He shifted in his seat.
“I mean it. You didn’t let the inane questioning distract you from the tasks at hand. You were aware of your surroundings the whole time and correct in all your diagnoses.”
“Thank you.”
But he hadn’t told her all this simply because he wanted her gratitude. He wanted her to know that she seemed far more capable than he had originally believed. But perhaps that would be insulting to hear and for the first time in a long time, James couldn’t think of what to say to fill the silence.
Grace seemed unaffected and after he dropped her off at her house, he was consumed with the idea that he couldn’t speak the usual nonsense he spoke with patients to fill long silences. But then, maybe she liked the quiet.
Peering out the hackney window as the night settled over the city, James tried to ignore the sudden wish to know everything Grace Sharpe was thinking.
Chapter Four
Grace’s entire bodyached the next morning as she woke. Stretching, she felt the low humming of Penguin’s purring vibrating against her back. The pulls and twinges in her leg muscles, sore from having been on her feet all day. It was odd that she felt so tired, considering how much she used to walk in Glencoe and the surrounding area near Lismore Hall, but different activities made for different muscle groups and apparently standing without much movement otherwise disagreed with her.
Yesterday’s visit to Gallowgate had certainly been eye opening, but Grace had come out of it reinvested. Never had she been surer about wanting to be a doctor in her entire life, and while it would certainly be difficult to gain the trust of the locals, she believed she was more than capable of doing so.
Whether Dr. Hall believed that or not, however, was still up for debate.
As Grace got up and dressed herself in a pale-peach morning gown, she wondered what Dr. Hall’s impression of her was after yesterday. She hadn’t let her emotions show on her face and was rather stoic after she made the mistake of mentioning smallpox to Mrs. Monty. But as far as assisting him, Grace thought she handled herself rather well. She was quick to aid him when he requested it, had set a broken finger, and tended to several cuts that were on the verge of becoming infected, and she had even managed to remove a boil off an elderly gentleman’s foot, a taskshe had been quite proud of considering how efficient she was with a blade. She had even expected the doctor to comment on her talent, but he barely spoke the entire ride home.
Peering absentmindedly out her window as she brushed out her hair, Grace leaned against the large sill. Penguin jumped up, demanding scratches behind the ear, which Grace readily gave him just as her bedroom door opened behind her.
“Oh, my lady, come away from there,” Mrs. Stevens said. “You mustn’t be seen half dressed for all of Glasgow to gaze at.”
Grace smirked.
“Half dressed? I’m completely dressed, except for my shoes, but those below cannot see my feet from this angle, can they?”
“Your hair is down.”
Grace twirled her fingers around the medium brown curls that framed her face and shoulders.
“So, it is. But that hardly makes one undressed.”
“It’s not done. Not in polite society, as I’m sure you know. Now come along, and sit. You’ve more hair than most English ladies I’ve managed.”
Grace pushed herself off the wall and walked to the vanity table where a small silk cover chair sat before it. Sitting promptly, she tilted her head back.
“What do you mean, I have more hair than most English ladies?”
“’Tis a known fact that English ladies have verra fine hair, in both weight and texture. But this,” she emphasized, lifting a strand of Grace’s hair so that she could see it reflecting in the mirror. “This is thick and proper. Might you be a touch Scottish or something else?”
Grace laughed.
“I don’t believe so. My father was an earl, and as English as they come. My mother too.”
Mrs. Stevens shook her head.
“Ah, well, there’s something about you. Something not entirely tame.”
“Tame? How do you mean?”
Mrs. Stevens began to section Grace’s hair into pieces, as she twisted and braided the wild hair into a style rather becoming as of late.
“Perhaps tame isn’t the best word, but I can’t think of a better one. But you are strange. This profession of yours, a woman in medicine… It is odd.”
“Yes, I know, women shouldn’t work in professions such as medicine—”
