Read There's Something About Lady Mary Online
Authors: Sophie Barnes
“Come now,” Ryan urged him. “I merely wish to tell her ladyship how I feel about her.” He pulled the small velvet box that the jeweler had given him from his pocket and showed Thornton the ring. “This is for her, if she will have me.”
“Then by all means, you must go after her. Your brother is right. She is at Steepleton House. I will have the groom bring a couple of horses around from the mews so that you may go directly there.”
“Splendid!” William exclaimed as he held the fifty-pound note toward Thornton.
The butler eyed it momentarily, then shook his head. “No,” he said. “If I take that, then you will have bribed me, and I shall only feel rotten about telling you where she has gone. I would much rather believe that you managed to draw your own conclusions, which, as it happens, you did.”
He looked at Ryan. “You are a good man, Mr. Summersby, and I know that her ladyship is very fond of you. I wish you all the best, and Godspeed.”
M
ary walked along the dark and dreary hallways of Steepleton House, her gown swishing about her legs as she went. The name had certainly misled her. It wasn’t a house at all, but a magnificent castle.
She’d met the housekeeper immediately upon her arrival. The poor woman, whose name was Mrs. Thompson, had been in a clear state of panic over her mistress’s unexpected visit. So Mary had decided to take a closer look at her property, while Emma unpacked her things and Mrs. Thompson made certain that clean linens were put on the beds.
Entering the long gallery, Mary regarded the various works of art with dejected interest, while her feet occasionally scraped against the herringbone parquet. The truth was that her thoughts were elsewhere—on Ryan Summersby, to be exact.
It certainly seemed as though Stephanie Maplewood had finally gotten her wish.
Mary sighed as she crossed to the full-length windows that overlooked the countryside. It was raining again, the water distorting her view through the wavy glass.
The one thing that Ryan had insisted must never happen had come to pass anyway. Not only was her reputation now in tatters, but there was still the very real possibility that she might find herself arrested and forced to face charges. Any dream she’d ever had of marrying Ryan was gone forever. He’d always made it clear to her that he disapproved of her profession. Now that it had had such a dire effect on their lives, he’d never forgive her.
And then, of course, there was the matter of the way he felt about her. He hadn’t been able to tell her he loved her, which could only mean that he didn’t. Instead, he’d looked panicked and terrified as he’d fumbled about for something to say to her, something that didn’t have that four-letter word in it. It was enough to break her heart.
With a heavy sigh, she settled down onto the window seat and pressed her forehead against the cold glass pane.
I have lost everything
.
What reason did she really have for remaining in England? Nobody wanted her there, and the one man who possibly did would no longer be able to have her. Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if she simply went back to the continent? She could seek out some of her father’s friends in Paris perhaps and. . .and what? She was still a woman who nobody would allow within ten yards of a patient, unless they happened to be in the middle of a battlefield—in which case, nobody really seemed to care.
Hopeless; absolutely hopeless
.
There was also America to consider, of course, or perhaps somewhere like India, but both of these places just seemed so impossibly far away from the man she loved: Ryan.
Ryan?
Was that not him right now, riding as if hell were on his heels, and with William at his side? What the blazes were they thinking? Rain was pelting down, and there they were, galloping up the drive at full speed. She wrapped her shawl tightly about her shoulders and took off at a run toward the stairs.
“M
ary!” Ryan’s voice rang out loud and clear against the old stone walls.
“Mr.. . .may I help you?” the housekeeper asked, looking quite shaken by the sudden arrival of two unexpected visitors.
“I have come to see Lady Steepleton,” Ryan told her with a wide smile, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Tell me where she’s hiding.”
“I most certainly will not,” the older woman declared. “If you like, you may wait right here while I see if she would like to receive you.”
“Very well, then you may tell her that Mr. Summersby and his brother, Lord Summersby, have come to call on her, that we have gotten ourselves completely drenched, and that we would very much appreciate a warm bath before we catch our deaths.”
“I will pass the message along,” the housekeeper told him primly as she sashayed off in search of her mistress.
She didn’t have far to go. In fact, she almost walked right into her as she turned the corner on her way toward her ladyship’s bedroom. “I beg your pardon,” she gasped.
“No need,” Mary told her gently. She’d been standing there the whole while, plucking up her courage to face Ryan. “Would you please ask a couple of the maids to prepare the baths that our guests have requested. Then speak to cook about supper; it appears as though we are going to be a few more than she expected.”
Mrs. Thompson didn’t argue. She gave a quick nod of confirmation before hurrying off to see about her business.
Mary took a deep breath to calm her nerves. She then stepped forward to welcome her visitors, who were both standing in puddles of water by now. They were a sorry sight to behold, the two brothers. Their clothes were clinging to their bodies, and their hair was pasted against their foreheads, dripping wet from the rain. “I have to admit that I was not expecting you,” she said as she walked toward them.
“You left without a single word of explanation. What did you think I was going to do?” Ryan’s gaze was anxious as it found Mary’s.
“Well, in light of everything that has happened, particularly after the article in this morning’s paper, I rather thought you might like to pretend that you never met me.”
Ryan stared at her in open astonishment. “Never met you?” he muttered. “Mary, you are the most extraordinary woman I have ever known. I could never dream of forgetting you.”
She smiled slightly at that. “It was still foolish of you to ride through the rain like that—you might get very sick, both of you. You should at least have taken a carriage.”
Ryan nodded thoughtfully. “I have always heard that love will make a fool of any man, though I must admit I never thought it would happen to me.”
Mary’s breath caught, her heart suddenly hammering frantically while her stomach began tying itself in knots. Before she could voice a response to his comment, though, Ryan was down on one knee before her—a very soggy suitor indeed. There was a look of desperation in his eyes that went straight to Mary’s heart.
God, how she loved him!
“I have asked you before, and you said yes. I know that a lot has happened since then, but I am hoping, praying, that you will give me the same answer now.”
Her throat tightened, while tears pricked her eyes. “And what of Lady Stephanie’s article in the paper? My name has been utterly and irrevocably besmirched. Think of your family, Ryan; you cannot do this to them.”
“Is that why you ran?” His question was only a faint murmur, spoken on a breath of air. The look in his eyes told her that her answer was of the utmost importance to him.
Unable to speak for fear that she might burst into tears, she nodded her response.
“Mary,” he told her seriously as he reached for her hand and held it in his, “I know I have been angry with you in the past for carrying on the way you did, but you must believe me when I tell you that I would never allow a malicious lie, posted in the
Mayfair Chronicle
by a venomous woman, to come between us.”
“It is not all lies, Ryan; you know that.” The tears were already beginning to flow—it was beyond her power to stop them.
“I know,” he said softly. “But by tomorrow morning, London won’t know that, though I daresay that Lady Stephanie will have a great deal to answer for; from what I understand, Lady Warwick was quite livid.” He paused for a moment. “I also wanted you to know that your father’s journals have been recovered—all ten of them.”
Mary gasped as she choked back a sob, her hands trembling as they covered her face.
Thank God
. When she raised her head again, Ryan was looking her straight in the eye. “I have seen you work, Mary; you are by far the most skilled physician and surgeon that I have ever met. I know that I was against it to begin with, but I must admit that it would be a crime to force you to give up your practice.
“However, you must understand that you cannot continue to break the law. Practicing without a license, especially since you are a woman. . .it could have dire consequences, and I just don’t wish for us to live with that kind of constant worry.”
“I know,” she said softly.
“That said, my suggestion to build that hospital we were talking about still stands. You could have an incredible influence on medicine this way.” He paused, regarding her with all the love he felt for her. Hell, he would move heaven and earth if it would only make her happy. “And I promise that I will use my connections to the best of my abilities to obtain the permission we need for you to practice as a surgeon. Now, I cannot guarantee anything—”
He never got a chance to finish. She was suddenly on the floor with him, her arms about his neck, and she was kissing him as though her life depended on it.
“I. . .ahem. . .I think I will go and see if the housekeeper has gotten our baths ready,” William muttered as he strode away with squelching boots.
“Mary,” Ryan eventually said and grinned, easing slightly away from her. “I didn’t finish my proposal.”
Mary’s eyes swam with merriment, and her lips edged upward into a warm smile. She didn’t say anything, however; she just waited with what little patience she possessed for him to proceed.
He pulled a small velvet box out of his pocket and opened it. “Mary Croyden, Marchioness of Steepleton and the finest surgeon I have ever known, I love you more than words can say. Would you do me the tremendous honor of becoming my wife?”
“You might be an oaf,” she said, laughing, “but you are my oaf, and I love you. So yes, a thousand times, yes.”
“Do you know, you are quite outspoken for a little gnome,” he chuckled as he slipped the ring onto her finger. “But I must admit that it is one of your finest qualities; I wouldn’t have it any other way.” And to prove it, he pulled her back in his arms and kissed her so thoroughly that she was sure never to forget it.
M
y knowledge pertaining to nineteenth-century medicine was greatly improved during the course of writing this novel. What probably surprised me the most was discovering that oftentimes, the key to curing an ailment already existed, but that opening people’s eyes to it could be an impossible undertaking.
Take William Buchan (1729−1805), for instance, whom Mary refers to on numerous occasions throughout the novel. When I was trying to find out when people initially became aware of the importance of hand washing and other antiseptic procedures, Ignaz Semmelweis (1818−1865), a Hungarian physician who demonstrated that the contagion of puerperal fever could be drastically reduced by routine hand washing, kept popping up. He made this discovery in 1847, and even then he failed to convince the rest of the medical community of the importance of his findings. But since 1847 didn’t suit the period in which the story is set (namely, 1816), I decided to dig a little deeper until, lo and behold, William Buchan eventually surfaced, though he was by no means easy to find. His book
Domestic Medicine
was written in 1769, almost 100 years before Semmelweis made his claim, and in it he writes that “were every person, for example, after visiting the sick, handling a dead body, or touching anything that might convey infection, to wash before he went into company, or sat down to meat, he would run less hazard either of catching the infection himself, or of communicating it to others.”
In my opinion, this strongly suggests that the importance of cleanliness was known, even if the vast majority of people (including the medical community) were too stubborn to pay heed to the benefits.
At another point in the story, Mary’s uncle Alistair mentions a sarcoma on his leg, which Mary hopes to cure by provoking an immune response to bacteria, a method she claims to have read about in her father’s notes. Spontaneous regression for the cure of tumors did grow in popularity toward the end of the eighteenth century, though with varied amounts of success. In 1783 a Czech physician by the name of Wenzel Trnka von Krzowitz (1739−1791) observed the complete remission of breast cancer in a patient after the patient developed tertian malaria. Other physicians around that time noted similar cases and began encouraging fevers and inflammations in their patients through a number of different methods, discovering that the cancers would often regress after a few weeks. An actual treatment plan was eventually developed by Dr. William Coley (1862−1936).
In addition to these interesting facts, I was surprised to learn that ether was discovered roughly 200 years before it was ever used during surgery, and that the famous surgeon Abu al-Qasim al-Zahrawi (936−1013) not only performed operations for the removal of cataracts, but also invented a wide variety of surgical tools that have inspired many of the ones being used today.
For more information about this and other historical facts pertaining to my novels, please feel free to visit my research page at www.sophiebarnes.com.
Thank you so much for joining me on my adventures!
S
o much work went into this book that I often found myself overwhelmed by all the detail, yet through it all, my husband never stopped encouraging me to keep on going. Thank you so much for your love and support—I’d be lost without it.