Chapter 2
Half-Thoughts and Ginger Knots
SMILING FAINTLY, Belinda held out her hand to receive the broken pencil.
Mr Alwyn handed it over with a boyish grin, a lock of ash brown hair hanging in his grey eyes. “Thank you, Miss Everson.”
Taking the pen knife off of the mantel, Lindy sharpened the little nub, letting the shavings drop into the hearth.
She had performed this service for the doctor’s apprentice many times, as she had sought to assist him in any way she could over the preceding months.
She was glad his pencil had broken as it had helped her to stop eyeing his bare forearms, the sight of which always sent a delicious frisson through her belly.
He comes here to tend to Mamma, not to be ogled by the likes of me! Furthermore, he sees me as nothing more than a patient’s daughter.
She told herself this every time he came to call.
Yet, there had been something she sensed about the man since their first meeting — an exuding warmth that seemed reserved for her alone.
Often, his eyes would delve searchingly into the depths of her own, making her wonder if there was something he wanted to say to her.
He simply has expressive eyes, she insisted to herself. Think of how they danced when he heard that Mamma could finally get out of bed all on her own!
Handing the pencil back, she tried not to glance at the muscular limb that received it.
“I’ll just go and fetch the tea,” she said, and headed to the kitchen where the teapot was already warming. She spooned broken Bohea leaves into it, then filled it with boiling water.
Mr Alwyn is kind and attentive to everyone he encounters, not just me. She remembered how engrossed he had appeared when her father, a coach driver by trade, had rambled on and on to him about the deplorable state of the road on the way to Brighton. And Mr Alwyn is certainly not in love with Papa!
She had learned early on that she must work hard to hide her appreciation of the man. After seeing them together once, her younger sister had suggested teasingly that Belinda ought to dab her lips with beet juice to make herself more alluring when next he came to call.
But Lindy had tsked at this and Catherine’s other bits of advisement, thinking, What girl wants to worry that the elderberry tincture in her eyebrows may have streaked across her temple?
She placed three cups and saucers onto the tea tray alongside the plate of biscuits.
Besides, men who prize beauty too highly ought to be avoided.
A few months earlier, a wealthy young gentleman had called her a ‘pretty girl’, but his manner had made her feel threatened rather than complimented. Putting that unpleasant memory aside, Belinda lifted the tray, and returned to the front room. Her mother was chatting away again, amiably now.
When Mr Alwyn first appeared on the doorstep alongside Dr Felix, Belinda’s mother had regarded him as an inferior second.
But as he faithfully returned on his own, week after week, it was not long before she looked forward to his visits.
Initially, he just helped her rise from her bed, but eventually she was able to descend the stairs with his steadying arm around her waist. When they reached the parlour, he would cheer as if he were witnessing a coronation.
Based on how her dour mamma would beam at this, Lindy knew that she herself was not the only Everson who was fond of the young doctor-to-be.
Pleased that she had learned how Mr Alwyn took his tea, she added some milk to his cup, followed with a drizzle of honey. Seeing him jut out his bristly chin as he watched the golden rivulet unfurl, Belinda stored the delightfully virile image away for further reflection.
“That will do. I thank you,” he said, taking the steaming cup.
His cuffs were down around his wrists again, which Belinda found to be both a relief and a disappointment.
Almost smugly, Mrs Everson said, “I’ll have you know, Doctor, that once you said you take honey in your tea, Lindy put a pot of it on the tray straight away.”
“Mamma,” Belinda murmured, her face suddenly aflame.
Smiling, Mr Alwyn bobbed his head in her direction. “How very hospitable – and you baked these ginger knots as well?”
He held one of the reddish biscuits aloft.
“That she did! My girl’s a fine baker.”
Fiercely wishing her mother silent, Lindy began to tidy the already neat tea tray.
“The kindness I’ve been met with in this cottage is exceptional,” Mr Alwyn said, suddenly solemn. “It saddens me to tell you that this will be my last visit to oversee your care, Mrs Everson.”
Lindy nearly knocked over the creamer. Righting it firmly, she insisted to herself, I’ve known all along that an end was coming — even prepared the words with which to say goodbye.
But the speech she had planned for the dreadful moment did not form on her lips. She lifted a glove she had been mending from the side table, hoping to hide her agitation.
Her mother gave a short bark of laughter. “Surely you would not abandon us now, Dr Alwyn.”
“Mrs Everson, you must know that any honorable practitioner strives for his own redundancy whilst treating patients. Honestly, I’m here today purely for selfish reasons as I saw last week that you need me no more. I expect you’ll soon be out on the village green, climbing trees with Bertie.”
Forcing a light laugh, Belinda looked up from her clumsy stitching and her breath caught. Mr Alwyn was looking straight at her.
“I must now apply myself to studying for my licensure examination,” he said. “My entire future rests upon it.”
Wondering at the fervour in his voice, Belinda’s tongue tripped into action. “Mr Alwyn, I dread to think that Mamma would still be abed had Dr Felix not loaned you to us. My family is quite indebted to you.”
“On the contrary, it is I who must thank you for trusting me, a mere student. I have gleaned so much from the experience.”
Souring at the realization that the handsome fellow’s visits truly were at an end, Mrs Everson stood, saying brusquely, “I suppose I ought to thank you for the regimen you set me to, though I did not enjoy it much.”
“Well, you have born it admirably,” he replied even as she took two steps forward to pluck the not-yet-empty teacup out of his hand.
Flinching, Lindy bit back the rebuke that blazed up on her tongue. Mamma! After all he has done for us, is this to be his final memory of you?
But her mother sought no one’s approval as she stumped off towards the kitchen. There, she began to bash about so loudly that it seemed she didn’t care a whit for her crockery.
Laying the glove aside, Lindy cast Mr Alwyn a speaking look, pressing her lips together.
With a gleam in his eye, he lifted his now-imaginary cup to pantomime finishing his tea, then popped the last bit of a ginger knot into his mouth.
This, in the wake of her mother’s petulance, made Belinda snort with laughter. Her hand flew to her nose, too late to contain it.
“Please forgive her discourtesy,” she whispered through her fingers as Mr Alwyn’s shoulders shook with silent amusement. “I can only blame it on her disappointment at losing your attentions.”
He grew somber again. “Truly, no one will grieve the loss of these visits more than I will myself.”
Belinda was very aware that they were in the room alone together now. This had only happened twice before in the months since they’d met, and then but briefly. When he spoke again, her heart fluttered at the dusky sound of it.
“Miss Everson, please understand that I must focus my every effort on preparing for the 29th of September when I will sit before the Court of Examiners.”
As she puzzled over this wealth of oddly specific information, Lindy’s discombobulation grew, for Mr Alwyn had moved from his chair to sit beside her on the settee.
“Once I am licensed, I will be able to pursue other matters of great importance,” he said softly, holding his hand out to her.
What is he…what am I…?
As if propelled by a will of its own, her hand reached forward to rest lightly on his upturned palm.
Her heart was in her throat as he ran his thumb over the back of her fingers, then bent forward to graze her knuckle with the lightest touch of his lips.
Then, he turned her hand over as if to admire the softest part of her wrist.
No. Surely, he won’t…
A slurry of sensations and half-thoughts engulfed her as he tenderly kissed the spot where her pulse was racing. As he straightened up slowly, his gaze was ardent.
Is it possible he does love me? Belinda marveled, the damp spot on her wrist attesting to the notion. He must — he is no rake, used to taking liberties. Of that, I am sure.
Thrilled in a way she had never felt in all of her twenty years, she wished that Mr Alwyn would speak plainly. He did then open his mouth, but a faint sound of disgust was all that she heard.
It came from across the room.
Turning, Belinda saw her youngest brother standing on the staircase, his little, freckled face crinkled in distaste at the scene before him.
“Ah, Bertie.” Mr Alwyn let go of Belinda’s hand and got to his feet. “I was just making my goodbyes to your sister. Allow me to bid you farewell, as well.”
He extended his hand to the boy.
Eyeing it with suspicion, Bertie shook his head, but as he caught sight of the plate of ginger knots, he was down the last few stairs in a flash to scoop up a handful.
Stuffing a whole biscuit into his mouth as he went out of the front door, he called over his shoulder, “Bye, Doctor. Thanks for fixin’ Mamma. ”
With the door left open behind him, unexpected sunshine spilled in onto the floor.
As Belinda’s hand still tingled from Mr Alwyn’s kisses, she wondered, What was he about to say when Bertie burst in?
But it seemed her family would not let the mystery be solved as now her mother was standing in the kitchen doorway, clearing her throat.
“Are you still here, Dr Alwyn? I thought you had urgent matters calling you back to London. You may go now.”
Her face flinty, she limped over to a chair and sat down. Lifting a pair of knitting needles from a basket at her feet, she began to clack them together in resentful industry.
Bowing to each of the women, Mr Alwyn murmured a final farewell and retrieved his hat, but he shot Lindy a meaningful look before stepping outside.
Ignoring her mother’s indignant Hmph! at the door clicking shut, Belinda bolted up the stairs to peer through the wavy glass of her bedroom window.
Seeing the mystifying man mount his horse, she wanted to call out and insist he come back inside.
But she swallowed the cries like scalding broth, and watched as Mr Alwyn rode off down the high street.
He will return, her heart whispered. He must.