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Chapter 15
The missive from London did not arrive out of the blue. It came every year at around this time, but in the past, Christopher had never heeded it. Previously, there would have been no question as to how he would have dealt with it: he’d have tossed it straight into the roaring fire without compunction or second thought. But now, he found himself staring at the letter, one finger moving along the edge of his jaw.
It was an invitation from the Royal College of Surgeons in London to give a lecture on anatomy. No doubt that was due to William Belfour, the Secretary of the College, who was one of the few people in this world whom he was honoured to call his friend. William was a decent enough fellow, but unfortunately thoroughly misguided to think that he, Christopher, was one of the most brilliant surgeons he’d ever known. Because of that, he pursued him with an obstinate tenacity that nearly matched his own.
I would have you give the lecture, William wrote, and I beg of you to accept this invitation, for the time has come for you to finally come out of your self-imposed seclusion, to take your proper place in society, reveal your true talents and thereby silence this idle and malicious gossip once and for all. The world needs you, Kit; do not deny us your talent.
Christopher swallowed as he read his nickname. Kit. The childhood moniker reserved only for the people closest to him. His mother and sister had adopted it, along with a comrade to whom he’d grown close during the campaigns in Spain. The man had not survived the war. It had been a long time since anyone had called him Kit. Now, William alone remained to use the name, and it left him in a strange mood, indeed.
Christopher cleared his throat and his fingers tightened around the paper. He should toss it in the fire like he did with all the other letters.
But then.
To get away from here for a while, from this entire situation here, most importantly, from her. Maybe that was precisely what he needed. To clear his brain and to see whether these inexplicable, indescribably vexing feelings would go away. Maybe, going to London was just what he needed right now.
Christopher pulled the bell.
Marks entered soon afterwards.
“I might actually accept the invitation to the Royal College of Surgeons this time, Marks.” Christopher lifted the letter between two fingers.
Marks regarded him with unsurprised, watery eyes. “I’d say it’s about time, sir.”
* * *
Phoebe, of course, behaved as though the world was about to end. She clung to him, crying, accusing him of abandoning her.
“You will forget all about me,” she sobbed.
“Nonsense, Phoebe. I’ll be back in less than a fortnight. I do not intend to prolong my stay in London for the city air does not agree with me. In the meantime, I want you to continue your studies with Miss Hilversham. I daresay I’ll be back shortly before your departure to Bath, so we shall still see each other then.” He looked over Phoebe’s head at Miss Hilversham, who stood next to Marks, pale, composed, her hands pressed tightly in front of her. At his words, she seemed to rouse from her rigid posture and stepped forward to gently loosen Phoebe’s grip on him.
“We shall be so busy you won’t even notice he’s gone,” she said.
He turned to Phoebe. “Anything you want me to bring you from the city?”
That was the right thing to ask, for Phoebe’s tears dried instantly and her gaze brightened. “You mean, a gift? A cadeau?”
“Indeed.”
“I need some ribbons. I need two ells of ruby-coloured double-lisse ribbons. Mind you get the right colour.” She pursed her lips, then added, “Also the newest pamphlet by Sarah Wilkinson, Uncle.”
“I don’t know about that,” Miss Hilversham interjected hastily. “These lurid gothic romances aren’t at all suitable for young female minds.”
“Better she reads something than nothing at all,” Christopher commented. “Even if it is lurid gothic romances. And you, Miss Hilversham?”
Her head snapped up to meet his gaze. He felt his knees turn to water instantly.
How wonderful those eyes were. How wonderful those lips—
“What do you mean, my lord?”
“Should I bring you a cadeau, as well?”
The expression in her eyes spoke volumes. It went from looking startled, to surprised, to something akin to gratefulness, and a moist shimmer instantly filled her eyes. Then an iron shutter came slamming down, and she lifted her chin proudly.
“I thank you, my lord, but there is no need.”
He lifted his hand to his neck to rub it. Ah, very well. He supposed it was unbecoming to buy gifts for the governess…but he would have enjoyed picking out something for her very much indeed.
