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Marcus thought for a moment and she could see his expres
sion go from pondering to curiosity, and then speculation. “Actually, no. I mean, he did quite a bit of what all young gentlemen do, drinking, parties, gambling hells—he glanced at her and then glanced away—and other things.”
“Mistresses?” She grinned.
“Innocent young women are not supposed to know about that,” he chided.
“And what makes you think I’m an innocent young woman?” Of course, she was innocent in a certain sense, and most likely the way he meant it, but for some reason it annoyed her that he thought her innocent. After all, while practicing medicine she’d certainly seen her share of things at which any young, innocent miss would most likely swoon.
He looked surprised at first at her comment, then laughed. That annoyed her more. She must still be tired from her lack of sleep to allow these things to bother her. Hopefully, she could remain pleasant during the upcoming delivery, which could be quite challenging, but also one of her favorite tasks, seeing a new life emerge from a woman’s body.
“Did you know Lord Sterling’s sister?” Since they were stuck in traffic and most likely Lizbeth’s labor would be for many hours, she might as well return to the subject at hand and get as much information about Edwin as she could from someone who knew him for years. The little bit she’d gleaned from Addie about Edwin’s sister wasn’t enough to satisfy her.
“Yes. Lady Lydia. Died very young. That was a sad case.”
Addie had mentioned an “undiagnosed illness.” Perhaps Marcus knew more. “How did she die?”
He shook his head. “She unexpectedly retired to the family’s estate from London in the middle of the Season. A few weeks later we received word that she died from an ‘undiagnosed illness’.”
Marcus’s information was the same as his sister’s. “That is very sad.”
There was much more to that tale. In fact, it was so blatantly suspicious that she was surprised Marcus told the story with a straight face. But then men weren’t as interested in gossip or scandals as women were. Most times.
He twisted in his seat and looked out the window. “We would make better time if we walked.”
“We can walk if you like. I always enjoy exercise.” Rayne reached for her bag.
Marcus rapped on the ceiling to stop the carriage. The driver opened the panel and looked down. “Yes, sir?”
“You can stop. We are going to walk the rest of the way. When you arrive at my house just put the carriage away. But we will need it later to return Dr. Stevens to her home.”
“Very good sir.”
As soon as there was a break in traffic, the carriage came to a stop and Marcus opened the door. After stepping out he reached for Rayne’s hand, helped her out, then took the medical bag from her hand.
* * *
Edwin allowed the man at the door of the Bath and County Club to assist him out of his coat. It had been a while since he’d visited the place. He used to spend hours and hundreds of pounds in the club, playing cards, drinking, and placing ridiculous bets in the betting book.
He cringed remembering one time after he was well into his cups that he bet Brennan how long it would take for a drop of rain to slide down the windowpane. Such foolishness.
Then, after a few hours of money and time wasted, he and his friends either visited a brothel, a mistress, or performed some outlandish public display of idiocy that invariably ended up in the newspapers.
Now, it all seemed so childish and useless. Had it only been three weeks since the race that ended with him flat on his back and staring up at the most beautiful doctor he’d ever seen in his life?
He felt as though a lifetime had passed. Aside from the one time Brennan and Manchester had visited him in the infirmary and were relieved of their flasks, he hadn’t seen his friends much at all.
Twice they called at his house, but once the fog of alcohol had cleared from his body and brain, he found his innate curiosity and neglected intellect rise again and he began raiding his library for books to read. And not just medical books.
He had his housekeeper remove all the brandy from the house and found the hardest part of being sober all the time was missing the habit of drinking away his guilt over his sister. But then, that was what had started him on his road to destruction three years before.
“Coffee, please,” he said to the footman who approached him with a bottle of brandy in his hand.
“Very good, my lord.” He turned back nary a flicker of surprise in his eyes, which surprised Edwin more.
He was perusing the newspaper and sipping on his coffee when Brennan and Manchester barged through the door and headed straight for him.
“What’s this?” Manchester’s brows were almost hidden by the few strands of hair on his forehead. He waved at Edwin’s coffee cup.
