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“That…amongst other things.”
Thea was conscious of the doctor’s particularly intense glance across at her and wondered if she should leave. On the one hand, Aunt Minerva loved an audience when her ailments were discussed, but judging by the doctor’s apparent discomfort in Thea’s company—for he really had gone a peculiar colour, which to her surprise suggested acute embarrassment—the nature of his visit might be more personal.
“Where are you going, Thea?” her Aunt barked as Thea rose to her feet and began to discreetly quit the room. “I may have to rely on you to ensure my medicinals are properly administered.”
Thea’s cheeks began to burn. “Of course. Aunt. I merely thought Dr Horne might wish me to leave.”
“Good Lord, no, child!”
A surprised glance at the doctor told her he was as taken aback by the vehemence of his denial as she was. Clearly the matter that had brought him here was one of truly great potential embarrassment. Thea narrowed her eyes. The doctor’s nose and cheeks were a matching puce rather than crimson. Realisation dawned and Thea, never able to keep her emotions in check, had to pretend her gasp was a cough.
Why, the doctor had designs on Aunt Minerva, she thought. Earlier, when he’d informed Aunt Minerva that an old “friend” wished to pay court to her, Thea could not reconcile the idea of the handsome, urbane, silver-haired gentleman her aunt had pointed out at the Assembly Rooms possibly having any interest in her. Suddenly, realization dawned. Dr Horne, with his red button nose like a cherry atop a Christmas pudding, and his wispy ginger hair and beard, was a far more likely candidate.
Clearly, though, he was feeling his way.
Catching his eye, Thea grinned in collusion, which caused him to drop what he had in his hands and, with much wheezing and puffing, reach down to pick it up.
“Ah yes, the liver pills,” he said, though that’s not what he’d picked up. Thea took a seat opposite her aunt as she noticed the doctor lean across to hand her aunt an elegant piece of parchment addressed to Miss Brightwell.
“Oh, Dr Horne,” she whispered before she could stop the words, and he jerked his head round to stare at her, reminding her of a frightened rabbit caught in the headlights of a coach on a dark night. She gave him an understanding nod and then another smile. If she could encourage him sufficiently to make Aunt Minerva an offer she couldn’t refuse, Thea would be free. She’d still be poor, but someone else would have to take her in.
And anything else was better than having to live with Aunt Minerva.
Provided she still had her reputation intact, she amended, though that wouldn’t be difficult. Not after the horrors Antoinette and Fanny had described in ruining one.
With raised eyebrows, her aunt sliced off the seal with her fingernail. It sailed through the air and landed with a hiss in the fire as the old woman impatiently unfolded the paper and scanned it.
She gasped and scanned it again, this time with her hand resting upon her palpitating bosom.
Intrigued, Thea craned her neck to see if she could catch a glimpse of what was written. She caught the words crave your forgiveness before Dr Horne rose, blocking her view and asking, clearly agitated, “A simple yes or a no is all that’s required, ma’am.”
Thea couldn’t stop the secretive smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth as she watched the doctor battle his emotions. Goodness! He wanted to establish if Aunt Minerva was open to the idea of having an amour. Perhaps he’d heard of her aunt’s distress over the erstwhile object of her affections who’d not even acknowledged her at the Assembly Rooms the other night and the incident had emboldened him.
Unbidden, an image thrust itself into her mind of the disgusting acts she now knew men and women indulged in under cover of darkness. Dr Horne and Aunt Minerva? She shuddered before remembering that this act was primarily to make babies, or if the man were of a particularly violent and selfish nature. Dr Horne would of course get none of that kind of business where her Aunt was concerned. Which must mean that after treating her as his patient all these years, he’d formed a genuine and inexplicable tendre for her.
And now he was asking for her forgiveness? She shook her head. Life was full of surprises. Perhaps he’d been indiscreet about his feelings. Perhaps Aunt Minerva had slapped his face. Surely not, though, for if Aunt Minerva had been outraged she’d have dismissed Dr Horne as her physician.
She gazed at the pair, each as unprepossessing as the other: Dr Horne with his bulbous red nose and wispy ginger moustache and Aunt Minerva with her squirrel’s tail forever threatening to dislodge itself. Surely they were far too advanced in age for courting?
Thea brought herself up short. She should be more charitable. Age was no barrier to love. Of course it wasn’t. The old dears were quite right to want a little romance and excitement.
A tremor of self-pity ran through her before reasserting itself as something nobler. Since she was not going to experience either romance or excitement herself, why not help facilitate a union between the pair? A little matchmaking could be quite a tonic to enliven her dull, dull days.
Before her aunt could respond, Thea reminded her, “Did you not say we were returning to Heskett tomorrow, Aunt Minerva?”
She was secretly delighted when her aunt turned on her indignantly. “I said no such thing, Thea. Why, trust you to mix up dates and turn my intentions on their head.” Aunt Minerva fanned her heated face with the parchment and seemed to be silently doing some sort of experiment with her lips.
Thea would have been perfectly happy to return to Heskett. In fact she’d have preferred it. The fear she might see Mr Grayling again was positively mortifying. To think she’d once been entranced by his mop of light brown curls and intrigued by the elegant line of his side whiskers. She was no better than an easily beguiled schoolroom miss.
She watched the elderly lovebirds out of the corner of her eye as she picked up some abandoned work and began to stitch away at the little garment she was embroidering for baby George, and which she’d present to him before his christening. Dr Horne was examining Aunt Minerva’s fat ankles, which her aunt said were too swollen for her to take her morning walk in comfort. The doctor was being extremely charitable as to his reasons why this could be when Thea was fairly sure if her aunt reduced her consumption of chocolate eclairs and sugar biscuits before luncheon, she might well find her ankles strong enough to carry her reduced weight.
“The pain’s a little higher, Dr Horne.”
Thea jerked her head around to see the doctor massaging Aunt Minerva’s calf and her stomach turned over in revulsion. Regardless of what her cousins said, she most definitely did not intend ever to let a gentleman do more than hold her to dance.
But watching her Aunt and the doctor conduct their odd little courtship could be quite entertaining.
“See what Dr Horne is doing, Thea?” Aunt Minerva’s called across the room. “You must learn to do the massage just like that. It’s a good thing you’re here.”
