“It’s almost a new century, my dear! Humors are the old way; I’m told that the new science centers on the mind. Heal that, and the body will follow.”
Letitia regarded her limbs warily.
“Well, in your case, rest your body,” said the doctor, turning serious. “You’ve been through enough for a lifetime, and I wouldn’t want you to exacerbate the pain. Some rest, and you’ll be as good as new.”
“Will I?” Letitia asked, her eyes brimming with tears. It seemed impossible that anything would feel right again, not after she’d taken up with a series of increasingly cruel protectors.
The doctor placed his hand on her head in a fatherly way and brushed her fringe aside so he could look into her eyes. “You’ll be well again. But give yourself time to rest. I won’t leave herbs or seeds since youdoplan to follow my orders? I’ll give your protector the same speech I gave you about a temporary cessation ofthoseactivities.”
“Oh, he’s not my lover,” she rushed to say, anxious that Anthony might be lumped in with a host of men this doctor would now regard with extreme disapproval.
He regarded Letitia with a raised eyebrow.
“Really, Dr. Riddle!” she exclaimed, blushing. “He’s been a perfect gentleman.”
“In that case, would you like me to enumerate the ways you might enjoy his company without risk to your health?”
“I don’t think he wants me like that,” she said.
The doctor raised an eyebrow again. He was a little too perceptive!
She picked at the blanket on the bed, her conventional upbringing making her shy about hearing such things from the doctor. But curiosity won out. It wouldn’t hurt to hear the man, would it?
“Very well,” she said, settling in to learn how lovers might enjoy each other in less conventional ways.
***
By the time Dr. Riddle departed, Letitia was in something of a lather. She felt needy and wet — and all from thinking about how she might indulge in some sweet petting with a lover. As if she even had one!
Just as she resolved to slip a hand into the top of her chemise and stroke a nipple, hoping to experience some relief, the door opened.
She sat up a little straighter. Anthony was in the doorway, still wearing that ridiculous silk mask. She was tired of pretending she didn’t know who he was. But would he toss her on the street if she acknowledged she knew his identity?
“I saw the doctor on his way out,” he said.
“Oh?” she replied, uncertain how much the doctor might disclose to the man paying his bills.
“He looked sad,” said Anthony, looking back over his shoulder as if to reassure himself that the man was truly gone.
“He’s experienced great loss. Losses,” she corrected.
“I did not know,” said Anthony, sinking to the bed as if they were friends again. More than friends. When he recalled himself, his spine stiffened.
“Don’t rush away,” she said, a hand on his forearm. He regarded her elegant fingers on the dark fabric of his coat, then relaxed.
“I was wondering if you might brush my hair again?” she asked. A servant had trimmed her locks after the rough chop, and she’d discovered — after all of these years — that her hair curled when it wasn’t long.
Anthony took up the brush from the dressing table nearby and settled closer to run it through her hair.
“Do you like my fringe?” she asked, letting her fingertips run over the fashionable bangs now covering much of her forehead.
“All styles suit you,” he said. Was his voice hoarse?
He settled the brush on her scalp and dragged it down. This time, it ran smoothly through her short hair. She shivered.
“Are you cold?” he asked, repeating the stroke.
“No, merely…”
