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I nodded, stepping forward, when she rose from the bed angrily, holding her arms over herself.
“I do not wish to be looked to. I am fine.”
“Silva, please do not be difficult—”
“Difficult?” She tilted her head, and I wished for escape, as I did not desire to be a witness to a murder. “Dr. Darrington.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“I thank you for your dedication today. We have greatly monopolized your time. However, I assure you, it is much too early for a doctor, months too early,” she said, giving me a look that I read clearer than any book.
“Ah, I understand. I shall take my leave—”
“Wait!” Damon held his hand out to me. “What do you mean months too early? So you are aware of your ailment and wish to delay treatment? In what way does that make sense? You are being illogical, and I am quite surprised by your agreement, Dr. Darrington.”
I hung my head as if to pray for the fool.
“If this child grows to be illogical, it will be a trait inherited from you.”
In the silence, I glanced up to see his face at the implication behind her words. He stared dumbstruck, mouth agape, eyes wide, and his wife did her best not to break out in a fit of giggles. It was then he turned to me, and never had I seen Damon Du Bell so blissfully happy.
“I shall leave you both. Good evening, and congratulations.” I showed myself out, closing the door behind me, as neither of them could speak.
It was only in my absence that they began to laugh on the other side. It brought a small smile to my face and a hint of jealousy as I walked down the stairs. How marvelous his life was, how simple, how life ought to have been for everyone. To find a mate they desired, wed, and have a child, to worry not of status or wealth or name.
Upon reaching the exit, I glanced around their home once more and found myself finally able to leave. I was not destined for this, and staying only brought further misery to myself.
Reaching beyond oneself and one’s place in the world led only to tragedy.
16
Verity
I waited until noon, then all day, but he did not come.
Instead, he sent a letter saying he had been held up with another patient in dire need. He left directions for Bernice to call for him should I feel any significant discomfort. And it was quite childish of me to be so very…upset by it. There very well could have been an emergency, since those seemed to plague him wherever he went. Nevertheless, I still thought—I still wanted him to come to me. I told myself that surely he would visit, but he did not, and my anger turned to hurt. Once again he was running from me.
I sat in the garden, as the marchioness believed it would do me good to take in the fresh air. She was another person I worried over. She had not said a word about my behavior but was clearly more reserved in my presence. Sighing, I opened my journal to write.
May 20, 1813
I feel myself to be a bush with a single rose surrounded by thorns. I wish to produce more flowers, yet I create only briar instead. How many roses are required of a plant before it is considered a rose bush and not a thorn one?
What good is it to be wellborn
But under the throes of shadows?
Composed in daylight, overwrought at moonlight.
A horror…
“My lady,” Bernice called from behind me as I wrote. “Dr. Darrington is here to see you.”
Immediately, I stood up and turned around. There he was, standing in a dark-blue waistcoat, bag in hand, his face a bit flushed, as if he had run here. He stared at me calmly regardless.
“Lady Verity—”
“Dr. Darrington—”
We both spoke at the same time. He nodded for me to go first as I nodded for him to do the same. Now we both looked at each other.
He took a step forward. “Lady Verity, forgive me for the intrusion. How are you?”
How was I?
“I feel rather neglected by my physician of late,” I replied sternly.
“Forgive me, there was a fever that spread amongst some families at Langley Cross. I did not seek to be neglectful,” he replied and I watched him for a moment before nodding.
“Were you able to cure this fever?”
“I did my best…but not all have recovered,” he replied and the sorrow upon his face made me feel a bit guilty for my earlier lamenting. “Your head, how is it? Please sit so I may see.”
I immediately sat and, in so doing, remembered my journal. When I moved to close it quickly, I spilled the ink not only upon the table but also my dress.
Why!
“My lady!” Bernice rushed to aid me, though there was nothing to clean it with, so she merely pulled the table away so as not to get further ink on my dress. “Come, my lady, we shall get you changed.”
