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Eyes narrowed in contemplation, he tapped his fingertips atop his bag.

To what purpose?

Well, two could play at that game.

Arching an eyebrow, Brandon shifted his bag to his other hand and cast a glance farther down the corridor.

“I take it she’s not unwell then? Or at least not as indisposed as she’d led me to believe?”

It was Joy’s turn to quirk a coppery-bronze eyebrow. “Well, as you are well aware, Doctor, she has numerous maladies on any given day. Of late, it’s a slight cough and…”

She pinkened, and a blush stained her milky cheeks again—peaches and cream—as her gaze skittered away from his.

Peaches were his favorite fruit. And with her reddish-blond hair, satiny skin, and that delectable seam of her two plump lips, she reminded him very much of a ripe peach. One he craved to taste.

He swiftly turned his mind to less appealing notions, less his wayward musings lead down a very unprofessional pathway.

Mrs. Thackpenny.

Yes. That would do the trick.

Turning his attention to his patient effectively doused his ill-timed ardor. Joy had said she suffered from another ailment besides coughing.

“And?” he coaxed, once more matching Joy’s pace as she led him to the heretofore never seen parlor. He’d only ever been permitted into the entry, the upstairs corridor, and Mrs. Thackpenny’s bedchamber filled with ancient furniture, liberally covered in cat hair.

As they walked, he continued to peruse his surroundings.

Even though Christmas was but a fortnight away, nothing indicated the holiday was observed in this household. He’d spend Christmastide with his oldest brother Conner, the current Marquess of Rockford, along with Conner’s wife and their three offspring. Their middle brother, Randal, and his wife, and son would also be there.

All in all, the holiday was always a pleasant experience and even included a Christmas Eve ball.

Brandon was grateful Conner held the festivities at Rockford Park, a few miles outside of Rochester, rather than at one of his other estates or in London. It saved Brandon from having to choose between spending the holiday with his family, whom he loved and whose company he enjoyed, and his patients who might need him.

Brandon eyed Joy, who still hadn’t responded to his earlier prompting.

She was silent for so long, he thought she was too overcome by embarrassment to answer him. Was Mrs. Thackpenny still going on about Peyronie’s Disease? How she’d even been aware of the affliction, he couldn’t begin to venture.

At last, Joy spoke, keeping her focus straight ahead, allowing him to admire her profile. Choosing her words with care, she said, “She is having increasingly loud and ever more distressing…digestive…issues.”

He stared at her for a long moment—she truly has the most adorable nose—and then understanding dawned as her words finally sunk in. Brandon nearly laughed aloud but managed to check his hilarity by putting a closed fist to his mouth and clearing his throat. “Ahem.”

Such delicate things were never discussed with the opposite sex.

“Ah. I see. A dietary change may be in order.”

“Indeed.” Laughter tinged Joy’s voice once more.

He’d love to hear her unfettered laughter. She’d only ever smiled at him.

“She should find relief in a day or two if she follows my advice.”

What was it about this woman that distracted him so?

Had him engaging in wicked imaginations?

“I’d be ever so grateful. As would Poppet and Whiskers. Her, ah, outbursts, quite terrify them.”

His shoulders shaking, a deep-throated chuckle escaped Brandon.