“Sir Huxley, may I present Mrs. Ashford.” Hartley’s voice carried a note of pride. “She owns The Mill Street Bakery, the bakery in the village. And Miss Daphne Wells, her assistant.”
“Mrs. Ashford!” Sir Huxley beamed, clasping her hand between both of his own. “I have heard nothing but praise for your baking. You must send some to the house. And Miss Wells, welcome, welcome.”
Lady Huxley was equally gracious, her shrewd eyes missing nothing as she offered a polite tilt of her head. “Any friend of Dr. Hartley is a friend of ours. Please, enjoy yourselves.”
Nell felt the knot in her chest begin to loosen. Perhaps this afternoon wouldn’t be so terrible after all.
They found a spot near the rose garden, away from the thickest press of bodies. Daphne chattered about the dresses, the music, and the sheer scale of the estate while she spun in a slow circle. Hartley listened with patient amusement, his shoulder brushing Nell’s as they stood together.
“You look happy,” he said quietly, leaning in so the words were for her ears alone.
Nell considered the word. “I do feel lighter.” She looked up at him and offered a small, tentative smile. “Thank you for bringing us, Doctor.”
His smile deepened, warming his whole face. “Shall I fetch us some lemonade?” He gestured toward the terrace with a nod of his head. “I believe I saw a refreshment table near the stone steps.”
“That would be lovely,” Nell replied, smoothing the fabric of her skirt.
She watched him go. He was steady, reliable, and safe. She allowed herself, just for a moment, to imagine what it might be like to let someone like him into her life. She wondered if she could trust again, or believe that not all tenderness came with a price.
The moment Hartley was out of earshot, a shadow fell across the sunlight.
“Mrs. Ashford!” The voice dripped with saccharine sweetness. Mrs. Pemberton materialized before them. Felicity trailed behind her in pink muslin, her eyes fixed firmly on her slippers. “What a delightful surprise to see you here.”
Nell’s spine went rigid. “Mrs. Pemberton. How lovely to see you as well.” She folded her hands tightly over her middle.
“Is it not just?” Mrs. Pemberton’s smile widened, showing too many teeth as her fan snapped open. She began to flutter it vigorously against her bosom. “I was saying to Felicity only this morning how wonderful it’s when people from all walks of life can mingle at these gatherings. It’s so democratic. So modern.”
Daphne stiffened beside her, clearly hearing the barb beneath the honey.
“Dr. Hartley was kind enough to invite us.” Nell met the older woman’s glittering eyes with an unblinking stare.
“Yes, the good doctor.” Mrs. Pemberton pressed a hand to her chest and sighed theatrically. “Such a charitable soul. He is always taking an interest in those less fortunate. It’s really quite touching.”
Nell tightened her grip on her parasol and waited for the real blow, knowing it was coming.
“Though I must say, Mrs. Ashford.” Mrs. Pemberton leaned closer, the scent of her heavy floral perfume turning cloying. She pitched her words loud enough for the nearby guests to catch every syllable. “You do seem to have a talent for attracting male attention. First an evening stroll with Lord Westmore at the harvest festival. And now the good doctor escorts you about like you are a lady of quality.”
Beside her, Daphne went very still.
Nell felt it like a door slamming shut. She hadn’t told Daphne about the walk. She hadn’t told anyone. And now Mrs. Pemberton had laid it bare in the middle of a garden party.
“It was a brief conversation at a public event.” Nell forced the words past the tightness in her throat, her fingers digging into her palms. “Nothing improper occurred.”
“Oh, I am sure.” Mrs. Pemberton’s smile turned pitying as she tucked her fan beneath her chin. “But a widow of yourposition, with two children—one cannot afford to be seen as reaching above her station.” She shook her head with a heavy, performative sigh. “People will talk, Mrs. Ashford. They already are.”
“Then they should find better use of their tongues.” Daphne’s voice was low and sharp, her chin lifted and her jaw set tight.
Mrs. Pemberton blinked, her smile faltering for half a breath before she recovered. “I only mention it because I worry, dear.”
“Mrs. Pemberton.” Hartley stepped into the gap, two glasses of lemonade in hand and his expression pleasant. His eyes told a different story as they swept the group. “Miss Pemberton. If you will excuse us.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He handed the glasses to Nell and Daphne, offered Nell his arm, and steered them away. Mrs. Pemberton’s expression curdled, but she held her tongue—one did not rebuke a doctor in a public setting. She retreated with Felicity in tow, already scanning the crowd for her next target.
They walked in silence until they reached a quieter corner of the garden, shielded by a towering yew hedge.
“Dr. Hartley!” A gentleman waved from a cluster of nearby guests. “A word, if you please?”
Hartley hesitated, glancing at Nell with concern as he placed a hand over hers on his arm. “Will you be all right for a moment? Mr. Patrick is a patient. I should acknowledge him.”
