Marrying Miss Hemingford (11 page)

‘Oh, and I thought you had rejected him because he was not a gentleman…'

‘I would not have cared a fig whether he were a gentleman or not if he had been right for me, Amelia.' He had been young, handsome and caring, but the spark had not been there; the spark that was necessary to ignite the flame of mutual love was missing. How she had known it was missing, she did not know then, but she was beginning to recognise it now. Though what good it would do her, she had no idea. Aunt Bartrum had said she should not make a push to make herself noticed and those cold brown eyes had not softened towards her.

But while they had been talking, it had come to her that Professor Harrison was the answer to her problem of finding an assistant for Dr Tremayne. If he did not know of a suitable candidate, he would tell her how to go about finding one. Tomorrow she would write to him and then she would endeavour to find out if there was any truth in the
rumour that the doctor's house was to be pulled down, because something must be done about it if it were.

She rose and left the room, prepared to enjoy the ball and amuse herself watching her aunt's two suitors falling over themselves to be favoured. It was as if she had two separate lives; the one inhabited by her aunt and her matchmaking and the other by Dr Tremayne and his crowded waiting room. It was uncomfortable and smacked of deceit and she wished wholeheartedly the two could be merged. But she did not see how that could be brought about. Her aunt did not look upon a ship's surgeon and country doctor as her equal, even though she admitted Anne would never find a husband as high in station as she thought she deserved. Aunt Bartrum was prepared to compromise, but not that far. In any case, Anne told herself ruefully, the man himself was impervious to her.

 

Justin was far from impervious, but he had promised himself that no woman would ever again humiliate him as Sophie had done and he made a manful effort to thrust thoughts of both ladies from his mind. He told himself he had more important things to concern him than the fair sex. His comfortable existence, comfortable only in as much as it did not require him to think about anything but his patients, was being turned upside down. He had that morning met someone from his past, someone who could tell the world who he really was, and he had been given a month's notice to quit his home, and where he would go and what would happen to his patients he had no idea. And threaded through all was the image of a beautiful woman.

He had tried to keep her at arm's length, to treat her coolly, to pretend he was only interested in the money she might donate, but it had not worked. She was pushing memories of Sophie from his mind, insinuating herself in her place and before long he would be trapped. Again. Just when he had reached some quiet in his life, he was faced with more turmoil. Damn her. Damn all women. He would not allow it to happen.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and a few moments later Mrs Armistead showed Walter Gosforth, dressed in pristine evening attire, into his cluttered drawing room. He rose to greet him. ‘I half expected you.'

‘My dear fellow, I could not see an old friend in such extraordinary circumstances and not try to discover what had caused the change, could I?'

Justin poured them both a glass of cognac and resumed his seat, indicating the other chair to his guest. ‘Curious, were you?'

‘Yes, I admit it. Did you go home after you left the navy?'

‘Briefly. I found I could not stay. Everything had changed, I felt out of place,
de trop,
if you must know. The woman I had planned to marry had turned out not to be the one for me, after all…'

‘I am sorry.'

Justin gave a grunt meant to do duty as a laugh. ‘Not half as sorry as I was.'

‘I can understand you wanting to get away for a time, but why come here?'

‘To this hovel, you mean?'

‘Well, yes, I suppose that is what I do mean.'

‘To find a use for myself, to remind myself that there are others in the world a great deal worse off than I am, to lose myself…'

‘And have you?'

‘Until very recently, yes.'

‘And has no one tried to find you? Surely your parents…'

‘My mother died and my father has washed his hands of me. I have let down the family name, not only over a broken engagement, but because of the work I do. Oh, he did not mind so much while I was in the navy; second sons often choose the armed services and there was a war going on. He even managed to overlook the fact that I chose medicine, healing instead of killing, but when I came out he expected me to conform, to wish Andrew and Sophie happy and to spend my days in idleness on half-pay until I found myself another bride. I could not do it, Gosforth…'

‘I am sorry.'

‘Do not be. I am fulfilled.' He was aware that this was only a half-truth, but if he repeated it often enough, he told himself, it would become reality. ‘But I would prefer you did not make what I have told you public. There was enough gossip at the time. And learning of my background would spoil my relationship with my patients.'

‘You have my word.' He drained his glass and watched as Justin picked it up with his own and rose to refill them both. ‘It cannot have been easy. What about money?'

‘Ah, there you have it. I have a small allowance and my pension, which would be enough to live on, but it is not
enough to support this project. I rely on charitable donations and until recently a generous landlord who chose to overlook the fact that I sometimes forget to pay the rent. Now he is selling to the developers and I am required to quit.'

‘What will you do?'

He shrugged, handing over a brimming glass. ‘Start again somewhere else.'

‘You need help to do that. Publicity. You should put yourself about, tell people what you are doing, people who can do something about it, people with deep pockets. You should frequent the Assembly Rooms, make yourself known.'

‘That is the last thing I want.'

‘I did not mean as Viscount Rockbourne's son, but as the local physician promoting a brighter future for the poorer citizens of this town. It is a worthy cause.'

‘That would mean neglecting my patients.'

‘If you went during the day perhaps, but surely there is no reason why you should not attend some evening functions. You will moulder away and forget you are a gentleman if you do nothing but work. There is a ball tonight. Come as my guest.'

‘Out of the question. I am tired and I have no evening clothes.'

‘You still have your dress uniform, don't you?'

‘Yes, but…' He was sorely tempted. It was two years since he had attended any kind of social function, was beginning to wonder if he remembered how to behave at one. Had he forgotten how to make inconsequential conversation, how to flirt mildly, how to dance? Would Miss
Hemingford be there? Why did his errant mind keep returning to her?

Walter had said all he meant to and rose to his feet. ‘I have to go. I am expected. If you change your mind, I will see you later at the Castle Inn.'

 

The ballroom at the Castle was large, decorated in the classical way with pillars and mouldings and a painted frieze. Even though a ball was held there every Monday, it was still a glittering affair in which the Master of Ceremonies was all over the place, presenting gentlemen to ladies, newcomers to each other, making sure everyone had partners. Anne, like her aunt, was much in demand and she enjoyed the attention, but she could not help wishing a certain medical man was one of their number. Dressed in fashionable clothes, he would easily have held his own.

‘Miss Hemingford,' Major Mancroft said, breaking in on her thoughts as they executed the steps of the minuet. ‘I need your advice.'

‘My advice, Major? Whatever can I tell you that you do not know already?'

‘How to reach Mrs Bartrum's heart. She is always charming and amiable towards me, but she is like that to Walter Gosforth too and I had hoped for more. She will not indicate which of us she will have and I hoped…'

‘Oh, Major, I cannot intervene in matters of the heart…'

‘She said she would leave the decision to you.'

‘She was bamming you. I have no influence with her at all and, if I had, I would not use it. If you wish to know if she will have you, you must ask her yourself.'

‘When would be best? Tonight? For some reason, Captain Gosforth is absent, though he did say he would come. Should I strike while the iron is hot?'

‘That is a strange metaphor to use about one's love,' she chided him. ‘It sounds too aggressive when you should be all gentleness and persuasion.'

‘Yes, you are right, but should I go and ask her now?'

Anne looked towards her aunt, who was in animated conversation with Mrs Barry and the dandified Sir Gerald. She was having a wonderful time and enjoying her role of matchmaker so much, it would spoil it if she were to receive a proposal for which she was not prepared. ‘I should give her a little more time, Major. She was so attached to dear Uncle Bartrum, the idea of remarrying must be introduced gradually.'

‘Then I shall accept your advice, but if Gosforth gets in first…'

‘Major, it is not a race, not a case of first to offer first to be accepted, you know. I am sure my aunt will make her mind up according to the dictates of her heart. You must reach her heart.'

‘Oh, you are so wise, Miss Hemingford. If my heart and soul had not been otherwise engaged, I am sure I should be looking to you as my life's partner.'

She laughed. ‘Flummery, Major, all flummery.'

The dance ended and he offered her his arm to return her to her aunt's side, just as Captain Gosforth appeared in the doorway. ‘Damn,' the Major muttered under his breath, making Anne laugh. Before the Captain could reach them, he had bowed before Mrs Bartrum and whisked her away for the next dance.

Walter, seeing the object of his hopes disappearing, bowed to Anne and extended his hand. ‘May I?'

‘Certainly, sir.' And before she could draw breath she was being guided on to the floor and taking part in a conversation almost identical to the one she had had with the Major. It was highly diverting. If she had not been so modest and so fond of her aunt, she might have felt miffed that neither gentleman was interested in her as a potential bride. At least it saved her the task of having to let them down gently, though one of them at least was going to be disappointed; her aunt could not marry them both.

She was so engrossed with talking to her dancing partner she did not notice the new arrival. He stood in the doorway, watching her, and his emotions were turning like the cogs of an engine, back in time, back to another ballroom and another dancing couple, laughing into each other's faces, oblivious of those around him. He felt again the fury he had felt then, the rush of blood to the head, the urge to seize the woman from her partner's arms and drag her from the room. He had not done so, of course. Nor would he now; he had even less reason to do so. But he could not stand still.

As the dance came to an end he made his way over to the couple and bowed low. ‘Miss Hemingford, your obedient.'

‘Doctor Tremayne!' She could not keep the astonishment from her voice. ‘I…I did not know you were coming.' He was dressed in the impeccable blue coat and white breeches of a naval lieutenant. His epaulettes gleamed and emphasised his broad shoulders, his buttons shone and his breeches, tied with a ribbon above white silk
stockings, displayed well shaped calves. The sight of him sent shivers running down her spine, especially as he was not smiling and his dark eyes, directed at her, were as cold and empty as before.

‘He did not know himself,' Gosforth said. ‘I persuaded him to come out of hiding for an evening.'

‘I was never in hiding.'

‘No, of course not,' Anne soothed. ‘Everyone knows who you are. And I, for one, am glad to see you.'

The orchestra began to play a waltz and the Captain excused himself and hurried off to find Mrs Bartrum before she could be snatched up by anyone else. Anne was left facing Justin. He extended his hand. ‘I may be a little rusty, but may I have the honour of treading on your toes?'

She laughed; he did have a sense of humour, after all. ‘Indeed you may, sir, but it is your toes that will be at risk, I think.'

He swept her into the dance and she went gladly, uncaring that her aunt had caught sight of them and her mouth had dropped open; she was where she wanted to be, with the man who had held her in thrall ever since she had first set eyes on him.

He had not forgotten how to waltz, nor did his wound trouble him unduly, and before long Anne was lost to everything but the sound of the music and the feel of his gloved hand on her back. Her feet went where he led, her body swayed with his, her breath merged with his. It was as if they were one being, one entity, inseparable. Neither spoke.

He felt something stir inside him, a twisting of his gut, a lightening of his heart, a reaching out to another human
being. Oh, he felt for his patients, shared their pain and anxiety, but this was different; it was painful and yet joyous, immeasurable, eternal. He looked down at her. She was smiling dreamily, her eyes unfocused. Did she feel it too? But why would she? Why would she look at a doctor with no pretensions to do anything but serve those who needed his skills and could not afford to pay for them? He could tell her otherwise, but he had too much pride to do that.

The music came to an end at last and the moment, if there really was a moment, passed. ‘Thank you,' he said stiffly, bowing and offering her his arm.

She took it and they perambulated round the circumference of the room. ‘You have caused quite a stir, Doctor,' she said, hoping he would not notice that her hand on his sleeve was trembling. ‘Everyone is wondering how you came to transform yourself and whether they should acknowledge you.'

‘You did.'