Lottie swallowed, tamping down the roil in her stomach.
“I wasnotflirting,” she sputtered, but her words lacked conviction.
Perhaps she had enjoyed the brief interaction with Dr. Whitaker, sensing a kindred mind.
Perhaps she had liked watching those steel eyes spark with humor.
Perhaps shehadbeen flirting.
Or, perhaps, she simply wished to nettle . . . Nettlesby.
After all, it had beensolong since she had conversed with a truly intellectual man.
Margaret merely gave her a disappointed look—her sister excelled at them—not believing Lottie’s words any more than Lottie herself did.
“Lottie, I know the goodness of your heart, but you simply cannot treat that man with kindness.” Her sister’s eyes were gentle but firm. “Dr. Whitaker is a bachelor and a physician and poor. He is employed intrade. He has nothingto recommend him to those of our set.”
Given the quality of Dr. Whitaker’s attire, Lottie was skeptical that the man was truly impoverished. His manners and address spoke of money somewhere along his lineage. And a physician could still be a gentleman.
More to the point, he had much to recommend him.
I am sure that Lady Charlotte possesses a great many admirable qualities beyond beauty.
Did the doctor know how much she appreciated that simple sentence? Lottie had always found compliments about her physical appearance puzzling. As if her beauty were something she had created. As if it were more than simply an accident of birth.
That he would see such a thing—and defend her—said loads about his character.
She had the presence of mind to avoid saying as much to Margaret, thank goodness.
“You know what is at stake here, Lottie.” Margaret was not done saying her piece. “It’sourfuture.Freddie’sfuture. If Dr. Whitaker fights this attainder and triumphs, Lords could decide to award the entirety of the entailed estate to him.Freddiewould get nothing. You know that Frank’s portion is small. Freddie will need more if he is to live the life of a gentleman.”
They stared at one another for a moment.
It was so strange, Lottie thought. How she could feel such an odd combination of outrage and shame all at once.
Outrage that Margaret and the rest disdained Dr. Whitaker for no other reason than the accident of his birth.
Shame that she might have inadvertently flirted with Dr. Whitaker and, thereby, encouraged him to wish a closer connection with her.
“First think of family. Remember where your loyalties lie, dearest.” Margaret looked pointedly up at Gabriel’s absurd painting hovering above the landing. “There is nothing wrong with being as faithful as a collie in this particular situation.”
Margaret turned on her slippered heels and walked back toward the drawing room.
For her part, Lottie climbed the stairs, past Cousin Gabriel’s wretched depiction of the collie dog, the eyes of the painting following her the entire way.
5
The next morning, the Duke of Ferndown and Lord Frank were waiting in the stable yard.
Alex pulled up short when he saw them.
The only part of the venture Alex hadnotbeen dreading was today’s excursion. He was to ride out with the estate steward, Mr. Warden, to view the home farm and visit a few tenant houses. The intention was to show Alex what being a landlord and marquess would entail.
Alex had come to the stable to collect a horse and meet Mr. Warden in front of Frome Abbey, the two of them riding out together.
But that, apparently, was not to be. His Grace and Lord Frank were dressed for riding, as well.
Ferndown was pacing in a greatcoat and well-worn buckskins, a riding crop in one hand and a gleaming fowling piece in the other. The same mourning armband from the evening before peeked out from the duke’s sleeve underneath his greatcoat.
