unsociable individual. And very definitely a brunette. Her ruler-straight dark locks suited her dour personality. She took the basket the footman offered her, stood and regarded the marketplace with obvious disdain and strode away purposefully. Hardly a surprise when Lady Isabella did everything with purpose, whether that be blatantly reading a book during an assembly when every other girl was dancing or doing good deeds.
Whilst she always accompanied the beautiful Clarissa on market days, until this week Joe and the scary Lady Isabella had collided only briefly. Once at the monthly assembly held in the village hall, where she was stood next to her lovely sister. For the duration of the festivities, as far as Joe could ascertain, she had worn what he suspected was a permanent expression of complete disgust, as if the provincial society of dankest Nottinghamshire was quite beneath her. Fortunately, she tended to fade into the background stood next to her sparkling sister, so Joe rarely noticed her.
That wasn’t completely true. He always noticed her; he just wished he hadn’t. Why would he waste time staring at the darkness when he could gaze at sunshine? Yet something about those dark, serious eyes always drew him, nevertheless, and he found himself frowning. A little bewildered. A little irritated, yet oddly curious. Goodness knew why. It was almost as irritating as yearning for her unobtainable sister.
However, since last week, he had seen Lady Isabella twice at the foundling home run by his sister-in-law Letty, so he had no choice in the matter. She was volunteering in the infirmary and watched him like a hawk whenever he visited and while he examined the young patients with such determined concentration, and such a sour expression, it made him feel as though he was not a particularly good doctor at all. It was most disconcerting. Yet she never said a word. Not one! Preferring to loiter in the doorway as he worked and then bolt the moment he turned. It was all very curious. All very odd. Much like Lady Isabella.
If anything, Isabella was vinegar to her sister’s honey. Always so stand-offish. Devoid of any discernible sense of humour as far as he could make out. Dour. Certainly rude. Perhaps even a little intimidating. He felt his lip curl at the thought.
He waited with bated breath for the appearance of the other Beaumont. The one his poor heart yearned to see, but alas, the footman smartly closed the carriage door and took his place at the back, forcing Joe to accept the disappointing fact he would not see the object of his unrequited affections today after all. A crushing blow when he had been so looking forward to it, even though he knew it was an exercise in futility and one which rendered him utterly pathetic. Lady Clarissa would never consider him.
Aside from his unfortunate Warriner ancestors and the dreadful family reputation which still lingered in Retford like a bad smell, he was merely the brother to an earl with no hope of ever getting a title, what with another brother and already two robust nephews in the way. Not that Joe had ever coveted any title other than Dr, but women like Lady Clarissa were raised to care about such things. She was the daughter of the Earl of Braxton and would one day, no doubt, marry another title and live in a grand stately pile surrounded by miles and miles of her rich husband’s land. Such ladies did not marry third sons nor did they marry doctors. His job was as gruesome as it was rewarding. Sometimes he came home with his clothing covered in all manner of unmentionable things—none of which was suitable for the tender sensibilities of a lovely, well-bred woman like her.
If he was lucky, he was able to sleep for a whole night uninterrupted. More often than not, his sleep would be disturbed by a frantic knock on the door and he would be summoned to the bedside of another patient. He got called away from social functions and dinners. He could not even guarantee he would be left in peace on Christmas Day. Not that he minded those things either. It was who he was. His vocation and he would not have it any other way, but it was a big leap of faith to expect another person to be so forgiving of the demands his career placed upon him. Especially if that person was so exquisite she could have her pick from a crop of suitors much more impressive than him.
Mrs Patterson, his formidable housekeeper, rapped her knuckles swiftly on the other side of his consulting room door, bringing Joe unceremoniously, and blessedly, back to the present.
‘Dr Warriner, Mr Simmons is here for his appointment.’
‘Send him in, Mrs Patterson.’ Joe sat up smartly and put on the wire-rimmed spectacles he needed to read his notes. The allotted time for self-indulgent dreams was over.
* * *
Bella stared at the already crowded marketplace and immediately felt nauseous. Usually she made the short walk across the square with Clarissa, which meant it was not as daunting, but her sister had claimed to be ill to get out of the chore of holding Bella’s hand, so drastic times called for drastic measures. Bella could have stayed at home. But at home she would soon become bored because she found no purpose in embroidery. Filling her day with purpose took her mind off the fear and allowed her to leave the house. Purpose was making her better, or so she fervently hoped, and she had to be brave. She would conquer this fear logically. Scientifically.
It was just a short walk to the foundling home.
It was broad daylight.
And nobody here meant her any harm.
She could and would do this!
In less than five minutes she would be safely ensconced in the infirmary. The place she had only just discovered she preferred above all others in the world.
It was rare that she ever felt truly comfortable enough to be herself any more. Ever since the incident, as her family whisperingly called it behind her back, a huge chunk of her character had crawled deep inside her body and was too terrified to come out. Being well meaning and good-natured had been the cause of it, after all, so it was hardly any wonder Bella was reluctant to be so trusting again around a man. Or feel comfortable in crowds. Or go outside alone, for that matter, where danger lurked. Perhaps coming here unaccompanied had been foolhardy. Hasty. She should turn around and get back in the carriage...
You are pathetic! the real her screamed. You managed to live twenty years without coming to any harm at all. You cannot let one incident dictate the way you live your life.
The voice of the real her had been becoming louder and louder for months now. A constant voice in her head which emboldened her to remain hopeful and determined. From its cave inside her soul, it parried with pithy retorts, tackled problems with a level, logical and practical head, revelled in irony, argued against idiocy whilst constantly issuing witty and sometimes hilarious comments about the world around her. That voice might not yet be strong enough to make its way up her vocal chords and out of her once-tart mouth, but it was there. Somewhere. Chivvying her on.
Those foundlings need you. And think of all the wonderful things you are learning.
Bella set her jaw and stared across the crowded square. Those sick foundlings did need her—she was discovering so much about medicine in the infirmary that the hours flew by. For the first time in her life she was doing something she had always yearned to do, something which would have been frowned upon in London, so she had never been able to pursue it. But sleepy Retford wasn’t London and as it was unlikely any of her parents’ society acquaintances would ever hear of it, and because her mama and papa had been delighted Bella had finally found some interest in life again, they had allowed her to volunteer.
Gently bred young ladies were not supposed to find the study of anatomy or healing interesting, yet spending time with those children, learning about what ailed them and the best way to treat it, was one of the most rewarding things Bella had ever done. She had a sneaking suspicion it was her calling, her vocation, and that she had always been meant to be a nurse. Finally, she was putting into practice all the things she had read in the scientific journals she had always devoured like biscuits. It also
