Sharon Sobel (26 page)

“What can I do to help you?” Janet asked again.

Lark looked up in surprise. “What can you do? Have you not already done everything in your power to help me? No, I believe there is no one who could act on my behalf. And, suddenly
alone and my own champion, I do not see what could possibly be done.”

“There is still hope.”

“I doubt it.”

“Perhaps Lord Raeborn will realize he prefers Miss Hathawae. Have you not noticed how much they seem to take delight in each other’s company? If he jilts you, your parents will be quite inconsolable, but I doubt if you will be very much upset.”

“Dear Janet. I should dance in the streets.”

“But not in his presence. Or else he will surely reconsider his suit when he finds you so healthy.”

Lark, feeling a great need to throw something, flung her abandoned bonnet at her most loyal friend.

Two well-dressed carriages glistened in the afternoon sun gracing the circular drive at Knighton’s, and several of the patients peered from their shaded windows to behold the spectacle. Lark, settled as comfortably as possible in her chair, glanced up and waved at them, unintentionally making them duck back within their rooms. But of course she was not the object of their attention or admiration, for she was as sickly and as helpless as they.

Or so they thought.

Their eyes may have been on Lord Raeborn, who looked as pompous as a peacock, in a blue military suit with gold braid. Lark, who believed his young cousin the only soldier in the family, gave credit to a bold London tailor who had likely assured Raeborn of the appeal of such garb.

In any case, Miss Hathawae seemed quite taken by it. And he by her lovely blue sailor dress. They perfectly complemented each other in style and, seemingly, in temperament. Lark considered Janet’s acute observation and wondered if she dared hope for the truth in it.

Probably not. Raeborn remembered all the niceties in addressing both Janet and herself and showed Lark the respect her unique position deserved. He preened and bowed before her and gave every appearance of the attentive fiancé.

But he proved not nearly as persuasive as Matthew Warren.

“I have convinced Ben to divide our party unequally, but to everyone’s satisfaction,” he said. “I shall ride alone with Miss Tavish and allow the four of you the pleasure of each other’s company.”

“I do not see how everyone is to be satisfied by the arrangement, Mr. Warren.” Lark spoke up quickly, before she quite realized how happy Janet would be to have Matthew all to herself. “I am not certain Mr. Queensman is ready to abandon his own carriage.”

Ben Queensman, who seemed concerned only with the placement of the luncheon hampers upon the carriages, turned away from his chores.

“I hardly think Mr. Warren will run off with my vehicle, my lady. And by moving into Lord Raeborn’s carriage, I might attend upon you. Someone will be needed to set you up in your seat and carry you back down.”

“I am sure my fiancé will manage without you,” she said tartly.

Raeborn looked nervous and cleared his throat.

“But we should be delighted to have you ride with us, Mr. Queensman,” Miss Hathawae said quickly and shot a meaningful glance at Lark. “You shall be our guide to the coast and the beautiful sights along the way.”

“I am glad I might make someone happy,” Mr. Queensman said, looking pointedly at Lark.

At this rate, she thought to herself, I might as well ride by myself in a pony cart.

“Well, then, as it is all settled, why not be off?” Raeborn said quickly, perhaps concerned that Mr. Queensman would change his mind.

“An excellent suggestion,” Mr. Queensman said gaily. “The king’s entourage should come to the great salt marsh in less than an hour’s time. They will undoubtedly stop there, as the king will want to shoot a duck for his evening’s meal.”

“Judging by his girth when last I saw him, I believe he may desire two or three,” joked Raeborn in a rare moment.

Laughing, Ben Queensman agreed. He helped his two elderly companions into the carriage, and when he turned to face Lark, his face suddenly sobered.

“With your permission, my lady, I shall lift you to your seat.”

“You never asked for it in the past,” she said nastily.

“As your doctor, it was perhaps not necessary for me to do so.”

“I do not recall dismissing you, sir.”

“It is not for the patient to dismiss the doctor. It is for the doctor to determine there is no more to be done.”

“And is that your determination?”

“Would you have it otherwise?” he asked as he leaned over her and slid his arm beneath her knees.

It was a question she could not answer, for to do so would be to admit too much and to gain nothing but pain by it. Instead, she used her few private moments with him to address something else on her mind.

“You seem to know the king’s business very intimately, sir.”

It was not her intention to surprise him, but she saw immediately that she did. Perhaps it was because she evaded his probing question and he was accustomed to confrontation. Or perhaps it was due to the fact that he was guilty of some overzealousness on behalf of the monarchy. Lark had often noticed that those with no illusions of nobility were strangely drawn to its trappings.

“It is my business to know his when he comes into the neighborhood,” Mr. Queensman said simply.

This time it was Lark’s turn to be surprised.

“Your interest seems to extend beyond a mere physician’s authority.”

“Do you still imagine my patients and hospital my only concern?”

Her eyes met his, and she read there the invitation to take what liberties she might. Once, not very long ago, she would have accepted it with a sense of discovery and delight. But so poised in his arms between the wheeled chair that brought her here and Lord Raeborn’s carriage that would take her away, she could do little but say, “I know they are not.”

And very briefly, driven by nothing more than the desire to be close to him for perhaps the last time, she pressed her hand against his heart.

They might as well have been all alone. All sounds and sights and smells suddenly fell away until the only things that existed were the two of them and the warm vibrating space
between their bodies. What a mistake to have let this man enter her life, to create such standards that no other man might compare! How she had been tempted, and how she would be forever punished.

“Up with her, boy!” Raeborn’s voice broke through the bubble, and Lark felt hands grabbing at her shoulders. “Can you not manage it?”

Ben laughed, or at least gave the sound of it. “I am not sure Lady Larkspur will ever be managed by anyone. I envy you the challenge, my lord.”

He placed Lark very gently on the seat next to his cousin, and Lark saw immediately Raeborn’s consternation. But she did not know if it was for being told he might have a difficult wife, or if he had seen her brazen handling of their mutual friend. When Raeborn took her hand and held it tightly between his, she felt as if he sought to tame her and knew not how to go about it.

Feeling pity, she gently smiled at the man who would marry her.

“You make a charming couple, my dears,” Miss Hathawae said from her seat across from them. “You have each found the best of mates.”

The carriage lurched to one side when Mr. Queensman stepped into it and settled himself next to Miss Hathawae.

“And would you not consider me a good mate, ma’am?” he asked her teasingly and then gave the order for the groom to move on.

Miss Hathawae waited until the two vehicles moved out of the circle of the drive and were set upon their course before she spoke.

“Are you proposing to me, sir? For we seem to be the only two people in this company who are not already attached to another.”

Ben Queensman smiled broadly at the elderly lady at his side, and Lark could have kissed him for his generosity of spirit.

“I would consider it, but for our recent experience at billiards. I must confess it left me feeling very inadequate.”

Miss Hathawae laughed, a sweet, musical sound—a girlish sound.

“I thought we were never to talk of it, sir!”

“What, my boy? Has she bested you?” Raeborn boomed.

“
I should have warned you. She beat us all mercilessly in our day, and scared off more than one suitor with a well-placed prod of the cue. I remember it well. Why, my dear, do you remember that night in Windsor—”

Raeborn returned Lark’s hand to her lap and leaned forward to pat Miss Hathawae’s knee. Surely it was the bright sun that made her face so red.

“Hush, Benedict! And it certainly would not do to remind the king of that evening. There were things on his mind other than the balls on the table.”

Lark caught Mr. Queensman’s eye and shared his amusement. There was something very charming in the delight Lord Raeborn and Miss Hathawae took in each other, surely making them a more appealing couple than Lark and her elderly suitor. Mr. Queensman raised an eyebrow but did not comment.

Indeed, there was nothing to be said. Lord Raeborn finally removed his hand from Miss Hathawae’s knee, and the four of them settled back into their seats, assiduously avoiding looking at each other, each to his or her own thoughts.

The passing scenery, with the broad expanse of the sea on one side and a changing fare of cliffs, hills and open meadows on the other, was fascinating unto itself. Where once Lark imagined the stench of the Thames to be the natural condition of moving water, and the hothouse flowers her mother grew the veritable definition of natural beauty, she now owned a greater appreciation of the countryside and the pleasures to be derived from it. She could not vouch for the efficacy of sea air as a cure for all ailments, nor for bathing in the waves as a redemptive act, but she could understand why Janet would be perfectly happy to live here for the rest of her life.

She would be delighted to do the same.

“These marshes are situated on my estate, though we are some miles off from the house,” Mr. Queensman said suddenly.

“Are these the ones where you expected the king to amuse himself?” Lark asked suspiciously. They had not gone very far.

“Not these, but ones very like. There is much wildfowl here, but I also have farmers at work and should not like the
king to practice his marksmanship upon them. He is, you know, a notoriously bad shot.”

Lark sniffed something sweet, almost fruity, in the air.

“But did you not say the marshes were salty, sir? I know enough about foliage from my talented mother, and do not believe there is much to be farmed here.”

Mr. Queensman smiled.

“Perhaps your mother, more concerned with the splendid show of such plants as the columbine, larkspur or delphinium, does not bother with the humble blossom of the fenberry. The little plant thrives in the salt marsh and produces a small red fruit, very bitter in taste.”

“Such an indictment surely confirms my comment. Why would one wish to farm a bitter fruit?”

“There are some who add sugar to a boiling pot of fenberries and consider it an excellent preserve. I, however, am more interested in the healing value of the fruit. It seems to aid intestinal disorders. And eases the pain of childbirth.”

“My lad,” cautioned Raeborn. “I will remind you there are ladies present.”

“And are we not the ones to be most interested in such a discussion, my lord?” Lark asked impatiently. “Besides, you yourself assigned your cousin to be my physician, and I feel obliged to take his professional advice.”

Raeborn’s protest died on his lips, and Lark wondered again if he doubted the advantages of having an outspoken wife. Perhaps, she thought a little ruefully, she had gone about it all wrong. Her boldness might have been a stronger deterrent to their marriage than her feigned illness.

Ben Queensman looked uncomfortably at his cousin. “Forgive me, my lord. I have grown too accustomed in recent weeks to speaking to Lady Larkspur as if she were a friend. I hope I may remain so, even though I am no longer her physician.”

“Of course, of course,” Raeborn said generously. “Things will be more comfortable that way when we meet as family, as we are apt to do.”

“And yet, my lord, you may remember you and I saw nothing of each other for ten years,” Mr. Queensman said.

Lark felt a wrenching pain in her chest, realizing the truth of the situation. When she and Raeborn married, she would
not be likely to see Ben Queensman until friends or circumstances conspired to allow it. And, she realized all too keenly, she had rather come to rely on his provocative conversation to keep her own wit keen and insightful.

“Perhaps we might correspond, as friends,” Lark quickly suggested. “My interest in your fenberries is not merely polite, sir. I have already spoken of my study of garden herbs and their medicinal powers, an education I have, ah, cultivated despite the protest of my painterly mother. She, of course, prefers large blossoms with heavy perfumes. I am more intrigued with the subtle gifts of our gardens, for I believe they yield greater power.”

“Not unlike many women,” said Mr. Queensman and leaned forward in his seat. “But you are right to admire the quiet greens so rarely noticed by others. I recall you noticed my own humble efforts at the hospital.”

“I did indeed, sir. I will confess, after our visit not long ago, I asked that my sisters send down my books and notes from London. I did not recall, for example, the value of the parsley growing in your garden.”

“Parsley?” Mr. Queensman looked mystified. “I believe it is best used as a garnish for my broth.”

Raeborn laughed, which Lark thought made him as ungenerous at her expense as Mr. Queensman. She frowned and looked towards the sea, where a small flotilla of boats bobbled in the waves.

“Parsley sweetens the breath, Lady Larkspur,” Mr. Queensman said quietly. “It provides my patients with some measure of comfort, particularly if they are afflicted with a disease of the lungs.”

She turned back to thank him silently for this bit of information, and knew how much she would have enjoyed tending his garden.

“And I should be very happy to answer any questions you may have about my professional concerns,” he added.