Page 31 of The Nabob's Designing Daughter
To have an entire surgery, a kitchen, home-cooked meals and perhaps a servant or two—what a luxury. The parlor would make a fine examining room, and the hall an adequate waiting room. The house would be large enough even for a man with a wife and a child or two.
Would Ann like it? She could brew her potions in that kitchen.
He shook off the thought. He was too unsettled to offer for her. Not that her father would allow a marriage. The beastly fellow would do all he could to stop one.
“What think ye, doctor? Will it do?”
It would do very well for a doctor. In fact, it was more than he’d ever imagined for a man with no money of his own starting out a new practice.
“Quite nicely,” he said, and then remembered what the duchess said about the patients’ ability to pay. “Depending on the rent. Will you accept payment in turnips and scones?”
Forbes laughed. “As I own the house, there’s no need to fash. The rent is entirely negotiable. Though we’d like to bring in a doctor as soon as possible, we’ll get the young master or miss out into the world and thriving first. When do ye reckon the babe will come?”
“From what I’ve seen, they come when they’re good and ready.”
Forbes chuckled again as he locked the door. “Off to Mounth Tower, are ye?”
“Aye. Would you like to come along and meet Busby?”
“I’m acquainted with the fellow.”
“And?”
“He’s honest. A bit rabbity. Might need a kick now and then. The old skinflint terrorized him. Haven’t been inside the Tower for years. Aye, I think I’ll join ye.”
“It’s mere days until Christmas,”Edme said, “and we haven’t gathered nary one pine bough or holly branch. Or mistletoe.”
“We must have the ribbons first,” Ann said, and turned the gig onto the road that led to the village. They were off to fetch supplies for the decorations.
“Will ye kiss the marquess under the mistletoe, Ann?” Edme bumped her cousin’s shoulder and giggled.
Ann thought of the kisses she’d shared with Errol and tried to imagine the marquess pressing his lips to hers. She shuddered. “Kissing a marquess. Why does that not excite me? But what about you and Lord Cottingwith?”
Color rose in her cousin’s face and tinted her frown pink. “Is he courting me? I don’t think so. I think he’s just shy and he finds me safe to talk to.” Edme leaned forward and pointed. “Oh, look over there.”
On the distant road a bedraggled figure wrapped in a tartan carried a burden. Ann slapped the ribbons and the horse picked up its pace, and then slowed to a stop alongside the woman who’d shrunk to the side of the road.
“Maggie,” she shouted. “What’s happened?”
“Thought ye was runnin’ us over,” she cried in a shaky voice. “’Tis Rolly.”
“Me leg,” the boy said. Silent tears streamed down the dirty little face, pink from the drying blood. Both legs of the baggy trousers were dark with dirt, but one was a mud red.
Ann handed the ribbons to Edme and jumped down. “Is it broken?”
“Think so,” Maggie said.
Errol had left the castle that morning to visit the village. Would he still be there? “We’ve almost reached the village,” Ann said. “We’ll put Rolly in the box on your lap, Maggie, go to the inn, and then send someone to find Dr. Robillard.”
“He’s at the new surgery,” Maggie said. “Not more than a mile.”
Her heart pounded harder. If Errol had a surgery, maybe he planned to stay.
“Then let’s get Rolly up.”
Edme handed down her cloak. “Cushion him with this,” she said.
He screamed as they transferred him, but settled on his mother’s lap and the makeshift cushion. With Ann’s cloak covering him, they crawled down the lane following Maggie’s directions.
