Chapter 12

Harriet had barely returned home before someone knocked on the door. She glanced at her sister who thankfully slept. Her temperature was still high and the bucket Harriet had cleaned before heading out three hours ago had since been used. As had the chamber pot.

“Coming,” Harriet shouted when additional knocks landed against the door.

She rushed to the window and pushed it open, hoping to rid the room of some of the stench before admitting the doctor.

Aware that she herself looked a mess, she crossed to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. Instead of the sweet relief she’d expected to feel however, she was horrified to discover Mr. Evans. Who wasn’t Mr. Evans at all. He was a duke and he presently stood on the threshold of what she could only describe as a hovel compared with what he was probably used to.

“Ah…” Her voice caught in her throat.

“Shall we proceed?” Someone spoke from behind Mr. Evans. He would remain Mr. Evans until she learned his title. As it turned out, the doctor was hidden behind his tall frame.

“Well, Mr. Michaels?” Mr. Evans raised an eyebrow and waited.

All Harriet could think to say was, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

She did step aside however, not to grant Mr. Evans admittance but so the doctor could enter.

He glanced at her as he stepped through the door and drew to a halt, his studious gaze searching her face before sweeping over the rest of her. “Looks like you could do with some medical attention too.”

“I’m fine,” Harriet muttered, earning a frown from the doctor. “My sister’s the one who requires your help.”

Dismissing the duke in her shabby lodgings for just one moment, she gestured toward the cot where Lucy lay. In doing so, her gaze landed upon the bucket of vomit and the chamber pot she’d not yet managed to empty.

Her eyes widened as she quickly ran to shove both items out of sight. The doctor was used to seeing such things and besides, his opinion didn’t matter. But the duke?

Harriet cringed and took a deep breath, her nose instantly scrunching as she was met by the foul odor filling the room. It would take a while for the open window to take effect.

“She’s certainly hot, that’s for sure,” said the doctor. “I’ll need that bucket of puke you hid along with the chamber pot.”

Lord have mercy. Where was that hole she longed to disappear into?

Accepting defeat and utter humiliation, she collected the items and set them before the doctor so he could examine both. He grunted, gave a satisfied nod, and returned his attention to Lucy.

“Ah, you’re awake,” said the doctor. “I’m Doctor Fielding. I’ve come to see if I can discern the cause of your ailment. Tell me, does anything pain you right now?”

“My stomach,” Lucy moaned. “Feels like glass.”

“May I?” He reached out as though meaning to touch her, and waited until she gave her consent.

Harriet glanced at Mr. Evans, whose attention was fixed on the doctor’s movements with such intensity it almost looked like he willed him to make Lucy better. And in that moment, Harriet’s heart expanded. She’d thought she might be falling for him before, but no. That had been nothing more than physical attraction while this…this was falling. Knowing he cared, not only for her but for her sister, instilled in her a deep emotion akin to having found her way home.

To him.

It terrified her beyond measure.

Sensing her gaze, he glanced toward her and offered a tender smile – the sort that pierced her soul while binding her to him with added force. She attempted a smile of her own, then returned her attention to the doctor who currently pressed down on the lower right side of Lucy’s stomach.

“Does it hurt right here?” the doctor asked.

Lucy shook her head. “It’s more to the middle.”

The doctor straightened. “I don’t believe it’s anything too severe. The vomit isn’t milky as it would be with cholera. Based on her symptoms, however, I do believe it’s related to something she ate or drank.”

“But we’ve had the same food,”Harriet said

“What about when you’re not home?” Mr. Evans quietly asked.

Harriet shook her head. “I usually leave her some bread along with some ham and cheese. Or a pie from the baker’s. That’s what she had yesterday, but I had the same when I returned home and I’m fine.”

“It’s possible someone handling the food was sick and passed it on. You might just be more resilient.” The doctor glanced at Lucy. “I recommend she gets plenty of fluids and that her meals for the next two days are as basic as possible. A slice of toast with butter or some porridge will do.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Straightening, he studied her before saying, “Those cuts on your hands and face need tending. If you like, I can help.”

“That won’t be necessary.” She’d no intention of spending extra money on having a doctor clean her wounds. Besides, she was rather eager to get both men out the door.

With that in mind, she prepared herself for the most dreaded part of this conversation. For though she believed she had enough funds to cover the cost, she was determined to repay her friend. The higher the sum, the longer that would take. She took a deep breath. “How much do I owe you?”

The doctor glanced around, allowing his gaze to slide over the room while Harriet scrunched her toes. “Will ten shillings do?”

Her jaw dropped. “But that’s…that’s…” Less than a quarter of what she’d expect. “Are you certain?”

“Quite.”

“Thank you, sir.” Lord, she could barely get the words past the sudden knot in her throat. She dug her hand into her pocket and retrieved some of the coins Ada had lent her. After counting out the correct sum, she handed it to the doctor.“Your help is much appreciated. Thank you once again.”

The doctor gave her a solid nod, told her to call on him if her sister’s condition worsened, and left.

Harriet turned, acutely aware of the large man crowding the room. His piercing blue eyes were fixed on her with quiet interest.

It took some effort suppressing the shiver that stole down her spine. “Why did you come here?”

“To make sure you’re all right.” The low timbre with which he spoke vibrated through her.

Her pulse quickened. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. You should probably get back to work.”

“I will, once I’ve checked on your wounds.”

“What?” He was approaching with a very determined expression. Harriet took a step back. “There’s no need for that. I already told the doctor I’m fine.”

“I beg to differ.”

He took both her hands in his, bringing their difference in size into focus. Harriet struggled to breathe. Goodness, she couldn’t even swallow. Her throat was too tight. The feel of his fingers exploring her wounds with the utmost of care turned her legs to jelly. Her stomach flipped and her face felt alarmingly hot.

And then he raised his hand. His fingertips grazed her brow. And it was as if she’d been pushed off a cliff. Her world spun while she fell and her gaze snapped to his. He was watching her closely – too closely – his attention upon…her mouth?

No. That couldn’t be. Surely she must be mistaken. He was merely assessing her wounds. Right?

Yet she sensed the air shift between them. The atmosphere had somehow thickened and her muscles were suddenly clenching in anticipation of change.

With a gasp, she withdrew and retreated from him. “I think I can manage.”

His answering smile was soft and warm. “Are you certain?”

“Very much so. Yes.”

He inclined his head while studying her. He eventually nodded, his features suddenly grave. “I’ll respect your wishes, but I expect you to have those wounds properly cleaned.”

“Of course.” Needing something with which to busy herself, she went to collect a bowl and fill it with water. “If you could please let Mr. Hudson know I’ll be back at work tomorrow, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course.” He didn’t move. “Would you like me to help you clean up before I go?”

When she glanced at him, he jutted his chin toward the bucket and chamber pot Lucy had used. Embarrassment filled Harriet all over again. “Absolutely not.”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble at all. And since you’re wounded, I thought—”

“Thank you, but no. I can manage.”

“In that case…” He scratched the back of his head while she took a seat at the table and started tending her wounds with greater care than what she’d managed at Westcliffe House. Hopefully he’d take it as a cue for him to leave. She thanked her lucky stars when he moved to the door. “I’ll see you later then, I suppose.”

“Yes. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

He must have sensed there was no reason left for him to stay, for he opened the door, hesitated briefly, and finally departed. Harriet held her breath for a second before she expelled it with a loud sigh. She stared at the door. Was it possible Mr. Evans had the same inclinations as Oliver?

It seemed unlikely. What were the chances of her knowing two such individuals and having both press their advances? Besides, Mr. Evans had spoken to her about bedding women and had offered advice on how to avoid contracting some horrid disease.

She shuddered and gave her attention back to her hands. One of the wounds was especially deep and required extra scrubbing. She winced as she took care of it, but her thoughts remained on Mr. Evans. Could she have misjudged the situation? The way he’d touched her and the fierce look in his eyes – the manner in which she herself had responded – had warned her that he’d meant to kiss her. As Oliver had.

She sighed. Perhaps she should have let him instead of stepping away. The trouble was that as much as she longed to feel his mouth against hers, she wanted him to be kissing Harriet, not Harry.

Bloody brilliant. I don’t just fall for a man out of reach but for one who might not like women.

With a groan, she dried her hands, dipped the cloth she’d been using in water, and went to stand before the small mirror that hung from a nail on the wall. Goodness, she looked a fright. There was a cut on her brow, her cheek was bruised, and blood had been smeared across her forehead. Her upper lip was also swollen. Maybe that was why it had caught Mr. Evans’s attention. Maybe she’d read the situation wrong and all he’d actually wanted to do was offer assistance.

Lord help her if she knew. Her experience with men was presently limited to the one she’d had with Oliver. Annoyed with how complicated her life had become, she swiped at her wounds. With swift movements she cleaned away the blood until she looked slightly more presentable.

She glanced at Lucy, who’d fallen into a peaceful sleep after the doctor’s departure. Crossing to the bucket, Harriet picked it up and carried it from the room. She’d clean this first and then see to the chamber pot after. If luck was on her side, Mr. Evans would suffer a stroke of amnesia and forget all about her poor living conditions and the fact that she very much feared she may have looked like she would welcome that kiss.