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“That was a bit of luck. Now, speaking of the Kendricks, are ye expecting to see Dr. Kendrick today?”
“Probably not.”
Not after the way she’d treated Braden. After that ugly scene with Beath, Samantha had avoided him for the rest of the night. She’d been too embarrassed to even look him in the eye, much less speak to him. And although it had felt necessary at the time in order to maintain any semblance of self-control, it had been horribly rude. Every time she thought about how she’d rebuffed the poor man, she wanted to sink through the floorboards in shame.
“I expect Dr. Kendrick would tell that nasty Lord Beath a thing or two.”
“Which wouldn’t help,” Samantha ruefully replied.
Although Braden had managed the situation with an impressive degree of calm given the circumstances, his controlhadslipped a few times. An entirely different Braden had emerged then—an irate, growling Highlander who’d appeared more than willing to gut Lord Beath with a dirk. Underneath the urbane man of science lurked something more elemental that reached back to the old Highland ways. And while those ways were certainly useful when it came to a clan feud or facing down thugs in Old Town, they were unhelpful in dealing with fusty old snobs like Beath.
Mrs. Johnson crossed her arms at her waist, her brow wrinkled with worry. “What are ye going to do, my lady? We can’t let that old poop take Miss Felicity away from us.”
“I know. I’ll figure out—”
A firm rap on the street door scattered her thoughts and sent Samantha’s heart leaping like a frightened doe.
“Please tell me it’s not Lord Beath,” she said as Mrs. Johnson hurried over to the window to look.
“No, it’s not Lord Muckety-muck. There’s no carriage.”
Samantha slumped back in her chair. “Thank God. But unless it’s Bathsheba or John, please send them away. I’m not in any condition to receive callers.”
Mrs. Johnson opened the study door, listened for several moments, and then hastily shut it.
“It’s Dr. Kendrick, my lady. Sally’s asking him to wait, but he’s not taking no for an answer.”
Samantha shot to her feet. “I can’t see him, either. Not yet, anyway. I look like something the cat dragged in.”
As if that should even matter right now, but for some reason it did.
Mrs. Johnson opened the door again. “I’m afraid ye’ve not much choice, because he’s coming up the stairs.”
“Oh, God.” Samantha straightened her lace collar with trembling fingers. “I look like a complete hag.Whydid he have to show up now?”
“You look neat as a pin, as always,” Mrs. Johnson replied in a soothing voice. “And I expect he’s come to help.”
She stepped back, holding the door wide. “Good morning, Dr. Kendrick.”
He smiled. “Good morning, Mrs. Johnson. I hope I find you well.”
“Frankly, sir, we’re at sixes and sevens, thanks to that nasty Lord Beath. I’m that glad ye’ve come to speak with my lady. She could use yer help.”
Samantha sank into the desk chair and buried her face in her hands. The situation was now beyond mortifying.
“Not to worry, Mrs. Johnson,” she heard Braden say. “We’ll get it all sorted.”
“Fat chance,” Samantha muttered into her hands.
“Can I get ye some coffee, sir?”
“Don’t bother yourself. I’ll just finish what’s left in the pot.”
“Ye can’t. Lady Samantha drank it all.”
“Well, that’s not good.”
“Yer right about that, sir.”
