Gabriella chuckled. “I dare say you are too involved in the situation to judge it with clarity. If you were to take a step back, however, and see how he interacts with you, you would know what I say is true. He favors your attention, Julie. The only question now is whether or not he’ll allow himself to encourage it.”
Chapter 14
After leaving Huntley House the previous day, Florian went straight to St. Agatha’s where he immersed himself in work. He also made some house calls, including a visit to his uncle’s, before returning home. There he discovered another unsigned letter, this time advising him that Armswell needed his help. When Florian arrived at his parents’ home, he found the viscount in dire need of medical attention.
Thankfully, Florian recognized the symptoms of hemlock poisoning and was able to administer the necessary antidote. But the whole ordeal left him shaken and proved that the person behind the threats intended to act on them without remorse.
“Who would do this?” his mother demanded. “I cannot imagine any of the servants—”
“Did you recently hire a new employee?” Florian asked as he packed away his supplies.
“I... um...” She blinked. “Armswell hired a new footman about a week ago.”
“Sack him,” Florian advised. “I think he might be working for someone else.”
“But—”
He reached for her hand while meeting her troubled gaze. “Someone wants to hurt me and I think they’re attempting to do so through you, but you mustn’t worry. I’m handling it.”
Leaving her, he went to meet Henry. “I need your help,” he said and gave a quick account of the threatening letters while Henry listened with increased concern on his face. “Tonight, I believe the person behind it attacked”—he swallowed, forcing the necessary words out—“our father.”
“Christ, Florian!” Henry’s eyes widened with alarm.
“He’s all right,” Florian added, “but I worry it’s only the beginning.”
It took a moment for Henry to relax and for Florian to convince him that hastening over to Armswell House was unnecessary. “Any idea who might be behind it?”
“No,” Florian said. “Just be careful,” he warned, “and maybe inform the magistrate of what has happened. I would do so myself but I fear it will only make matters worse if the villain finds out that I talked.”
“Of course.” Henry walked him to the door. “The footman will naturally be interrogated, but if he keeps silent, I’ll launch a separate investigation with the hope of discovering who might stand to gain from St. Giles going under.”
Florian thanked him for his help and headed back to the hospital to warn Viola.
When he finally returned home, he grabbed a pistol from his study for safety and a bottle of brandy for his nerves, before heading upstairs to bed. It had been an extremely busy day but it had provided him with a necessary distraction from his thoughts of Lady Juliette and the physical craving such thoughts provoked.
As it was, she still managed to creep into his mind the moment he laid down to sleep. In spite of his best efforts, he failed to avoid the contemplations his mind was more than eager to provoke, of her body pressed against his, of what it might be like to undress her and how it would feel to slide his hands across every inch of her beautiful perfection.
Such thoughts took the toll they were destined to take, and he was left with no choice but to let himself succumb to the needy desire that followed. Guilt ensued, fast and swift. The manner in which he degraded her with lascivious imaginings was bad enough, but to actually indulge himself sexually while doing so was beyond reprehensible. He had no right. None whatsoever. And he was keenly aware that this was just one more reason for him to insist he address her formally, because she was a lady and he was anything but a gentleman when it came to her.
Now seated beside her at his dining room table, Florian conducted the committee meeting with professional aloofness. He kept himself stiff and precise, denying Lady Juliette any chance of excessive familiarity. She’d said they were friends but he knew better. They were balancing along a delicate boundary that threatened to send them both hurtling toward an inevitable need for seduction. Which was something he could not allow. So he’d kept his hands clasped behind his back when she had arrived, lest he inadvertently touch her, and he’d kept all conversation with her as brief as possible, which was easier now that the meeting was underway.
“Fatalities are rising in St. Giles, Florian,” Lady Warwick was saying. “People are worried that what we are doing isn’t making much of a difference.”
Florian felt the same, but he wasn’t sure what else they could do besides treat the sick and keep them separate from the rest of the citizens. “The pamphlets that have been distributed and the articles in the newspapers should put them at ease. As long as they follow the advice on disease prevention, their chances of avoiding infection ought to be good.”
“It’s not enough,” Baron Hawthorne said. “We need some means by which to reassure the public and prevent the panic I fear might be brewing.”
“Any suggestions?” Viola asked.
“Yes.” It was Lady Juliette who spoke. “After you asked us to think of a way to quarantine the sick, I have been trying to educate myself on the disease we face in order to better understand it and treat it.” She paused for a second and Florian held his breath in anticipation of what she was going to say next. “What I have learned is that patients showing symptoms of typhus, or other contagious diseases, and who were admitted to the Edinburgh Infirmary toward the end of the last century, were ordered to surrender their clothes and take a bath. They were then given a clean hospital gown, shaved to remove all manner of vermin from their hair, and rubbed with a mercurial ointment.”
“St. Agatha’s would do so as well if such patients were brought in, but I am still concerned about the risk,” Florian told her. He was well aware of the practices adapted by the Edinburgh Infirmary since James Gregory himself, the author to which Juliette was referring, had told him all about it, insisting it had prevented him from losing a single patient during the last five years of his practice in the clinical ward.
“Which is why I propose that we purchase a ship,” Juliette said. Murmured interest hummed through the air.
Florian tilted his head. “A ship?”
Juliette nodded. “We ought to be able to afford it after the funds we procured from the charity event.”
