Chapter Thirteen #2
“I see.” If four was a crowd, what did that make seven? Seven and a quarter, Abigail corrected silently, counting Mara’s unborn child.
Aside from her and Stephen’s interaction in the solarium just a few minutes ago, she’d struggled to find any moment of privacy with her husband.
Not when she was almost constantly in the company of Mara, he was entertaining Ambrose in his study or out on horseback, and they were all having supper together in the dining room.
It was the main reason why she’d offered to extend her stay beyond their agreed upon three weeks.
She didn’t want this second contract between them to end as the first had, with blame and guilt on both sides.
But with a houseful of guests, how were they supposed to be .
. . to be intimate? And if they weren’t intimate, how could she accurately weigh and measure her final decision?
A decision that had seemed so easy two and a half weeks ago, but was now made increasingly difficult by the fact that she was .
. . well, she was enjoying her husband’s company.
Regardless of whether she was sharing it with other people.
She enjoyed the way she could feel the heat of Stephen’s stare warming the nape of her neck across a crowded room.
She enjoyed the shape of his smile, even guarded as it had been.
She enjoyed the rare, rich baritone sound of his laughter.
She enjoyed the way he pretended to despise Susan, but just yesterday she’d caught him sneaking her eldest feline a piece of chicken under the table.
This was the first opportunity they’d ever had to live together.
To share their daily lives with one another.
All in all, it was far more pleasant than she’d anticipated it would be.
Being a countess was more pleasant than she’d anticipated it would be .
. . and her mind, her ordinarily steady, dependable, scientific mind, was a tangled web of indecision and self-doubt.
Should she go?
Should she stay?
Should she be a doctor?
Should she be a lady?
One thing was evident, and that was she couldn’t be both. If just one patient was requiring this much time and devotion, what would a dozen do? Trying to be a doctor and a wife would mean being neither. Not fully. Not in a way that was fair to herself or to Stephen.
“Where are the cats?” asked Jack, cocking an eyebrow as she leaned against the wall. Her dress shifted, revealing the boy’s trousers she wore under girlish layers of yellow cotton that was already tattered and stained at the hem.
“Cleo and Ferdinand are likely sleeping in the sitting room attached to my bedchamber. They like the way the sun streams in through an eastern facing window and I’ve placed a pillow on the sill for them to nap on.
Susan could be anywhere as she has free run of the manor.
” She bit the inside of her cheek. “If you would excuse me—”
“I ’elped yer husband catch them, ye know. The cats.”
“Yes, Stephen mentioned that.” She glanced down the hallway. “I really—”
“Paid me three whole crowns.” Jack’s mouth curled in a mischievous grin. “Would’ve done it for one.”
“Congratulations on your financial success. I am quite busy—”
“Why did ye marry ’im?”
The question stopped Abigail in her tracks. “Why did I marry Stephen?”
“Kitty married Ambrose ’cause she wanted to be a fancy countess with a big house.
Ye should hear how they used to argue. Now they look at each other like this all the time”—Jack batted her lashes—“and they’re always shovin’ their faces together when they don’t think I’m payin’ attention. It’s enough to make ye retch.”
“I did not marry Stephen because I wanted a title or a large residence,” Abigail said, frowning. “I married him because . . . because doing so enabled me to attain the education I required to become a doctor.”
Jack folded her arms. “Thought girls couldn’t be doctors.”
“They cannot,” she acknowledged. “While I attended the same institution as my male counterparts courtesy of Stephen’s influence, I do not legally hold a medical degree.
But that does not mean my knowledge or expertise in the field is inferior in any way.
Woman have been successfully practicing medicine for hundreds of years.
At some point in the future, I am confident that we will be viewed as equals in the field, if not superior. ”
Jack whistled. “Ye must be really smart.”
“I do possess a higher-than-average level of intelligence.”
“Then why did ye do somethin’ dumb like get married? Do ye love ’im?”
Abigail’s mouth opened. Closed. “As I said, marrying Stephen enabled me to—”
“Go to some dashy insti-somethin’,” Jack interrupted, waving her hand in the air. “But if you’re so smart, I bet ye could have figured out a way to do that without gettin’ hitched.”
“It was Columbia College Medical School,” Abigail corrected automatically, “and you . . .”
. . . are right, she realized dimly.
Jack was right.
She could have found another way. It wouldn’t have been easy, but it would have been possible.
Instead, she’d married Stephen. She had stood beside him in the small Manhattan church of her own free will.
Afterward, it was simpler to convince herself she’d been coerced.
Or that she’d done it solely in pursuit of her medical career.
But it wasn’t true. It had never been true.
Because there was a part of her that had wanted to marry Stephen purely for the way he’d made her feel when he’d kissed her in the snow.
It was the same part of her that had almost gone with him that morning in Connecticut.
And it was the same part of her that was tempted to stay with him now.
“I . . . what?” Jack asked, her foot giving an impatient tap on the floor. “What did I do?”
“You have given me much to consider. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is past time for me to take Mara’s daily objective measurements.” Abigail paused as a thought, no more than a random flicker, took root in the back of her mind. “Would you care to accompany me and observe?”
Jack shrugged. “I guess. Don’t got nothin’ better to do. By the way,” she said as they walked down the hallway together, “do ye know where yer husband keeps ’is silver? Not askin’ for any particular reason. Just curious . . .”