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Priscilla made note of the complaints and added a little “S” next to the information on the list.
“Dr. Somersby should be with you shortly. Please have a seat.”
Upon speaking with Honoria, Priscilla discovered she had a talent for organization, something Timothy had mentioned the clinic sorely needed. Priscilla had witnessed the rather chaotic nature of the waiting area herself when she’d brought in the child who had nicked her reticule.
Timothy received her idea with both enthusiasm and admiration—resulting in another round of lovemaking.
With the duchess’s assistance and suggestions, the duke agreed to a trial period whereby Priscilla would perform an intake and assign each patient to a physician based on the doctor’s special talents and the urgency of the patient’s needs. The trial period passed with great success, and Priscilla had become a rather permanent fixture at the clinic.
Although her system was far from perfect, order had, for the most part, been restored to the clinic, and patients who had been treated before Priscilla’s arrival commented on the improvement.
Priscilla’s heart swelled with pride. It was the only payment she received—or needed.
Of course, not everyone was happy about the arrangement. Her mother had swooned and cried for her smelling salts, detailing the impropriety of such an endeavor.
Victor had come to Priscilla’s defense. “Mother, she’s a married woman. Being by her husband’s side is both recommended and admirable.”
“That depends,” her father had said, giving his newspaper a little shake. “Aurelia, now that Priscilla is married, why don’t you go back to Lincolnshire and give me some peace? What you don’t see won’t upset you quite so much.”
Priscilla’s heart did not break when her mother complied. The sheep could have her.
She continued to make inquiries about Fingers, the young urchin she’d encountered, but to no avail. Dr. Somersby said Pockets had been rather tight-lipped when questioned. She hoped the child would reappear for treatment, and she hoped he was doing well.
The duke emerged from the treatment rooms, escorting another satisfied patient. “Who’s next, Mrs. Marbry?” His smile was genuine, and the tension between them had eased.
In private, he’d even asked her to call him Harry. And although she requested he reciprocate and call her Priscilla, each time someone addressed her asMrs. Marbry, joy bubbled within her.
She ran a finger down her list, landing on the entry with an R beside it. “Mr. Johnson, Dr. Radcliffe will see you now.” After giving Harry a brief account of the patient’s complaints, she went back to her work.
She and Timothy had yet to be blessed with a child, although not for lack of trying. However, one thing she’d learned from her new sister-in-law, Bea, was the pride in being productive. The clinic filled her days and Timothy filled her nights, and she found that, for her, it was quite enough. Neither of them missed the trappings of society.
They attended small parties with family and close friends, the circle of the latter growing slowly as the duke’s influence began to change minds. And although she still enjoyed going to balls and dancing, she found its appeal faded compared to the slow, sensual moments she shared with her husband in private.
“Deep in thought?” Timothy’s sultry voice whispered as he leaned down and touched her shoulder.
She smiled up at her handsome husband. “Just happy.”
He gave her a little squeeze. “There is nojustin being happy. Now, who’s my next patient?”
As she called a young boy forward, Priscilla knew he was right. Being happy was everything.
Timothy escorted the lad back to the examination rooms, and Priscilla grinned to herself. The boy had described receiving a blow to his head when his sister had thrown a shoe at him. Of course, she had to assign him to Timothy.
A bark of laughter echoed from the examination rooms, and no doubt Timothy would have to explain to the lad he wasn’t laughing at his injury.
When Timothy finished his examination and returned to the waiting area, he did his best to send her a reprimanding look, which she returned with her most innocent expression. Which made him laugh all the more.
“Wha’s so funny? There’s sick people here,” an older gentleman complaining of gout said.
Timothy pointed at her. “My wife.”
“Ah,” the man nodded, as if those two words said it all.
* * *
That evening,when they traveled home in their carriage, Timothy sighed as Priscilla snuggled against him.
“Is it a sin to be this happy?” she asked.
