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Yet the fine meal of roast lamb and potatoes paled in comparison to the chicken stew he’d shared with Emma the night before. And although a fire roared in the hearth, heating the room to perfection, the lack of Emma lying beside him left him cold. He tossed and turned, pulling the counterpane over his head, trying to forget the image of her holding the chicken out like a trophy—her face scratched and feathers strewn in her hair.
He laughed out loud at the memory, then cursed himself for being a dolt.
How could being with a woman for one short day and night affect him so greatly?
Memories and emotions he’d believed long buried stirred to life when he’d held her in his arms, and he cursed himself for allowing them to be resurrected. He’d been much better off without feelings of romance and passion clouding his judgment.
He’d been a fool once.
Never again.
Hours later, he drifted off. But even in sleep, she haunted him.
Upon arising the next morning, he vowed again to put her from his mind. His ankle had improved greatly, and no sign of fever remained, suppressing reminders of his time with the hellion who had scratched her way under his skin.
Puddles of melted snow created patches of mud as Timothy’s horse wove its way back to London. Throughout the journey, his mind kept returning to Emma and her clear blue eyes and sweet rosy lips. Hope boosted his spirits that being productive at the clinic would further eradicate any remnants of the fiery blonde.
Riding through the East End, he slowed his mount, his spirits plunging as men, women, and children in ragged clothes struggled to get warm as they huddled around fires burning in large containers. He tossed a few penny coins to a boy who reminded him of Manny, the Duke of Ashton’s adopted son. The boy caught them with wide-eyed wonder, then raced off as though afraid someone would demand he give the small amount back.
Timothy’s heart tumbled to his boots at the need and want surrounding him during a season that celebrated joy and abundance. Spurred by his maudlin thoughts, he took a detour to Hope Clinic, eager to begin making a difference. Dusk settled over the city, and for a moment, he wondered if his plan was folly. Perhaps Harry and Oliver had long since closed the doors for the day.
But a light shimmered from the window of the clinic. As he pulled his horse to a halt, a woman exited, leading a small girl by the hand.
Timothy dismounted and tethered his horse, tipping his hat to the woman. “Is the clinic still open?”
She paused, giving him the once-over. “It is, but if you’re wantin’ treatment, you’ll ’ave a wait.”
He thanked her, then removed his valise and entered, the little bell’s tinkle announcing his arrival. The woman hadn’t been exaggerating. People lined the small waiting area, occupying every seat. Some sat on the floor or leaned against the walls.
“Hello?” he called out.
“You’ll ’ave to wait your turn like the rest of us,” one man grumbled. “The doctors is busy.”
Obviously.
“I’m also a physician. I’ve come to help.”
The subdued moans mixed with conversation grew louder as the group clamored for his assistance.
He’d never been so grateful to have completed his studies and passed his exams. A sense of purpose filled him, and he shrugged off his coat and got to work. Curious eyes peered up at him. Was there any type of order or prioritizing of treatment? He hardly knew where to begin, so he started at the end of the long row of waiting patients.
A deep masculine voice rose behind him. “Mr. Marbry?”
Timothy straightened from where he’d been bent over an older woman’s lacerated hand and turned, finding the Duke of Ashton staring at him with a bemused expression.
“It’s Dr. Marbry, now.” Timothy grinned, overjoyed to make his announcement.
Harry Radcliffe grasped his hand and slapped him good-naturedly on the back. Harry kept a low profile at the clinic, preferring to be called Dr. Radcliffe and reserving his title and status as duke for theton.“And not a moment too soon. I see you’ve made yourself useful.”
Timothy motioned to the elderly woman. “Mrs. Brown has a nasty cut, but I don’t have supplies to clean the wound.”
“Let’s get you both into a treatment room.”
After following Harry into one of the rooms, Timothy got back to work. The line of patients seemed never-ending. During Timothy’s examination of a young boy, Dr. Oliver Somersby poked his head in.
“Harry told me you were here. Welcome, and may I say I’m certainly glad to see you. You couldn’t have come at a better time.”
Before Timothy could answer, Oliver disappeared to retrieve another patient from the waiting area.
