be happening with her.
‘Sprains can hurt like the devil, but in the main they heal quickly with rest.’ He glanced down at her raised foot and the obvious swelling. ‘You need ice.’
‘Dr Bentley said hot water was best for sprains.’ Lady Braxton appeared apologetic at usurping Joe’s advice. ‘He insisted the ice pack was removed.’
‘Ah...’ Tact and diplomacy were second nature, especially when it came to Dr Bentley’s diagnoses. As physicians, they were always at odds. Dr Bentley was mired in tradition and Joe dared to break that mould. ‘Tell me, Lady Isabella, did your ankle feel better with or without the ice?’
‘With,’ she said without hesitation, ‘I queried it at the time.’ It was clear she held Dr Bentley in little regard, so she evidently had a brain underneath all the attitude. Joe smiled in encouragement and watched her dip her eyes.
‘She also refused to be bled.’ Lady Braxton appeared at her wits’ end at her daughter’s stubbornness. ‘Do you think she needs to be bled, Dr Warriner?’
‘I cannot see any cause for it.’ Joe could never see any cause for it as he had never seen the painful procedure achieve any beneficial effects. However, saying such things out loud tended to bother people brought up to revere the wisdom of physicians—most of whom still clung to ideas from the Dark Ages—as well as the supposed health benefits of slimy leeches. ‘Ice and rest are the best treatments for sprains. If the pain is severe, some willow bark tea would not go amiss either.’ She peeked up at him through her ridiculously long, dark lashes and offered him the ghost of a smile. More tingles bounced along his nerve endings and his collar felt suddenly tight. Perhaps Clarissa was watching him. Joe ignored the desire to turn around to check. ‘Do you mind if I take a quick look? Just to be certain it is nothing more than a common sprain?’
Lady Isabella nodded warily, the smile now gone, and bit down on her bottom lip, so he did a swift examination and sat back. ‘Most of the swelling has already gone down. I dare say it will be gone completely by Friday and you will be dancing at the assembly with your sister... Will you all be attending the assembly on Saturday?’
How pathetically unsubtle he sounded to his own ears. Joe cast a glance towards his patient’s sister, who was still jabbing her embroidery with a needle and had yet to acknowledge his presence. He silently willed her to look to no avail, ignoring the niggling voice of outrage in his head. Angels weren’t meant to be rude. They were meant to be...well, angelic. Maybe she hadn’t noticed him. A weak excuse, but she deserved it.
‘Yes, of course we are going!’ Lady Braxton smiled encouragingly at her daughter. ‘And it is splendid news that Bella may be fit enough to dance! Would you like some tea, Dr Warriner?’
‘I wouldn’t want to trouble you...’
‘It’s no trouble at all. No trouble at all.’
She bustled off to ring the bell, leaving Joe with Lady Isabella. Bella—a very pretty name and one he was not sure suited her. It was too vivacious for the quiet, introverted woman next to him. Bella conjured up images of a different sort of girl. One who was witty and a pleasure to be around rather than the one currently judging him in silence. At a loss as to what else to do or say to her, and in view of her older sister’s blatant indifference, Joe smiled his reassuring doctor smile. ‘Is the pain very bad?’
‘No.’ She stared down at her hands and the customary brittle awkwardness she always incited hung heavily in the air. The big question was, did he bother attempting further conversation with either sister, when one was intent on ignoring him and the other looked like she was disgusted by him, or did he quietly wait for the tea? Or better yet, did he make a hasty excuse and escape? Joe had never felt so uncomfortable in his own skin before. He was seriously contemplating the leaving when she finally spoke in a voice so small he had to strain his ears to hear. ‘I should have thanked you for your help this morning. It was unforgivably rude not to have done so at the time...but I am not very good at... Since the... What I mean is...’ She sighed and seemed to steel herself. ‘What I mean is...I wasn’t quite myself.’
Her dark eyes were troubled as they briefly locked with his before she stared back at her clasped hands again. A very becoming pink blush burned on her cheeks. A blush which did not fit with the sour and dour character he had attributed to her. Was it possible Lady Isabella was shy, rather than rude? Or was his innate good nature frantically hunting for an excuse for her bad behaviour? He did have a tendency to attribute better character traits to people than they actually had. Women especially. Joe decided to probe further rather than trust his overly benevolent instincts.
‘You had just been sabotaged by a potato. I doubt I would have been particularly sociable if the tables had been turned.’ Those dark eyes slowly lifted and locked with his.
‘I think you are being kind.’
He was, but she didn’t need to know that. Glancing at the book lying open face down next to her, he acknowledged it with a nod. ‘A scientific tome?’
The blush burned even brighter at being caught reading a flagrantly romantic novel. ‘Sometimes I need to be reminded the world is a good place.’
Joe would have questioned her odd response, but her mother was back, conducting servants carrying the tea things and a small table which was arranged close to the invalid. ‘I hope you have a sweet tooth, Dr Warriner, as there is plenty of cake. And biscuits, too! Both my girls are extremely fond of biscuits. Come along, Clarissa! Come join us for tea!’
The object of his affection slapped down her embroidery with a huff and sauntered to the table like a surly child. Immediately, Joe stood and inclined his head. ‘Lady Clarissa. I hope you are well.’
‘Actually, Dr Warriner, I am not well. I have a cold. But my health must be ignored for the sake of dear Bella, as she is the one everyone must worry about. All of the time.’
‘You have the tiniest of sniffles, Clarissa dear.’ Lady Braxton was embarrassed. ‘And your sister could have broken her leg!’
‘I am here and can attend to you, too, my lady.’ Good grief, he sounded eager. Far too eager. He pasted on a professional expression of concern. ‘What are your symptoms?’
Lady Clarissa cast her sister a brittle smile and plopped her bottom on the chair just placed for her by a footman. It bothered Joe she did not thank the poor fellow for his efforts. ‘My head hurts and my nose is quite blocked.’
‘Congestion of the sinuses does cause headaches. Do you have a fever?’ He avoided the temptation to reach out and touch her forehead.
‘I am a little warm.’
‘Something which might be caused by your insistence on wearing that wool frock in July.’ Lady Braxton’s eyes were shooting daggers at her daughter. There was an undercurrent here, a dynamic Joe didn’t quite understand. Jealousy? Hostility? Palpable underlying friction between the two sisters, although mostly coming from Clarissa. Lady Isabella was the very picture of mortification and back to staring down at her hands. The mother seemed ready to strangle her eldest daughter. ‘Why don’t you go and change and stop wasting the good doctor’s time, dear?’
‘Oh, yes! Why don’t I? Then you can go back to fussing over poor Bella. Why, she hasn’t been fussed over enough, has she? Thanks to her, we are stuck here and I am bored senseless!’
‘Have you tried a steam inhalation?’ Ever the diplomat, Joe intervened and tried to diffuse the
