Page 12 of The Marquess of Secrets

“Brilliant. I hoped I arrived in time for breakfast.”

Sam hummed an innocuous tune as he loaded his plate with curried eggs, ham, fresh fruit, and pastries. Once he set his plate on the table, he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat opposite Harrison.

“Have you been to the terminus?” Harrison asked.

“Briefly. Four new people this morning. There was no place to put them, so I asked Sister Agatha to see who was ready to move out. It’s getting well out of hand. We cannot keep up with the steady and never-ending influx of those in need.” Sam stuffed a morsel of eggs in his mouth.

“Yes. Sister Monica and I were speaking of the same issue. I believe we should consider taking the soup kitchen-clinic public. We cannot keep up this punishing pace—either of us or the nuns. Perhaps we’d better find a permanent location not far from the church so the nuns can keep a hand in.”

Harrison bit into his toast. “It will mean setting up a charitable society,” he said in-between bites. “Finding affluent donors. And what better way to do such than at a fancy ball?”

Sam frowned. “I cannot attend.” Harrison raised an eyebrow in question. “Come now, I’m barely middle class. I was only able to attend Cambridge by the generosity of Squire Robinson, a prominent landowner in my village. I do not fit in with peers and their ilk.”

“We are friends.”

Sam chuckled as he cut his ham. “As if that alone is reason enough for me to attend. You’re different and always were. Never had any airs. Neither did your brothers. Considering that you are sons of a prominent and wealthy duke, I am astounded.”

“For all my parents’ aristocratic blood, they are firm believers in charity work and helping those less fortunate. They instilled those values in all of us. Unfortunately, Spence’s unique and dissimilar personality does not translate well to social situations, but he made contributions in other ways. Most of the monetary persuasion.”

“I never understood why you haven’t informed your family of your charity works these past years. Surely, they could have contributed to your clinic and encouraged others to do so. Or will you tell me to mind my own business?” Sam’s mouth quirked.

How could he explain?

Though his parents never pressured him in any way, he felt it nonetheless. It was something only an heir to a duke would understand. The responsibility was ponderous and no doubt of his own making. It weighed heavily. But he had decided when he came of age to fuel the talk of his being a rake.

It allowed him to live a secret life and protect his family from censure in the bargain. An heir to a duke was forgiven for being a rake. It was expected, and in some corners, even admired.

Helping the poor was not.

It was a sad statement on the upper classes and society in general.

“I wanted to accomplish something on my own, to practice medicine my way,” Harrison explained softly. “My family had to endure enough interest and speculation over the years. The last thing I wish to do is to add to it, especially with the gossip about Tremain making the rounds as of late.”

Harrison took a sip of tea and continued. “Tremain served as vicar for more than two years. My brother has great plans for the village of Hawksgreen in terms of education and other reforms. Yet, all society can gossip about is his war injuries and other salacious tattle that have no basis in truth. I cannot stay in the shadows any longer. There is no law stating I cannot be a physician and practice the medicine I wish. If Tremain can find a way to serve his fellowman in a more public venue, then so can I.”

Ever since Tremain emerged from the shadows, Harrison had been contemplating doing the same.

It was well past time. Harrison had reached a crossroads.

“There is no legal impediment to you being a doctor, but society will frown upon it and judge accordingly,” Sam stated as he sipped his coffee. “But I agree you should go public. Tremain realized he could accomplish far more as viscount than as a vicar, just as you will accomplish more as marquess and heir to a duke than as a doctor. A dismal reality.”

Harrison frowned. Blast it all, why couldn’t he do both? Damn society and their snobbish ways.

Granted, Sir William Gull, Baronet, was a Physician-in-Ordinary to Queen Victoria, but Sir William came from a modest, lower-class background. The man was made a baronet on his ability to treat the Prince of Wales for typhoid fever.

However, no one born of the peerage served as a physician in any capacity that he was aware of.

Perhaps he could be the first.

“Yes, it is indeed a dismal state of affairs. Regardless, you will accompany me to the ball,” Harrison stated. “You’re respectable enough. Besides, you will be there as my guest. In between dances with eligible young ladies, we can assess the aristocracy and decide who would be amenable to supporting a charity clinic. After breakfast, Gillis can fit you for one of my suits. We have similar builds; it will not take much to alter it.”

Sam scoffed. “When is this blasted event?”

“Barely a week away. Next Friday evening. After the fitting, we will discuss this clinic idea further before I depart for Westminster for the afternoon session. When I head to Gransford Manor in three and a half weeks for the weddings, I will broach the subject with Father.” Harrison reached for an iced bun from the nearby platter.

“Do give my best to your brothers,” Sam offered as he took another bite of ham.

The two of them were making short work of the breakfast food.