Chapter 20 Wounded as Her True Self
Wounded as Her True Self
THE NEXT MORNING, Belinda tapped faintly on her aunt’s bedroom door. It was opened to her by the footman, revealing the sight of Rose, next to her sleeping husband on the bed, her legs tucked up underneath her.
“There’s some gingerbread in the breakfast room,” Lindy said, quietly. She had asked Cook to make Rose’s favourite, as she knew her aunt had hardly eaten a thing in two days. “I will sit with my uncle while you go and have a slice.”
She felt brave making this offer as she knew Mr Alwyn might arrive at any moment. Meeting Lady Raffles, had caused her to reevaluate how she ought to encounter the man.
If she is brave enough to stand shoulder to shoulder with a group of gentlemen as their fellow, then certainly I can sit embroidering in the corner while a doctor’s apprentice tends to my uncle.
“Thank you, darling.” Rose climbed off of the bed, careful not to disturb her husband. “It will be nice to stretch my legs.”
Reaching for Belinda’s hand, her eyes glowed.
“I’m pleased to tell you that George and I had a real conversation this morning — the first since his fit,” she whispered. “It seems he’s coming back to us.”
Just as Mr Alwyn said he would. Lindy smiled.
With Rose gone, she opened the window to air out the room, then sat down with her tambour.
As her uncle’s stentorian snoring filled her ears, she stitched away, awaiting the moment that her newfound courage would be put to the test. By the time a collection of nubby French knots dotted the cloth, there was a light rapping upon the door.
Lee opened it, and there stood Mr Alwyn, satchel in hand.
His eyes lit up upon seeing her.
“Ah, Miss Everson — what a delightful surprise!” he said softly. “I thought you might be out again today.”
He shot her a grin that warmed her down to her toes.
La! I oughtn’t even look at the man! Couldn’t Dr Felix have chosen an ugly apprentice?
“Mr Alwyn.” She nodded.
Their exchange roused George, who, lifting his head off of his pillow, frowned around the room in bewilderment.
“Good morning, Mr Caspar. I hope you are well rested. Do you remember our games of chess yesterday?”
The confusion cleared and George grinned lopsidedly. “I bested you…twice!”
“That you did, sir, and I mean to avenge myself, perhaps tomorrow. As for now, we have other matters to attend to. Might I help you sit up?”
As the younger man assisted the older in getting resituated upon the bed, Belinda realized that having a front row seat to such beneficence would not serve her well.
Witnessing Mr Alwyn’s gentle, thoughtful manner, overhearing his clever comments, – and blast it all!
– possibly seeing his bare, thick forearms, was nothing more than a recipe for her own current and future wretchedness.
My heart must remain untouched, she resolved as the vulnerable part thumped within her chest. Perhaps if I don’t watch so closely…
She trained her eyes on her needlework.
“Mr Caspar, please lift your right arm straight out in front of you, as high as you can,” Mr Alwyn directed. “Very good. Now, out to the side.”
She heard him scratching notes in his booklet.
Of course, if he addresses me, I’ll be polite, but maybe if I am quiet and still, he will forget I am here, and not another word will pass between us.
Over the next quarter of an hour, George was put to many tasks, challenging his mobility and strength. A few times, he asked odd questions, yet never once did Mr Alwyn grow impatient or unfriendly, and Belinda despaired that her admiration of him would never stop growing.
Govern your heart, you silly, silly girl, she told herself as she flipped the hoop over to tie the floss in a tidy knot. Peeking in the gentlemen’s direction, she noticed that her uncle’s eyelids looked heavy and his mouth was growing lax.
“Mr Alwyn,” she was prompted to murmur. “I fear he is tiring.”
“Ah yes, I see you are right. Mr Caspar, shall we end our session here?”
George nodded, shutting his eyes even while Mr Alwyn began to position pillows around him. Lee came forward to help.
Lindy nearly rose from her seat, intending to slip out of the room, but Mr Alwyn spoke.
“Tell me, Miss Everson, what do you think of town now that you are here?”
Polite when necessary, nothing more, she reminded herself.
“We only arrived last week,” she replied, barely looking up as she started a row of chain stitches, “and have done very little.”
“I suppose London seems drab to you since you are accustomed to having all of Trippingham’s diversions right at your doorstep,” he teased.
In spite of being pleasantly surprised that he remembered the name of her little village, she acknowledged his joke with only a wan smile, then followed it with silence.
It held for a moment before Mr Alwyn spoke softly. “You seem worried, Miss Everson. Please be assured, your uncle’s symptoms are all that we might expect at this point. I trust he will be himself again before long.”
The care in his voice sent a bolt of shame through Lindy. Here was the same Mr Alwyn she had known and admired for months, and yet she was parrying his bids of goodwill with cold detachment. She hardly recognized herself, and certainly didn’t like herself, as she did so.
Mr Alwyn’s pencil slipped from his hand, and he leaned to retrieve it, but succeeded only in pushing it under the bed.
“Confound it!” he muttered, then straightened up abruptly. “I beg your pardon, Miss Everson.”
The naughty schoolboy look on his face, drew a giggle out of Belinda, and her resolve to remain aloof melted away completely.
If I’m to be wounded again – and that seems certain – I must be my true self as it happens.
“Do not forget that I am the daughter of a coachman,” she replied. “Even my father’s ‘good mornings’ include an oath or two.”
He flashed her a grin, then ducked down again. When he reemerged, triumphantly clutching the stub, Belinda surprised herself by asking, “When did you know you wanted to be a doctor, Mr Alwyn?”
Blinking, he studied her and settled back into his chair, looking conflicted.
But she gave him no leeway, peering at him all the more intently, as she was hungrier than ever for his story.
If I must be myself while my heart is broken, then he must be himself while breaking it.