Page 22 of The Summer Country

“No,” she said apologetically. As she watched, he turned again to look at Laura, who was speaking animatedly—animatedly for Laura—to Mr. Davenant. Emily touched his arm. “Would you take some from me?”

“That depends on what it is,” said Adam, already moving away toward Laura and Mr. Davenant. “Ah, Mr. Davenant, shall we?”

Emily caught Dr. Braithwaite’s eye and bit down hard on her lip. Maybe Adam was right. Maybe it wasn’t any of her business. They were husband and wife now, after all. It didn’t matter that she’d known Laura longer and better; it would be a point of pride to Adam not to take her advice, although he’d been glad enough for it during their courtship.

“My dear?” Adam held out his arm to Laura with aggressive courtesy. “If I might help you into the carriage?”

Laura looked slightly bewildered but accepted his help. “It was very fortunate that we came upon Mr. Davenant,” she ventured, as Emily joined her on the seat.

“Oh yes, very fortunate,” echoed Adam.

“Shall I ride alongside?” suggested Mr. Davenant tactfully, positioning himself by Emily’s side of the carriage, well away from Adam and Laura. “Of course, Nathaniel knows the way.”

“Oh?” Emily echoed, looking at Dr. Braithwaite. Hearing him referred to as Nathaniel was like seeing him in his shirtsleeves, an unimaginable invasion of his privacy.

Dr. Braithwaite’s lips tightened at the casual use of his name, but he made no comment.

“Is it far?” inquired Emily, as the coach began to lurch again down the rutted drive.

“Not as the crow flies,” said Mr. Davenant.

“Or by horseback?” suggested Emily. Mr. Davenant rode with the ease of a man who spent most of his time in the saddle.

Mr. Davenant dipped his head in acknowledgment. “My morning ride often takes me out this way.”

“Trespassing?” said Dr. Braithwaite, and Mr. Davenant’s fair face flushed.

“My grandmother likes me to keep an eye, make sure no one’s making trouble. That was before we knew of Miss Dawson’s arrival,” he added, with a courteous bow in Emily’s direction. “As to that, I’ve heard you’ve been making visits to Beckles. What are you doing poaching MacAndrews’s patients, Nat?”

“Healing them,” said Dr. Braithwaite. He propped one ankle against the opposite knee. “I’m surprised he noticed they were missing.”

“Well, when the pest house is empty . . .”

“Pest house?” asked Emily.

“Our . . . infirmary, I guess you’d call it?” Mr. Davenant looked to Dr. Braithwaite for assistance, but the doctor didn’t seem inclined to provide any. “Dr. MacAndrews comes once a week to visit the sick.”

“And if they weren’t sick before his visit . . .” murmured the doctor.

Mr. Davenant gave an airy wave of his crop. “MacAndrews does his best.”

“The man’s a sot,” said Dr. Braithwaite bluntly. “The only thing he knows how to physic is his own thirst.”

“I say, that’s not fair. The man’s been at Beckles longer than I have.”

“So has beriberi,” said Dr. Braithwaite. “That doesn’t mean you want to encourage it to stay.”

All around them, the wilted stalks had given way to tall green cane; the carriage wheels seemed very loud on the smooth surface of the road. “You might have asked before you started making house calls.”

Dr. Braithwaite leaned back against the squabs. “Tugging my forelock and begging permission? The patients I’m treating are all freemen.”

“Yes, in our employ.” Blue eyes met brown. The blue eyes dropped first. Jokingly, Mr. Davenant said, “You might send us a reckoning, at least.”

No answering smile touched Dr. Braithwaite’s lips. “Oh no. This I do on my own account.”

Mr. Davenant’s horse sidled restlessly. “As you will. Your uncle is richer than Midas, isn’t he? I don’t imagine you miss the fee. If you look up ahead, Miss Dawson, you’ll see Beckles.”

“Where? Oh—I see now.” There were no towering gables here, no Jacobean chimney pots. The house was wide and low, large parts of it all but obscured by enormous, flowering shrubs.