe that is something I wish for too, I am not really sure, but I do not wish to do this to be known. I wish to do it to help people. If you could have seen the way that some people write back to my aunt, thanking her for what they have done, you would understand that feeling. It is pure elation to know that you have made such a difference to another's life!"

"Believe me, Miss Fitzroy, I know that feeling." He smiled as he looked down at his brandy glass. It was a feeling he had been fortunate enough to indulge in many times over the last few years.

Though I have not always been so fortunate.

A brief image appeared in his mind. He could scent death on the air once again and feel a coldness creeping up his neck.

"Then you feel it too?" Miss Fitzroy's sudden words chased away the cold. He looked up at her form his brandy glass, smiling a little.

"I do," he whispered. "I understand that feeling all too well. Yet there is something I must warn you about. For every person you find thankful for your good work, you will find another who expected you to do more. There will always be someone out there who imagines doctors and healers to have the powers of God or witches. If I could wave a magic wand and make everyone better, I would, but no such thing exists. Some people place such hope on you…and it is hope that sometimes must be left unanswered." He placed a hand on the carafe, tempted to have a little more.

"Doctor?" Miss Fitzroy placed her hand over the top of the carafe. She didn't quite touch him, but it was close enough it captured his attention. "I understand. I can see you are haunted too by certain thoughts."

"Haunted…" The word struck a chord within him. Yes, perhaps he was haunted.

"Yet the good moments, the times when you are able to help people, surely it makes it all worth it?" Miss Fitzroy asked, leaning toward him.

"Yes, it does." Nigel answered the question without hesitation, rather startled by how quickly it fell from him. "It means everything to make such a difference to someone's life."

"And how did you get into this career?" She released the carafe. Rather than topping up their glasses again, he just toyed with the stopper, suddenly riveted by it.

I cannot tell her that.

"It just started quite naturally. When I was young, I saw many people taken down by consumption, a nasty sickness indeed. You know of it?" Before he had even finished asking the question, she was nodding. "I suppose that first garnered the interest, wishing to help these poor people, yet feeling powerless, and knowing I could not."

"How did you begin your career?"

"Various ways." His evasive answer made her frown.

"I tell you so much, and yet you are enigmatic in response? If your teaching is as woolly as the way you talk about yourself, our lessons should be interesting." Her jest brought a smile to his lips.

"If I do this, I promise to teach you to the best of my abilities, Miss Fitzroy."

She sat taller, seeming impossibly happier than before.

There was something refreshing about being around Miss Fitzroy. Where most evenings he would sit alone, either reading or in a morose manner in the corner of his room, she was making him smile. It was a different way to live, one he had not considered before.

"You keep your cards close to your chest, Doctor," she observed after a moment. "It suggests to me you are a man of secrets?"

"Perhaps I am, but I am the only man who knows my secrets." He lifted his brandy glass, taking a small sip as she turned and stared around the room.

"A man of great independence." She smiled rather sadly. "There is something to admire in that, yet I cannot help but wonder, is it sometimes lonely, Doctor?"

He lowered the glass to the table, feeling his stomach knot at her question.

"Surely everyone should have another to share confidences with."

"Not everyone." He shook his head. "My heart is known only to me and there it shall stay."

She looked at him, her lips parted, and he rather thought for a second that she had heard something in his words that he hadn't intended. He grew aware of how close they were, sitting together on this table, sharing a brandy.

I must end this. As tempted as I am!

He feared if he stayed much longer in this situation with Miss Fitzroy, the temptation of her would be so much it would dissolve his resolve not to capitulate to any form of affection for her.

"Ahem." He cleared his throat and stood from the table, crossing the room. "Right, here is what we shall do then." He reached for another stack of books on the far side of the room and took out an empty notebook. He held it in the air, waving it so she could see it.

"What's that?"

"Your own notebook, to make notes so you have something quick to refer to." He crossed to her and passed it into her hands.

"Wait…" She looked up, smiling. "Does this mean you are agreeing to my proposition? You will teach me after all?"

"I will."

When she jumped off the table with delight and nearly fell over on a nearby chair, he reached out to catch her, but she righted herself by gripping that chair and offering an innocent smile.

"God's wounds, I hope this goes well," he muttered.