seventeen
THE SMALL GATHERING in Marianne’s house wasn’t that small after all.
Edith hoped Perry enjoyed himself a little in the crowded room. Marianne had invited many young ladies of the Season, a couple of members of parliament, and peers. There were lots of foreign drinks, outlandish food, matrons, and gossiping ladies. Unfortunately, even Neville was present, but he’d blissfully ignored her so far.
Among graceful nods of her head and half curtsies, she sauntered across the brightly lit room towards Perry. Marianne must have used a year’s worth of wax and gas to illuminate the ballroom because not a corner of the room lay in shadows. Tucked between a large philodendron and the banquet table, Perry was on full display, even though he likely did his best not to be noticed. Judging by the glances the guests tossed in his direction, he wasn’t succeeding.
“Are you enjoying yourself a little?” she asked, looking at the plates of hors d’oeuvre on the table.
His scowl softened. “Too nervous to enjoy myself. I don’t want to have a seizure here in front of everyone.”
“You should focus on something else other than your worry. Try one of these delicious starters. Quite unusual. There are caviar nibbles, tiny artichoke pastries, oyster tarts, shrimp sandwiches…a bit of everything.”
“Not now, thank you.”
“Do you want to go home?”
He shook his head. “I need to get used to parties.”
She took a bite of a smoked salmon canapé shaped like a small rose; Marianne’s cook was a true artist. “Anxiety doesn’t help.”
He shifted his glass of champagne from one hand to another without drinking it. “That’s what Oliver always says.”
“What do I always say?” Dr. York walked over to them, an artichoke pastry on his plate. “Surely, something clever and remarkable.”
“That anxiety doesn’t help my condition,” Perry said.
“No, it doesn’t. I was talking about the effect of anxiety on people with Sir James Harris, the physician-in-ordinary to the queen herself. He agrees that anxiety is the malady of this century.” Dr. York cast a furtive glance at her, his face reddening by the minute. “Oysters! Don’t trust them. They’re very shellfish.” His laugh sounded forced. “Sorry, I say silly things when I’m nervous.”
“No, not only when you’re nervous,” Perry said.
The good doctor regarded her in a different way since the affair of the painting. His cheeks flushed as he bit into the artichoke pastry.
“I’m glad Perry has a valid, loyal physician like you, Dr. York,” she said. “A physician who’s also a friend. I admire everything you do for him.”
His flush intensified, and he started to cough into his fist. Awful, gagging noises came out of him as he clamped his handkerchief over his mouth.
“Deep breaths.” Perry gave a few strong pats to Dr. York’s back. “Don’t die here, please. It’d be a great inconvenience.”
Tears shone in the doctor’s eyes as he coughed on the handkerchief until he finally breathed normally again.
She poured a glass of water for him from the banquet table. “Here.”
He didn’t look at her. “Thank you, miss. I was arti-choking.” He laughed but started coughing again before gulping down the water in one go. “Apologies.” He hurried away, staggering a little.
“Poor man,” Edith said.
“You ruined my physician.” Perry gave her a lopsided smile. “He isn’t himself when you’re around.”
“I’ll be more careful then. I don’t want him to hurt himself.” That had been the second time.
“I’m not myself either when you’re with me.” All the amusement was gone from his voice, and he gave her that intense blue stare that made her quiver inside.
“Why wouldn’t you be yourself?”
The conversation had taken a sudden, serious turn she didn’t know how to handle.
“I appreciate the way you found the courage to talk to me and admit you lied. Not everyone would have done that. It takes a lot to acknowledge we’re wrong, need help, or are addicted to something. Your lies hurt me, but I’ve never doubted your courage and resilience, and I admire you.” His condition caused him to hesitate and stammer out a few words, but the honesty and passion in them were undeniable.
