She’d heard those words in her dreams for fourteen nights now. She heard them in the creak of floorboards, in the jangle of the shop bell, and in the heavy silence between heartbeats. He’d looked at her, or rather, he’d looked through her while Mrs.Pemberton giggled and the whole fragile fantasy she’d allowed herself to believe came crashing down.
The bell at the front of the shop rang. Nell’s hands stilled in the dough. Her shoulders tensed and every muscle went rigid before she forced herself to draw a breath. It wouldn’t be him; and he hadn’t come in two weeks; yet he was not going to come now. Nell wiped her hands on her apron and made her way to the front of the shop. Her heart hammered despite her best efforts to still it.
Dr. Hartley stood in the doorway with his medical bag in hand, his quiet smile already forming. “Mrs. Ashford. I hope I am not intruding.”
Relief flooded through her immediately. She pressed a hand to her chest and felt foolish for her earlier panic. “Dr. Hartley. You are back from London.”
“I arrived last evening.” He stepped inside, removing his hat and setting it on the counter with a gentle thud. “I wanted to check on Lily before anything else. How has she been?”
“The cough comes and goes.” Nell smoothed her apron, grateful for something to do with her hands. “It’s worse at night. The apothecary’s tonics don’t seem to help as much as yours.”
“Then let me examine her.” He gestured toward the stairs.
Upstairs, Lily was propped against pillows with one of her beloved novels open in her lap. Her spectacles had slid down her nose, but she pushed them up with one finger as Hartley entered, her face brightening.
“Dr. Hartley! Have you readThe Mysteries of Udolpho?” Lily gripped the edges of the book, her eyes wide. “It’s ever so thrilling. There’s a castle and a wicked Italian, and Emily is trapped, and?—”
“I confess I haven’t.” Hartley’s eyes crinkled as he set down his bag and pulled up a chair beside her bed. “But if yourecommend it, I shall have to remedy that. Now, let me listen to your breathing.”
He was gentle and patient. He asked questions in a voice that never condescended. Lily, usually shy with strangers, answered him easily as she chattered about castles and villains.
Oliver appeared in the doorway, a half carved bird clutched in one hand and his dark eyes watchful. He said nothing, but he leaned against the doorframe and observed the scene—and Hartley noticed the boy. He finished his examination, tucked his monaural back into his bag, and turned to Oliver with a respectful nod.
“Oliver.” He gestured toward the carving. “That’s fine work you are doing.”
Oliver’s chin lifted as he tightened his grip on the wood. “It’s for Lily. She likes birds.”
“She is lucky to have a brother who looks after her.” Hartley rose from the chair and crossed to where Oliver stood, crouching slightly to meet him at eye level. “Your mother tells me you help in the shop. You carry flour sacks and mind the ovens.”
“Someone has to do it.” Oliver’s voice was guarded, his stare probing the doctor’s face.
“Indeed.” Hartley held the boy’s look without wavering. “A man’s job, that. She is fortunate to have you.”
Oliver’s expression eased by a fraction. He nodded once, a sharp jerk of his chin, and retreated to his corner by the window. Nell watched from the doorway, her throat tight. She knew in her bones that Gabriel would never have spoken to his son like this — not with patience, not with kindness. He would have used the boy the way he used everything, until there was nothing left worth using. Perhaps it was a mercy that he’d died before the children were born. Perhaps God had granted her that one small grace.
Downstairs, the back door burst open. Daphne tumbled through it, her cheeks pink from the autumn air and her eyes bright with excitement.
“Nell! Dr. Hartley!” She spotted them on the stairs and bounded up two at a time. “Have you heard? Sir Huxley’s garden party is today. Everyone is going. The Mortons, the Whitfields, even old Mrs. Crenshaw, and she never goes anywhere.”
“Actually.” Hartley descended the last few steps, reaching into his coat pocket. “I was about to mention that. The Huxleys are old friends of my family, and Sir Huxley specifically asked me to attend.” He paused, glancing at Nell with a shy light in his eyes. “I was hoping, that’s, I wondered if you might accompany me. Both of you.”
Nell hesitated, her hand finding the banister for support. “A garden party? I am not sure I would be welcome. I am just?—”
“The Huxleys are good people.” Hartley’s voice was earnest as he took a step toward her. “Sir Huxley doesn’t care about titles or trade. He cares about conversation and kindness. And I,” he stopped and started again, “I would very much like your company.”
Daphne bounced on her heels beside them. “Say yes, Nell. When was the last time you did anything for yourself? Please?”
Nell looked at Hartley. She saw his kind eyes and the way he had spoken to her son as a person of worth. “All right.” The word escaped almost instinctively. “But I have nothing suitable to wear.”
Daphne’s grin spread from ear to ear as she grabbed Nell’s arm. “You could wear a flour sack and outshine every lady there. Come. I shall help you dress.”
Eight
The Huxley gardens were everything Nell had imagined and nothing she belonged to. Old oaks threw shade across lawns clipped short enough to make her teeth hurt, and a string quartet played on the terrace, their music drifting across grounds dotted with ladies in fine muslins.
Nell felt every eye that flickered her way. Her dress was a modest, pale blue, and she was acutely aware of every silk gown and diamond pin. Daphne walked beside her in her Sunday best, her eyes wide with undisguised wonder. Hartley stayed close, his hand resting light on Nell’s elbow.
Sir Huxley found them near the rose garden, his ready laugh booming across the lawn. “Hartley! Delighted you could come.” He turned to Nell and Daphne with a genuine smile. “And you have brought guests. Wonderful, wonderful.”
