Griffin watched Pettibone shift slightly in his chair, unwittingly signaling his discomfort with what must be said next. “Out with it,” Griffin said. “I am paying you to hear it all.”
Pettibone cleared his throat. “If I understood correctly, then she is to be your guest for several days. Truss informed me it could possibly stretch a fortnight.” When Breckenridge did not interject information to the contrary, Pettibone continued. “She will not be improved by being confined to a single room. I believe—”
“Did she complain?” Griffin asked sharply.
“No. No, not at all. Quite the opposite. She remarked that she found her accommodations perfectly agreeable and was untroubled by your insistence that she should not leave her room.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“The problem is that shemustleave from time to time. It is critical for her condition that she take regular exercise. That cannot be accomplished by taking a turn about a room so small as the one she is in. Fresh air will do remarkably well for her. Once a day will be sufficient. Twice would be ideal.”
Griffin had thought the headache he was nursing could not become worse. Here was proof that he was wrong. “She said it was out of the question, didn’t she?”
“What she said was that she would do whatever I recommended, but that permission for such daily outings was only yours to give.”
“Good lord,” Griffin said, more to himself than the doctor. “But she can make a thing turn back on itself.”
“How is that again?”
Griffin shook his head. “It is unimportant. What else came of your examination?”
“It is just as critical that she have some means of occupying herself, else she will have no thoughts but the ones that are troubling her. The nervous condition will worsen. She won’t sleep, eat, or—”
“Yes, doctor, I see the picture you are painting; however, she has already informed me in words plain and firm that she has no interests or accomplishments one might associate with her sex.”
“She indicated as much to me, though she did mention rather reluctantly that she likes to read.”
Griffin very nearly rolled his eyes. He remembered her studying his library, tilting her head first one way, then the other, to read the titles of the books he’d stuffed on the shelves on their sides. “She mentioned this reluctantly, did she?”
“When I pressed, yes. She seemed a bit embarrassed by it.”
“Indeed.”
“You might consider allowing her to choose some books.”
“I’ll choose the books.” With that statement he realized he had given in. Truly, Olivia Cole was proving herself resourceful.
“I am certain that will be agreeable.”
“It will have to be,” Griffin said shortly. “I am not feeling in any way charitable toward her.”
“That did not go unnoticed by me, although I confess I see no reason for it. In spite of her distrust for physicians, I found we were able to establish a mutual regard. Under the circumstances, her affability is remarkable.”
“Circumstances?”
“The state of her nerves.”
Griffin found himself on the receiving end of Pettibone’s rather sharp stare. It was so pointed in fact that the doctor may as well have been wagging a finger at him. Griffin was forced to acknowledge to himself that the state of his own nerves could most politely be described as frayed. It was also no reason to be out of sorts with Pettibone.
“Is there anything else?” Griffin asked.
“Not about my patient.”
Griffin waited.
“You had news from Paris. You were gone from town, I heard. Did it raise your hopes?”
Trust Pettibone to examine the open wound. Griffin harbored some regret that he’d ever confided in the doctor. It was not that the scandal that touched his life was unknown in society, only that Pettibone was one of the few privy to Griffin’s own telling of events. “Briefly. And dashed them again. Nothing came of it. Nothing ever comes of it.”
