Amelia forced a weak smile. “I’m not so sure there’s a lot he can do. This will eventually go away on its own and without the expense of a doctor.”
Juliette chuckled. “It’s not as though we can’t afford it now, and I’m sure Raphe wouldn’t mind.”
“That isn’t the point, Julie.” Wincing, she started massaging her temples for effect. “I wouldn’t mind spending the money if I thought a doctor would help, but I doubt he would do anything besides telling me to get some rest. And if he were to suggest bloodletting—”
“Doctor Florian doesn’t advocate that practice, Amelia.”
Struck by her sister’s unusually sharp tone and the defensiveness it conveyed, Amelia couldn’t help but ask, “How do you know?”
With a shrug, Juliette gave her attention to her skirt, which apparently needed picking at that precise moment. “He mentioned it when I was sick with the measles.”
Her illness five weeks earlier had been a terrifying experience for all of them. Raphe’s secretary, Richardson, had recommended the young doctor on account of his broadmindedness and the keen interest he supposedly had for unconventional methods, but in the end, it had been Gabriella and Raphe who’d helped Juliette through the illness since there had been little else for them to do but make her comfortable.
“If you’ll recall, Doctor Florian initially suspected influenza. It wasn’t until his follow-up visit that he realized I had the measles. When Raphe asked him if there was something he could do to help me, Florian launched into a lengthy denouncement of purging, bloodletting and something else that I fail to recall at this moment. He insisted it does more harm than good.”
“You speak of him with great respect.”
“It is nothing more than what his profession and intellect demand.”
Amelia wondered how much of the man’s intellect her sister could possibly have been subjected to during their brief acquaintance. As far as she knew, the two had met only twice and that had been while Juliette had been racked by fever and feeling miserable. To suppose they might have enjoyed a philosophical discourse, or shared their political views or anything else that might have led Juliette to form an accurate opinion of his mental prowess was highly unlikely. Which made the whole thing all the more intriguing since it did suggest that her sister might be fostering a greater interest in the doctor, even if she had yet to be made aware of it herself.
“What time is it?” Amelia asked, deciding to drop the subject.
Crossing to the chest of drawers on which the clock sat, Juliette studied the time. “Eleven thirty. We’re supposed to leave in about three hours.”
Amelia pushed out a breath. “I dread it already.”
“Perhaps you should stay home.”
“Do you think Lady Everly would agree to let me do that? She is taking her responsibility as our sponsor far more seriously than I would ever have imagined, what with the list of suitors she presented and all the events she plans on taking us to.”
“It does appear as though Raphe’s concerns about her suitability were grossly misplaced, though I must confess I’m enjoying the dowager duchess’s company, as well.”
“As am I,” Amelia admitted. The lady was far more approachable than she would have imagined a woman of her standing to be.
“Not to mention that it gives you plenty of opportunity to spend some more time with her son.” Juliette grinned. “Honestly, Raphe couldn’t have planned this any better if he’d known about your affection for Coventry.”
Amelia crossed her arms with a shake of her head. “There’s nothing to it.”
“Of course there isn’t.” But Juliette’s smile suggested she didn’t buy that lie for a second. Thankfully, she chose not to pursue it, saying instead, “Leave Lady Everly to me, Amelia. I’ll see to it that she doesn’t press you about going out today.” Rising, Juliette leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Amelia’s cheek. “Try to sleep a bit more. You won’t feel the pain if you do.”
To do so was of course out of the question. Especially since Amelia felt perfectly fine and remarkably awake. She longed to get out of bed and proceed with her day, but knew she could not risk doing so if she were to truly convince Lady Everly of her need to stay home. So she stared up at the ceiling and waited for the hours to tick by. They did so with infernal slowness, allowing her plenty of time in which to consider the dances she’d shared with Coventry the day before.
He’d been perfectly gallant, of course, and considerate of her apprehension. She still hoped he hadn’t suspected the cause of it—that he’d simply supposed it stemmed from her inexperience with the steps, which it might have done if her partner had been anyone else but him. But it hadn’t been, and because of that, her heart had launched itself into her throat the moment he’d arrived and his mother had asked him to help. She could still feel the heat of his hand burning her skin, her stomach once again aflutter at the memory of his smile directed at her as he’d led her about.
And rather than portraying refined elegance, she’d been as light on her feet as an ox plowing a muddy field would have been if it were also dragging a cartload of stone behind it. Flinging her arm across her face she let out a groan. Why did he have to divest her of her senses so? She was having a hard enough time recalling correct etiquette, posture and speech without him constantly muddling her brain.
She knew she tended to tense up in her effort to overcome it, which invariably resulted in more mistakes than she’d otherwise make if he weren’t present. And then there was the self-awareness she now harbored on account of a few cruel words—the knowledge that she could never hope to win a man like him. Everything combined to make dancing with him the sweetest kind of torture.
And yet, he’d miraculously managed to put her at ease during the waltz, a feat she would not have thought possible until it had been accomplished. His hands had found her waist—something that would have made her stop breathing if he hadn’t lifted her up in the air. She’d been so shocked by the unexpectedness of it that all tension had fled her body, replaced by nothing but utter delight at the weightlessness she’d experienced. For a moment, she’d imagined what birds must feel like without gravity anchoring them to the ground. She remembered laughing too, because if something like that didn’t warrant laughter, she really didn’t know what might.
It had been incredible; a welcome distraction from her thoughts. And it had made her relax just as Coventry had wanted her to, if only for a moment. But while the whole experience had left her feeling breathless and more enamored than ever before, she knew better than to suppose he might hold a similar regard for her. The man was simply being helpful and kind. That was all there was to it and all there would ever be since she was not at all the sort of woman a man like him would consider marrying. Not for a fleeting second.
With this in mind, Amelia set her fantasies of Coventry aside and considered the task that had kept her at home today. Waiting until the front door closed with a thud, she went to the window and gave her attention to the street below where Coventry, having come to collect Juliette and Lady Everly as promised, assisted them into his carriage. Amelia watched with an ache in her chest until he’d climbed in as well and the conveyance had driven away. Expelling a sigh of relief, she then pondered her next dilemma, which would of course be leaving the house unnoticed, especially by Pierson. Well, there was nothing for it but to try. The man she intended to meet would not wait more than ten minutes for her at most, which meant she had to get going if she was to make her appointment.
Crossing to her wardrobe, she pushed aside all her pretty new dresses and pulled out the one she’d been wearing the day she’d arrived here. Fashioned from coarse brown wool, it itched in a way she hadn’t noticed until she’d tried wearing fine muslin and silk. But considering where she was heading, anonymity would be a priority. Any sign of finery would likely get her robbed.
She stared at herself in the mirror once she was finished, studying her simple hairstyle, the lack of embellishment and the unappealing cut of her dress, which was further enhanced by the shapeless bonnet she’d put on her head. Raphe had bought it for her years ago as a gift for her birthday, an extravagance she’d found upsetting back then, even though she’d been pleased by his kindness. The brim had lost its stiffness some time ago, prompting it to sag in the middle. Compared with the ones she now owned, some might say it was a tragic catastrophe—certainly not the sort of thing the sister of a duke would ever consider wearing. Which was just perfect since it would hopefully prevent anyone from suspecting who she was as she made her way toward Bainbridge and High streets where the slums of St. Giles began.
