The only date on it was of his death. That made sense. Gemma wasn’t even certain when he was born, either. Beneath the date was carved:Well-hailed member of the Logical Men’s Society.
That gave her a tickle of guilt... because Andrew had been proud of the role he played with the village men. He’d been happy to bake the pies they wanted because he was one of them.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I must claim The Garland. I have nowhere else. But thank you. Thank you—”
“We respected him,” Mr. Thurlowe’s voice came from behind her.
Gemma whirled to face him. She hadn’t even heard him approach.
He held his hat in his arms that were clasped behind his back. He appeared serious. Somber. Beyond them, in the distance, was the sound of wagons, carts, and carriages and the other parishioners. They were busy catching up and possibly talking about the changes she planned for The Garland. No oneseemedto be paying attention to them.
“I thought you were off to your patients.”
“I should be. Of course, I was waylaid on my way out of the church.”
She held up a hand. “You can’t blame the delay on me. I had nothing to do with it.”
He shot her a look as if to say,Can’t I? Instead, he said, “I feel it is important that we talk. Wouldyou?” He indicated with his hand holding his hat that he wanted her to walk farther around the church where they would be shielded from prying eyes.
Curiosity made her agree. She moved forward with him trailing discreetly behind.
Once she’d determined they had gone far enough, she stopped. “We have a modicum of privacy. What do you wish to say?”
The lines of his mouth flattened. It was a handsome mouth. In fact, this close to him, she was struck anew at how physically attractive he was.
But her husband had been handsome, too.
Except, Paul had never looked as grim as Mr. Thurlowe did at this moment. “Do you really believe handing out this rub is in the best interests of these women?”
“It eases pain.”
“Two good shots of brandy eases their pain, as well.”
She reacted to his sarcasm. “I’ll have you know that my gran and her gran and her gran before her worked to create that recipe because of its healing properties. I never said my salve was a cure. The pepper oil mixed with the other herbs offersrelief, which I would think you would be glad of for your patients.”
He made a disgruntled noise. “Pain is part of life. She is growing older.Thatis her problem. Selling her remedies will not prevent her joints from worsening.”
“It will help her feel better.”
He hummed his doubt, and she had to admit, “As I’ve said, the salve is not a cure—”
“She thinks it is.”
“No, she doesn’t. Or else she wouldn’t ask me to make more. She just wants to move without pain. What is wrong with that goal? And it won’t harm her. Yes, the joints will grow worse because that is the nature of our bodies. However, the salve will be easier on her than soldiering on.”
That gave him a moment of pause, but then he came back. “I don’t want her thinking she has an antidote.”
“She is a sensible woman. She knows what she wants.” And Gemma had a sudden insight. “Or would you be speaking to me this way if the dowager was a man?”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“It is my observation that physicians have a tendency to discount the complaints of females.”
“What?”He took a step back.
Gemma took a step forward. “If the dowager was a driver or a yeoman or a carpenter or even a stable hand who used his hands all day, would you be more concerned about her joints?”
“Those men are working. They need their hands. They have no choice but to use them.”
