Chapter 6 #2
Anne squeezed her hand. “I wholeheartedly agree.”
Eventually, Anne bid the dear woman good-bye and left to return to Painswick Court.
As she crossed the churchyard, she mulled over the rumors Ursula had mentioned about Dr. Finch and young women, or at least one young woman, coming to his house.
Anne had seen him talking with Rosa more than once now.
Did Rosa sneak out to see him at his home too?
If not her, then who? Or were the gossips wrong and it really had been his housekeeper and her daughter?
The two lived and worked in his home, after all.
Her thoughts then turned to someone else. Katherine Fitzjohn had said her cousin Mr. Dalby would be returning to Painswick Court, but Anne had yet to see him. She hoped he had changed his mind and remained where he—
Suddenly, there he came, striding across the churchyard, greatcoat fluttering around him like black wings. Her breath caught. She had almost forgotten how devilishly handsome he was—like Adonis of old, or a fallen angel. Black hair and brows, chiseled features, proud bearing.
Her first instinct was to turn away, pretend she had not seen him, and avoid an awkward encounter.
She would have done exactly that were they not soon to be residing under the same roof, according to Miss Fitzjohn.
Better to get the unpleasantness over and done with in private, instead of inside the house with his family there to witness it.
Anne reminded herself that despite breaking Fanny’s heart, he was a man in mourning and told herself to be polite.
She stopped on the path. If she had expected instant recognition or remorse, she was to be disappointed. He seemed about to pass by without pause, but after sweeping a glance over her still form, clasped hands, and steady regard, he hesitated.
He acknowledged her with a nod. “Madam.” His perfunctory glance returned and lingered. His striking green eyes narrowed as he studied her face.
“Excuse me. You seem familiar, but at the moment, your name escapes me.”
“Anne Loveday. Fanny’s sister.”
He blinked, still apparently hazy.
“Fanny Loveday? At least, that was her maiden name.”
“Of course. How stupid of me. Miss Loveday.” He bowed. “It has been an age.”
For a moment her limbs seemed paralyzed, then she took a deep breath and managed a shallow curtsy.
“And your family is in good health, I trust?”
He did not, she noticed, ask how Fanny was in particular. Perhaps he didn’t want to know.
“My father and sister are well, yes. Fanny has married and lives near Tewkesbury. Her husband is a rector. A kindly, respectable man.”
“Ah. Well. Good.” A shadow passed over his face, though whether due to regret over breaking his promise to Fanny or her subsequent marriage, Anne could not be sure.
She added, “I only recently learned you lost your wife. My condolences.”
“Thank you.” He looked vaguely somewhere over her shoulder, then seemed to return to himself. “Well. A pleasure to see you again. Good day.” He touched his hat brim and turned away.
“Before you go,” Anne said quickly, “you should know that I am staying at Painswick Court for the time being.”
He turned back, face elongated in surprise. “Really? Why on earth would you?”
“Dr. Marsland asked me to serve as sickroom nurse to your aunt until a replacement might be found. Mrs. Horlick retired.”
“That, I heard. But why you?”
“Why not me? I have assisted my father and his patients for years.” Anne shrugged. “I certainly did not seek out the situation, but he and Dr. Finch were most persuasive.”
“This is an . . . unforeseen development. What has my aunt said about the arrangement?”
“She wasn’t keen initially, but not because of . . . That is, she has made no mention of your past connection with my sister. I don’t think she remembers.”
He nodded, lips drawn, then said, “Let’s keep it that way, shall we? No use in stirring up that unfortunate business now. Let sleeping dogs lie.”
Indignation seared her veins. “My sister is not a dog, Mr. Dalby.”
His catlike eyes widened. “Of course not. I never meant—! Please forgive me. It’s only an expression.”
This, his first sign of remorse, seemed sincere. Reminding herself again of his recent bereavement, Anne decided to be gracious.
“Very well. We shall speak no more about it.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your forbearance and am in your debt.” He raised a finger as a new thought struck. “And something you said has just given me an idea. . . .”
After a quick bow, he turned and strode away without further explanation.
For a moment she watched him go, and then she returned to Painswick Court. When she went upstairs, she again saw Dr. Finch standing with Rosa in the corridor, the two whispering together.
See? Anne thought. Miss Lotty was wrong about who Dr. Finch liked. And maybe Miss Birt was wrong about Dr. Marsland admiring Lotty as well.
A few hours later, Anne finished kneading and stretching Lady Celia’s swollen calves and ankles, and pulled the bedclothes back over her legs. Her patient begrudgingly praised her. “Thank you, Anne. That was . . . most . . . therapeutic.”
“You’re welcome.”
After a moment, Lady Celia added, “I understand my nephew Jude Dalby has been coming around, whining about his lot, and wanting to live here again. I’ve half a mind to refuse.”
“Oh?” Anne replied, feigning nonchalance.
“I warned him not to marry Miss Palling, but would he listen? No. If he’s unhappy now, that is hardly my fault.”
Anne licked dry lips. “You . . . forbade the match?”
“Not exactly, but I advised him to marry a woman of means. His mother, my younger sister, did not heed my advice either and married a man without property or prospects. So Jude has little coming to him, besides whatever I decide to leave him.”
“I thought the Pallings were wealthy?”
“They were. Like many clothier families, they owned one mill and bought another. Houses too. But I knew the prosperity would not last. My own banker and solicitor advised me against any further investment in the mills. Jude would not listen.”
“The mills are struggling?” Anne asked in surprise.
Lady Celia nodded. “If I’m right, he’ll reap a share of debt instead of the profits he longed for.”
A loud knock sounded.
“Come!”
The door opened, and Mr. Jude Dalby entered. In his arms . . . a small dog.
“I’ve brought you a gift, Aunt.” The impertinent man sent Anne a wink over his aunt’s head.
“What?” Lady Celia frowned. “I don’t need a dog. I don’t have the energy to train a pup!”
“He’s not a puppy. He’s nearly two years old and already trained. He was Esther’s pet and is as sweet and docile as she was, God rest her.”
Poor Esther, Anne thought, remembering Albert Palling’s soft-spoken sister.
“Why give him to me?” Lady Celia asked. “I suppose it’s your way of toadying up to me, so I’ll agree to let you move back here.”
“You always had dogs when I was a boy. I thought he might be good company for you.” He smiled at Anne. “Although I see you already have pleasant company.”
“Humph.” Lady Celia studied the white-and-liver-colored spaniel with long ears and a feathery tail. “What’s his name?”
“Louie.”
Mr. Dalby lowered the small dog to the bed, and he immediately sat, eyeing his potential new mistress with placid interest.
Lady Celia tentatively reached and out stroked one silky ear. The dog leaned in to relish her touch.
She said, “It would not be the first time Painswick Court housed a spaniel. King Charles the First took his favorite dog everywhere—a black-and-white spaniel named Rogue. So the dog likely accompanied him here to Painswick as well. It is said that when Charles was beheaded, his loyal spaniel remained at his side.”
“How . . . touching,” Mr. Dalby murmured.
“Yes, I thought so.” She scratched the dog’s chin before looking up. “Very well, he may stay. And you too.”
That night, after Lady Celia fell asleep, Anne found herself feeling peckish and decided to slip down to the kitchen for something to eat.
She walked through Sir Herbert’s room to avoid disturbing Lady Celia’s slumber.
As she stepped into the corridor, she heard a voice and paused.
Was it Dr. Finch and Rosa in huddled conversation again?
No. She recognized Rosa’s voice, but a different man responded. Mr. Dalby.
“You . . .” Disbelief colored his tone. “Miss . . .” He hesitated, apparently searching his memory. “Miss Stark?”
“That’s right.”
“I am all astonishment. I have not laid eyes on you in . . . what, a year? Cheltenham, I believe?”
“Yes.”
Anne walked quietly forward and peered down the side passage at them.
“What on earth are you doing here?” he asked.
“I am lady’s maid to your aunt.”
His mouth fell ajar. “Lady’s maid!” He turned slightly away from her, bent over and began to laugh—the laughter of someone who has been punched by a child. “God is giving me my just deserts.”
“Is He?” Rosa asked, brows high. “Then good for Him.” She made to brush past him, but he grasped her arm.
“Wait. What do you want?”
“Not a thing! Though kind of you to ask. I’m simply grateful for this situation with your aunt. She’s such an old dear.”
“Now I know you’re hoaxing me.”
“How was I to know you would be here? I thought you resided elsewhere—with your wife.”
“I did.” His jaw tensed. Yet a moment later, he seemed to relax. “However, I am . . . glad to find you here now, under the same roof.”
“Are you? Well, good. We shall have time to become reacquainted.”
He smiled. A cat eyeing the cream. “I shall look forward to it.”
Anne retreated, abandoning her plan to go downstairs, the thought of food suddenly unappealing.
First Rosa and Dr. Finch, and now Rosa and Mr. Dalby?
She remembered pieces of the conversation she had heard through the thicket her first night back in Painswick.
“You should not have come here. And you should definitely not stay at Painswick Court. Nothing good can come of this scheme of yours.”
What was going on? Mr. Dalby said he had not seen Rosa in a year, but his wife had still been alive then—Miss Lotty mentioned she’d died only nine months ago.
A distasteful theory sprang to mind. Was Dr. Finch in love with Rosa, but Mr. Dalby had pursued her while still a married man?
Ugh. Anne felt queasy at the very idea and hoped she was wrong. Wrong about all of it.