Jarvis raised his cane to Devon. “Be quick about your labors and get to the other patients.” The knight fumed from the airy dismissal, pivoted and left.
Devon sauntered in like he owned the place. He nodded to everyone, but his eyes settled on her, touching her everywhere. The governor saw the stricken look on her face.
“I have borrowed the doctor’s services, Claire. I understand he worked wonders with a servant of yours,” said the governor.
“How−how did you know?” Claire rallied her thoughts. She could feel her cheeks burn as a mocking grin gleamed with startling whiteness against Devon’s sun-darkened skin.
“I complained one day about Doctors Abernathy and Bone,” said the governor. “Lily overheard me and recommended him. It is she I have to thank.”
“Of course, Lily…” Claire narrowed her eyes at her cousin. She would give Lily a piece of her mind for suggesting the very thing she wished to avoid.
Though surprised by Devon’s new attire, she’d eat nails before she would show any notice. He appeared well-dressed, yet when he stepped closer, she corrected her first impression to note his garments were made of plain, worn homespun, probably cast-offs. His clothes sat upon him well, lent more by his natural grace, she concluded. Thick dark hair was cropped short with heavy waves framing the sharp angles of his handsome face. She turned her head away, and then heard him laugh. Her eyes clapped on him, but his benign countenance showed nothing. He knelt to attend the governor’s feet.
“This is the man you bought off the docks. What a bargain. Don’t you think, Claire? said the governor. “It was very wise of you to buy him. He’s worth many times the amount you purchased for him. Your uncle will be a very rich man in renting out the physician’s labors.”
Claire was not proud to admit she had bought a man.
“He’s a slave you say?” Sir Teakle said, apparently desiring not to be left out of the pecking order. “What say you slave, of this beautiful paradise you now call home?”
Devon worked on the governor’s feet. She could see he’d rather ignore the knight. It wasn’t in his nature.
“Far be it from me to call it a mirror of heaven that is, asking the opinion of a slave.”
The governor chuckled. “In addition to medicine, the man has wit.”
“Now about you, Miss Claire,” Sir Teakle wheedled. “I find you fascinating. What do you think of this earthly mirror of heaven the slave suggested?”
Claire sputtered. Sir Teakle had set his cap for her. Why couldn’t she think of some exotic ailment like Lily? She experienced again the sensation of being stripped naked by that green gaze. She refused to look at Devon, suspecting the fool would find creative ways to make her life miserable until her debt was paid. “With all humility, Sir Teakle, I find myself soaring at such heights that I have to go downstairs to get to heaven.”
Governor Stark chortled. “The lady demonstrates clever wit as well. What do you think, Sir Teakle? Is she not a match for you?”
“Indeed. I am in the company of an angel. I admire a woman whose pride is subordinate, and whose loveliness is beyond distinction. Like a fair chrysanthemum, your beauty attracts me and sends wild my heart. With your permission, I plan to visit with your uncle to make my intentions known. That is, if I may be so bold.”
“I-I consider your intentions−” Claire couldn’t get out the rest of her words. How did she tell Sir Teakle she already had a husband, and he was hale and healthy five feet from him? Dear Lord. Whatever was she to do? Complications rose by the minute.
“How romantic.” Mary sighed. “To think I made the introductions.”
If Claire wasn’t afraid of the water she’d run to the sea and drown herself. No doubt the knight was anticipating their wedding night. Claire managed not to shudder. “We’ve just met−”
“I believe my cousin is still in mourning,” Lily intervened.
“That’s right, I’m in mourning. My husband has passed on,” Claire confirmed then winced when Devon cleared his throat.
“Then my condolences to you,” said Sir Teakle. “How did your husband expire?”
“Tragic,” sniffed Mary who recited Claire’s tale with ostentatious exaggeration every time she told it. “So young and so in love. He doted on her. She cared for him more than life itself. He was so handsome and strong and vital. Everything a woman could dream. Claire worshiped the ground he walked on. Eternal lovers.” Mary clapped her hands together, her fingers pointed to heaven. Then Mary leaned over and spoke to Sir Teakle. “He died from a broken neck.”
Claire accepted Mary’s consolation with aplomb. She covered her face with the handkerchief she tugged from Sir Teakle’s pocket. She nearly wept for Devon heard everything. What would Devon do? She had to keep up the front to keep Sir Teakle from the hunt, especially since the governor’s wife had upped the ante by hinting at an inheritance. She blew her nose. “It was sudden.”
Lily pushed her spectacles up. “I know my cousin’s feelings well. For Claire, it is almost as if he is alive and in this room.”
Claire kicked Lily under the table. From the corner of her eye, she gauged Devon’s reaction. He appeared engrossed with bandaging the governor’s feet. How dare he be amused?
“Try that,” Devon ordered, standing back to view the results.
“Much better,” declared the governor. “The man is a marvel. Makes it worth suffering all the ladies’ plaguey bereavement. Good God, Claire. It’s been six months. Time to move on.” The Governor hobbled around the dining room, bubbling with child-like joy. “What say you about all this women’s sorrow business?” he asked Devon.
Devon bowed to the governor, but his eyes fell on Claire. “If your husband, so strong, so handsome and so vital−and you in love with him...” He grew still in his ruminations, stroking his chin.
