Chapter 1
Richard sat where his mother had put him.
The chair was big. His feet did not touch the floor. He pressed the heel of one shoe against the bar.
The room smelled strange. Not like Ashdale. No soap. No bread. Only coal and something sharp. The fire burned low and steady. The curtains were the same.
The door opened. “Dr Harcourt, my lady.”
His mother stood.
A man came in. His boots were loud. He stopped and looked at her.
“My lady,” he said, bowing. “Welcome back to town. I trust the country agreed with you.”
“It did,” she said. “For a time.”
The man removed his gloves and folded them small. He held them in his hat. He did not sit.
“And Lord Hopton?” he asked.
A pause.
“My sons are well,” his mother said.
His gaze flicked to Richard then away.
“Of course they are,” he said. He smiled, as though this were what he had hoped to hear. “I am glad of it. You look well. Better, I think, than when last I called.”
She inclined her head. “The spring was restorative.”
They talked. Then his mother said, “I wished you to see my younger son.”
The man turned.
Richard looked up. He did not speak.
“A calm child,” the man said.
The man bent and touched Richard’s wrist. Then his neck.
The man’s hands were warm.
“Excellent warmth,” the man said. “No fever. He eats well?”
“Yes.”
“Sleeps?”
“Through the night.”
“No fretting? No night cries?”
“No.”
The man smiled. “A blessing, in a house with other demands.”
Richard sat where he was. He did not move.
“He fell last week,” his mother said.
“Children fall.”
“He did not cry.”
The fire popped.
“Shock often delays the response,” the man said. “Fear comes after.”
Richard rubbed his thumb against the chair arm.
“He burned his arm,” his mother said. “On a kettle.”
“And blistered?”
“Yes.”
“And did he cry then?”
His mother did not answer at once.
“No,” she said.
The man straightened. He brushed his hands together. The gloves made a soft sound.
“Some children possess steadier nerves than others,” he said. “It is constitution, not defect.”
Richard looked at his thumb.
“There is no wasting,” the man went on. “No deformity. No sign of distress. No complaint. I see nothing here that calls for intervention.”
His mother inclined her head.
“Very well,” she said. She turned away. “Mrs Hudson will see that you are attended.”
The man bowed. He waited a moment, then turned toward the open door.
His mother did not offer her hand.
The door closed. The latch settled.
His mother crossed the room and knelt in front of him. Her skirts brushed his shoes.
“I believe Dr Harcourt will not be coming back,” she said.
Richard looked at her face. At her eyes. Purple.
He tapped two fingers beneath his eye.
Her mouth softened. She tapped her eye in the same place.
“What do you think, my dear?” she asked.
He nodded once.
She covered his hand with hers. It stayed there.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I thought so too.”
* * *
Richard stood beside Siobhan while his mother spoke. Siobhan’s hand rested on his shoulder.
The door opened. “Mr Dolan, my lady.”
Mrs Hudson stepped in first.
Siobhan turned.
“Stay a moment,” his mother said.
The man entered and bowed. He did not look at Richard. He did not look at Siobhan either.
“My lady,” he said. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr Dolan.”
Mrs Hudson closed the door. The latch clicked.
The man set his hat aside. He did not sit.
“I require your attention to a family matter,” his mother said.
The man nodded once.
“I have dismissed Dr Harcourt.”
The fire popped. Once.
Richard did not blink.
The man inclined his head. He did not speak.
“I wish to engage a medico educated in the most modern methods and conditions.”
Siobhan’s hand tightened on his shoulder.
The man straightened. “Do you wish me to proceed in a particular direction?”
His mother waited.
“If you have an opinion,” she said. “I should value yours.”
The man looked down at something in his hand. He moved it once.
“Would you have a man of study, or a man of practice?”
“One of each, then.”
“As you wish, my lady. I shall present them.”
“Thank you.” His mother paused. “And discretion?”
He smiled faintly. “My lady, you are the Countess of Matlock.”
His mother did not smile back.
A beat passed.
She turned then. “You may take Richard back.”
Siobhan inclined her head. She guided him toward the door.
Richard went with her.
As they passed out, he looked over his shoulder.
He lifted his hand.
The door closed.