“What in the world was a midwife doing with a duchess?” Sarah demanded.
She wasn’t a duchess.Mrs. Roland held money, but no title.
“The doctor brought her,” Dr. Russell said with an incredulous lift to his voice. “Apparently the midwife took over when the doctor panicked.”
Aunt Wilcox gasped. “No.”
Nora opened her mouth but caught the shake of Daniel’s head, barely perceptible but enough to freeze her. Russell was as errant on the facts as the many doctors who’d been published in the paper this week, decrying her case. She didn’t mind now that Daniel had insisted she sign her article only under her initials.
“Fortunately”—Dr. Russell panted a bit breathlessly from the port and the excitement of a captive audience—“the doctors started a petition to prevent any such error from occurring again.”
“Daniel?” His mother looked to him for both confirmation and apology for not telling her such salacious news.
He gave the slightest shrug, his color decidedly more yellow than when he’d first approached them.
“She wasn’t a duchess and the doctor didn’t panic.” Nora couldn’t resist.
“Did you sign the petition?” his aunt asked, ignoring her.
Now he would explain the true facts of the case. Nora waited, forgetting to exhale.
“There’s always more than meets the eye…” he began reasonably.
Aunt Wilcox scoffed in exasperation and dropped her fan. “You didn’t sign it? Why must you always make unnecessary difficulties?”
“Don’t scold your nephew,” Dr. Russell said, looking pleased to once more command the center of the conversation. “I’m sure he signed the petition. And certainly his signature counts for his wife as well.”
“No, he didn’t—” Nora blurted out.
“Yes.” Daniel spoke over her, covering her words. “I did.”
It didn’t make sense the way the notes of the piano continued drifting across the room when everything else froze. Words tripped over Nora’s paralyzed ears, falling before they reached her. She saw only the purple shadows under Daniel’s cheeks. He mottled when embarrassed.
She would have demanded an explanation if she’d been able to find her tongue. Her feet shook, strangely disconnected from her legs.
“Thank the good Lord.” Aunt exhaled in relief. “I’m sorry I accused you. You’re growing some sense at last.” Her blue eyes marched over her nephew, showing a glint of pride that made Nora inexplicably despondent.
Void of other ideas, Nora fixed her eyes on Daniel’s married sister carrying on what looked like a painful conversation with the doleful Whig MP. “I believe Lillian needs me,” she murmured, not at all concerned how her abrupt exit would be perceived. She felt Daniel’s eyes track her across the room, as firm and sure as a touch.
A memory clutched at her throat. The same difficult breaths, her vision fuzzing at the periphery, her feet unable to feel the floor beneath her. She’d walked like this before.
The Stabat Mater Hall.
Visions arose of the vast room in Bologna where four professors had interrogated her for hours with medical questions before reluctantly signing her surgeon’s license. The stifling air. The red curtains. The curled lips and narrowed eyes. She drew up silently to Lillian’s side with a show of composure she didn’t feel.
“Excuse me, Mr. Briscoe,” Lillian said to the MP. “I’ve not seen my sister-in-law in months.” She took Nora’s arm in a grateful crunch of fingers and led her to a solitary sofa in the corner. Nora’s eyes flitted to the mantel clock. Half an hour until she could escape to the dark, quiet interior of their carriage and sift through the wreckage of their conversation.
Had he said yes only to deflect their ire?
The possibility allowed her to take a full breath as she closed her eyes for a moment.
Lillian gestured to a deck of cards. “Shall we?”
Nora nearly turned her down, but that would require an explanation. However, she needed something that required less concentration than whist. “Snap?”
“Why not?” Lillian giggled, adding in an undertone, “What did you talk about with Mama and Aunt Wilcox? They had you cornered from the first moment. They looked like they were plotting a revolution.”
“I—”
