Page 10 of The Gentleman Physician

“It depends on the husband,” Virginia countered, but her lips moved upward. “Independence. You want to make your own way in the world?”

“That would be ideal, yes. To be beholden to no one. If I must leave my father’s house and protection, I would like to have some sort of security.” Opening her mind to those possibilities was like opening a door out of a dark room, feeling the sunshine on one’s face at last. It occurred to Julia that she could move forward on her own, without her father’s approval or money. After all, she was legally of age to be independent of him.

“You could be a paid companion. Or a governess. Heaven knows, you’re marvelous with children. Or you could scandalize our entire family and become a housekeeper.” Virginia tossed her head back and laughed. “Oh, the letters Mother would write if you did that!” She met her cousin’s eyes, hers sparkling with good humor. “Think on it, Julia. I will help you however I can. Introductions, letters, anything. I would offer to hire you myself, but I have the feeling that independence means eschewing your relations for a time.”

Julia started to nod, a spark of hope growing in her heart. “Thank you, Virginia. I will think on this and make some inquiries. But I will stay with you, for as long as you need, before I make any decisions.”

“Thank you, Julia.” Virginia gave her hand a fond pat before she went to call the boys inside for tea.

With the door to her father’s house closed to her, a window had opened, blowing new possibilities Julia’s way at last.

∞ ∞ ∞

Nathaniel tried not to smirk as he caused his friend pain. It was completely unprofessional to be entertained by a patient in need of stitching, but he couldn’t help it. Timothy Olivier had been getting in scrapes since their childhood, enough that they had both doubted his ability to make it to twenty years of age. But here they were, Timothy a respected barrister in Bath and Nathaniel a physician, both nearer to thirty than twenty.

“You haven’t explained what happened,” Nathaniel said, carefully inserting his curved needle into the cut above Timothy’s eyebrow. He made his stitches as small as possible, doing a fair job of it.

“It’s not a story worth telling.” Timothy closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry, Nate. I know I should’ve called a surgeon. I’m sure this is beneath you.”

“Nonsense. I may not be a sawbones, but I can handle a needle and thread. Besides, I am of the opinion that physicians should be more hands on. We have better training than surgeons.” He tied off the last stitch and stepped back, surveying his handiwork critically. “You shouldn’t scar too badly. If you keep your hair the way it is, most of the mark will be covered.”

“Thank you.” Timothy stood and went to a mirror at his dressing table across the room, inspecting the black stitches with interest. “Can’t raise my eyebrows for a while though. That’s a shame. I love to do that. Raise them high and glare down my nose at people. Makes them uncomfortable.”

Chuckling, Nathaniel finished washing his hands in the basin, brought for his use, and wrapped his instruments carefully. He would need to wash everything when he returned home.

“Does your wife know about that little cut?” he asked, pulling his coat back on.

“Not yet. But she’ll think it’s dashing.” Timothy flashed a smirk over his shoulder. “She thinks everything I do is dashing, charming, or romantic. The woman is head over heels for me.”

“And you for her. Don’t pretend otherwise. Positively indecent, the way you both carry on.” Nathaniel shook his head in a despairing manner and dropped his shoulders.

“Isn’t it, though?” Timothy laughed and came close enough to slap his friend on the back. “You ought to let us have you to dinner. Mary’s sister is in town, and she’s lovely. Could be a good match,” he added slyly.

Nathaniel grimaced and shook his head. “I’ve no wish to make a match. With any lady. Ever.” He snapped his doctor’s bag closed on the final word.

Timothy smirked and shook his head. “You’ve plenty to recommend you as a match, I’m certain.”

“To recommend me?” Nathaniel scoffed. “I am accessible to my patients at all hours of the night and day, tending to their needs, visiting apothecaries. I’m barely better than a tradesman. Except I deal in death and illness instead of fine furnishings and household wares. How does that recommend me?”

“What a thing to say,” Timothy responded, his eyebrows shooting up before he remembered his injury and winced, raising a hand to touch above the stitches. “Ouch.”

“We ought to bandage it, to keep the wound clean.” Nathaniel opened the bag again, wondering where his mind had gone that he would forget such a basic necessity.

“Bother the bandage. Where did your bitter disposition come from? You’re usually irritatingly optimistic.”

With a roll of clean bandages in his hands, Nathaniel paused and considered the question. It did not take him long to come to a conclusion, but he wondered if he ought to say a word of it to Timothy. They were old friends. Timothy knew about what happened, years ago in London, when Nathaniel first met Julia Devon.

He stiffened his back and turned to his friend. “Sit and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Timothy pulled a chair away from his writing desk and sat with a dramatic flourish of his hands. “There, Doctor. I’m following your orders. What happened?”

Unrolling the cloth, Nathaniel stood behind his friend and began to work the bandage around his head, folding it in half length-wise to make it less obtrusive. After his first pass around the skull, Nathaniel forced out his explanation.

“She’s here, in Bath. Julia Devon. She’s related to one of my patients and I saw her. We even spoke.”

Timothy made a sound of interest. “What did you say to her?”

“Nothing of consequence. We exchanged information about the patient she is helping to care for.” He snipped the bandage with a pair of scissors and made certain it would stay in place. “She is unmarried.”