Even Dr. Finch’s jaw clenched at the mention of his name. Anne wondered why.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean she will remember you, or at least not with any negative connotation,” Dr. Marsland said. “Loveday is a fairly common surname in this parish.”
Miss Lotty nodded. “In fact, our current postmistress shares your name, although she spellsAnnwithout ane. And this must have been what, three or four years ago now? And both he and your sister went on to marry other people.”
“True.” Anne had been relieved when they’d learned of Mr. Dalby’s wedding, for it had helped Fanny stop pining over him, at least to a degree.
Miss Lotty bit her lip, then said, “You may not have heard, but his wife died ... oh, about nine months ago. He is a widower now.”
“Oh no,” Anne said. “How awful.” For more reasons than one.
“He had been living with his wife in Brook House, but I understand he has been visiting Painswick Court more often since her death, so it is likely your paths would cross there. Would that be a problem?”
“A problem for me? No.”
“Good. It would be a relief to have you there,” Dr. Finch said. “Someone to keep a watchful eye on things.... On Lady Celia, I mean.”
Dr. Marsland countered, “But if you think old resentments will interfere ...?”
Would they?
“Might you be able to set aside the past?” Dr. Finch persisted. “At least for a fortnight or so? It would mean a great deal to ... to us all.”
Anne looked at Dr. Finch, met his imploring gaze and studied his expression. Despite her reluctance and what she had overheard between him and the unknown woman, Anne liked being useful—and she liked his handsome, earnest face—so she agreed. “Yes, I am sure I can.”
I hope.
4
The next day, Dr. Marsland returned to Yew Cottage to escort Anne to Painswick Court and introduce her to Lady Celia. The imminent meeting filled Anne with trepidation. Perhaps she shouldn’t have agreed, especially after her failure with her mother, but it was too late now. She hoped her printed cotton day dress and mulberry spencer and bonnet were suited to the occasion.
They crossed the street and walked through the churchyard, keeping to the paths where possible. As they neared the wooden door in the wall that separated the churchyard from Painswick Court, Anne’s pulse accelerated. The physician, however, displayed none of her hesitation as he pushed open the door.
They passed through an avenue of trees. At its end, they were met by a granite statue of a lion, teeth bared in perpetual snarl, warning them away. Anne drew up short at the menacing sight.
Only then did Dr. Marsland hesitate. Anne took advantage of the moment to look up at the house—two stories and attics, constructed of limestone blocks and mullionedwindows. Gabled wings projected from either side of a recessed center hall.
“We’ll enter through here,” he said, pointing and changing course. “Since this is a formal call.” Together they crossed the gravel drive and approached the house’s front entrance, flanked by shaped privet bushes.
Reaching the door, he applied the knocker, and soon an elderly butler opened it.
“Good day, Buxton. I’ve brought Miss Loveday to meet Lady Celia, as a potential new nurse.”
“Very good, sir. As it’s you, Doctor, I’ll take you straight up.”
“Thank you.”
The old man slowly led them across the paneled hall and along a dim corridor to a stairway at its end. As they started up, Anne felt someone watching her. She glanced over and locked gazes with King Charles I. In the large painting, the ill-fated monarch wore a wide white lace collar over a dark robe. His deep-set eyes seemed to follow Anne’s progress, expression knowing, until she climbed from view.
At the top of the stairs, the butler knocked on the second door on the left.
A feminine voice from within replied, “Come.”
He opened the door and gestured the two inside, announcing, “Dr. Marsland and Miss Loveday.” Then he backed from the room, pulling the door closed as he went.
Dr. Marsland stepped forward, partially blocking Anne’s view of a silver-haired woman seated at a desk, cane propped against her chair. She looked up, expression begrudging, as they entered.
Dr. Marsland tucked his chin. “Lady Celia, you should be resting.”
