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He’d have been a beautiful child, and the yearning for a babe of her own nearly cleaved her heart in two. Companions—spinsters—didn’t have children.

Purposefully refocusing her attention on him to divert herself from her melancholy, she roved her gaze over his face again. Fine lines etched the corners of his lovely deep brown eyes as if he smiled often.

Joy knew that to be true from the times he’d doctored Mrs. Thackpenny.

Her silly heart palpitated in remembrance of that curved mouth after he’d announced it was her feelings that intrigued him. And devil take Doctor Brandon Morrisette, she’d wondered for a week what, exactly, he’d meant by that tantalizing remark.

A tiny, appreciative smile bent her mouth.

Lean, sinewy masculinity.

That was what Brandon was, and she was only mortal, after all.

Joy hadn’t even attempted to resist his charm.

Why deny herself this momentary happiness?

She’d had little enough of it these past five years.

Brandon’s brushed felt top hat, slanted at a rakish angle, gave him a dashing air as he nodded now and again to curious acquaintances of his that they encountered along the wintery broad walk.

He offered neither an introduction nor an explanation, for which Joy was exceedingly grateful. Though she was appreciative of her position, no matter how politely worded, the role of companion held stigma.

Poor or unwanted relation.

Spinster.

Unmarriageable.

Dependent upon others.

A person to pity while being heartily grateful you were not she.

Surely if they had not already, the doctor, Mrs. Thackpenny, and Joy would soon become the topic of many a drawing room conversation. Those they encountered on their strolls would try to contrive a logical reason why the handsome third son of a marquess should be attending the crotchety Mrs. Thackpenny and her mouse of a companion. Neither of whom was often seen in public and never in the company of a man. Let alone a rascally charmer such as he.

Joy walked Poppet, who, despite having endured a lead few times previously, behaved remarkably well. But then, the poor dear was ten years old and her little legs so short, she had to trot to keep up with Brandon’s sedate pace.

The plane trees’ gnarled, barren branches extended over the level footpath, a testament to the season. And yet, despite the cold, Joy felt a giddy warmth, through and through.

She well knew the reason.

The virile man so close, she could reach out and touch him should she wish.

And Joy did wish. She wished very much, indeed.

For a week now, Brandon had called as promised. Promptly at eleven every morning. These past two days, Mrs. Thackpenny had been waiting impatiently in the corridor for his arrival.

Such a transformation had come over the woman, Joy was uncertain what to make of the astounding change. Even now, as Mrs. Thackpenny hobbled along, the sour-tempered dame she’d known for five years appeared—happy. Truly happy.

A droll papery cackle slipping past her lips at something Brandon murmured, Mrs. Thackpenny grasped his elbow and employed her cane with the skill of a cavalry officer.

Joy had been utterly flabbergasted when with reasonably little effort, he’d coaxed the contrary woman into agreeing to take the air with him for half an hour each day. One half an hour, which had stretched into at least an hour daily and included an outing with Joy on her half-day to Barclay’s Book Shoppe and Emporium.

Brandon looked too pleased with himself by far, and if Joy hadn’t been so eager to accompany them, she might’ve thought him arrogant.

Each day, he arrived in his carriage. And each day, he toted an armful of packages inside, which he encouraged Mrs. Thackpenny to open.

Prescriptions, he called them.