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Hours later, the dull roar of muted conversation from waiting patients diminished, and soon quiet settled over the clinic. Once he finished treating an older gentleman, Timothy escorted him out to find the waiting area empty save for Harry and Oliver, slumped in two of the chairs.
When the patient exited, Oliver rose and turned the sign in the window, announcing the clinic was officially closed for the day.
Timothy allowed his body to sink into a chair next to Harry. “Is it always like this?”
Harry shook his head. “No, but the bad weather always seems to take a toll on the less fortunate.”
Oliver returned to his seat. “So, tell me. Have we scared you off yet?”
“Hell, no.” Timothy grimaced at his slip of cursing in front of the duke.
Harry laughed and patted him on the back. “Good.”
“To be honest,” Timothy said, “it feels damn good to be productive.” His mind drifted unbidden back to Emma, his first official patient, and the scratches on her face from the angry chicken.
“We can promise you that,” Oliver said. “But if you both don’t mind, I’ll be off. I promised Camilla I’d be home for supper—for once.” He rose and pulled on his greatcoat and hat. “And trust me, I don’t want to disappoint Camilla. There would be no end to my penance.”
Harry tipped his head back, his eyelids falling shut. For a moment, Timothy thought he’d actually fallen asleep. “How long have you been back in London?”
“I only just arrived. I’d planned to head to my family’s townhouse, but riding through here and seeing the faces of the poor, I felt compelled to stop and see if the clinic was still open for the day.”
Harry’s eyes popped wide open. “You haven’t even been home?”
Timothy shook his head.
“Good God, man. Go home.”
When Timothy rose and strode over to retrieve his coat, his ankle gave way, and he stumbled.
Harry shot from his chair. “What is it? You’re limping.”
“My ankle. I took a tumble from my horse two days ago and twisted it. To be honest, I hadn’t even noticed the ache while I was treating the patients. But now . . .”
“Is your horse outside?”
Timothy looked out the window, cursing his naiveté. “Um. It appears it’s missing.”
Drawing a hand down his face, Harry sighed. “I can’t say it surprises me. Come. I’ll take you home in my carriage. And tomorrow I’ll arrange for another horse to be sent to your home. If I had known, I would have advised you where to stable your mount.”
Settling against the plush squabs of the ducal carriage, Timothy exhaled a contented sigh.
Harry’s eyes crinkled at the corner as he gave a soft chuckle. “Exhausted?”
“Completely. But it’s a good exhaustion.” His stomach growled, the sound filling the compartment of the carriage.
“And hungry. If I didn’t know you would be eager to see your family, I’d invite you to join Maggie and me for dinner.”
“Perhaps another time, Your Grace?”
Harry smiled and swatted Timothy on the leg with his hat. “None of that Your Grace business. Call me Harry, both inside and outside of the clinic. I’ve finally strong-armed your sister into it. Of course, Laurence helped persuade her.”
“I can’t wait to see the baby. I’m sure she’s grown considerably.”
“And thriving. I’m honored that both Beatrix and Laurence have requested me personally to see to little Lizzie’s health.”
“They want the best for their children.” The idea of his sister as a parent still surprised him, but from her letters, it had become clear that Bea was a devoted and excellent mother.
The carriage jerked to a halt. Timothy gave his thanks, bidding Harry goodbye, and strode up to the steps of his parents’ townhouse. He’d given up his own rented apartments when he’d returned to Edinburgh to finish his studies. First on his list of things to do now that he was back home would be finding a new residence.
