Page 14 of A Sight to Behold
Or, “Don’t stand next to the horses when she wants to kiss you good bye.”
And Pippa had had enough of it.
“The first chance I have, Bea, I’ll move out.”
“You’d be ruined.”
“If he lets me get ruined, and if I never have a husband, he won’t have access to my grandfather’s fortune. It’s how the will is set up. Grandfather skipped Father because he didn’t want to give him more than my mother’s dowry.”
“He’s getting a large stipend from managing your fortune.”
“The bankers are managing the fortune based on my grandfather’s instructions. The money is tied up in a trust until the day I marry for love, or at his death. And when it is released, I’ll be in control.”
“If your husband signs it over to you.”
“Do you think I could love a man who wouldn’t?”
Pippa put her hands on her hips. It was preposterous. Of course, she’d marry for love. If ever. And, of course, she’d marry someone who’d leave her fortune to her. Even though her father had spent her dowry, giving up hope that she’d ever find such a man in polite society.
Pippa shrugged. She should look elsewhere and keep her eyes open for love.
Where might one look for love?
And could she see it if she came close?
Chapter Seven
At the sametime across town, at 87 Harley Street, Nick sat alone in his treatment room.
The surgery of the Earl of Langley’s left eye had gone well. It was rather uneventful, and Nick would pay him a visit the next day to ensure his recovery was as smooth as the surgery. But none of that made Nick feel any better.
In the quiet of his office, Nick held the letter in his hands, the familiar script of the nurse a stark contrast to the handwriting he remembered from Lancefield Ellington, an old friend and former classmate from the University of Edinburgh. He had received many letters from Lance over the years, each a poignant reminder of their shared past. But this one was different. This was not just a letter; it was an impending presence, a specter from the past about to become a tangible reality. The words danced before his eyes, a waltz of ink and parchment that spoke of a visit. A wave of unease washed over Nick, chilling him despite the warmth of the crackling fireplace.
It’s been such a long time since we were last together, old friend. Wendy, Alfie, Felix, and Andre will hopefully be there, too. I’m counting the days and will try to be there for your birthday.
Lance was coming to London.
The guilt that had been simmering in the pit of his stomach since Lance’s departure from Edinburgh boiled over. He hadn’tbeen able to restore his friend’s vision. He hadn’t even been able to try, but even if he had, Nick was certain it would have been beyond his skills.
It had been a bitter goodbye when Lance’s noble parents sent a carriage to take him from university to stow him away in their country estate. Their blind fourth son, Lance, was cast aside, buried alive in the darkness of his lost vision. They’d hired a staff for him, a cook, housemaids, a butler, and a nurse. Nick had been told that the estate was sizable, and that Lance wouldn’t lack for anything—except for the life he’d chosen. Lance couldn’t complete his studies or do much for himself. Even the letters he sent to Nick were dictated and penned in a female hand, surely the nurse, for there was a flourish to her penmanship that reminded him of his sister’s. With every letter, the pain flared up in Nick’s conscience, a relentless gnawing reminding him of his failure.
Not just as a doctor, but also as a friend.
He’d told himself he’d make it over to Cornwall to visit Lance after the following holidays. After one more critical patient from the Ton. After one more financial milestone. Eventually, one more excuse after another had kept him from fulfilling this promise.
Years had passed, and now Lance was the courageous one announcing his visit.
Nick’s eyes flickered away from the ominous letter, drawn to the soft rustling sound from the doorway. Wendy appeared in the frame, her arms laden with fluffy, freshly pressed towels.
“Hello!” Wendy smiled. His dear little sister always had a smile for him, and it tugged at his heart that she was growing up. He’d failed her, making her work so hard at the practice, yet she was amazing and never complained. Bandaging bloody wounds, washing the surgical instruments, holding the patients’ hands—or even their heads to still them—was all part of her work, andshe carried herself with unmatched dignity when she did it. And none of the doctors at 87 Harley Street could manage without her. She commanded the same respect among them as any of the doctors.
Her wheat-colored curls bobbed lightly as she moved, catching the yellow-orange glow of the fireplace. She had their mother’s delicate features, her beauty unpretentious yet captivating. But her eyes held Nick’s attention, the same vibrant blue as his own, twinkling with an intelligence and understanding that belied her years. “What happened?” she asked when she caught Nick’s disgruntled mien. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that Wendy had a unique sense of reading people’s emotions. It seemed to be one of her unique talents.
She set the towels neatly on the armchair as she leaned over Nick’s shoulder to read the letter he still held in his hands.
“Oh, how lovely, Lance is coming to London!” She clapped both hands together. “I’ll make up the patient room for his visit. Oh, there’s still so much to prepare for your birthday!”
Her gaze met Nick’s, and a knowing glint flashed across her eyes. That look always disarmed him, a silent proclamation that his thoughts and fears were not his alone to bear.
