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Chapter Four
Bliss Manor
Etta was mortified.Intrigued. Smitten. A dark handsome man swooped down from the wintery sky to save them.Oh, horse feathers!She sounded like one of Tia’s romance novels. She studied Dr. Wharren from beneath her lashes. Thick, raven hair, a square chin with a slight cleft in it, and deep green eyes. Like a pine forest, cool and dark, where she could wander and lose herself. An elbow jabbed her in the side, and she gritted her teeth. Even Tia noticed her prolonged gape.
“How long have you lived here?” Etta decided it would be best to avoid too many questions about their journey to Scotland. Mrs. Miller had told her a man’s favorite subject was himself.
“I’ve been coming here since I can remember. It’s my grandmother’s estate, and I’ve inherited it.” He nodded at the wrought iron bars as the carriage passed through the gate. “We spent most of our summers on these grounds.”
“So, you’ve returned to claim your inheritance?”
“Yes, I’m on a retreat of sorts.” His gaze raked over her face, then settled on her mouth.
The heat rose up her neck at the intimate look. Flustered, she struggled to find another question. “Do you practice in London?”
He nodded. “In fact, I delivered my first nephew just before I left.”
“The much-anticipated heir?” She smiled. “Your brother or sister’s?”
“Pardon me, I expect you are wondering what kind of company you are keeping. My brother is Lord Bramer. I am the fourth son of the late Earl of Bramer, hence my career in medicine.” He tipped his hat. “And you, madam?”
“Nothing so regal, I assure you. My father, Lord Comden, was a baron.”
“Was? I’m sorry to hear that.” The carriage stopped and Tia poked her head out. “Let’s get you inside. Mrs. Willoughby, my housekeeper, will be beside herself with two young ladies to fuss over.”
Beyond the window was a wide portico with steps that led up to huge double oak doors. It was difficult to see much of the shadowed structure, except that it was massive and rambled on in both directions. And welcoming. Etta felt an immediate affinity with Bliss Manor.
MacIntyre opened the door, anxiously peering inside. He held out a hand and waited for his charges. With a wink at Tia, Dr. Wharren put his hand in the Scot’s and stepped down.
“Thank you, good sir. Terribly long step down, you know,” the doctor said in a pompous voice. “Now if you don’t mind assisting the ladies.”
The horrified look on MacIntyre’s face as Dr. Wharren squeezed the Scot’s hand sent the entire group into gales of mirth. They stood outside on the paved stone, the snow still falling, doubled over with laughter. Even MacIntyre reluctantly joined in.
“Th-thank you,” Etta said, catching her breath. “You have no idea how much we needed some merriment.”
“My pleasure, Miss Comden,” he acknowledged with a gallant bow.
The door opened, spilling light onto the portico. A rotund woman with a mobcap and brown curls bustled down the steps. “Oh, Master Gus, er, Dr. Wharren, what have you brought home?”
“I found two waifs along the road with a splintered carriage wheel and saved the day.” He chuckled at the housekeeper’s dismayed scowl. “Miss Comden and Miss Horatia are in need of shelter for a night.”
“Goodness.” Her palms covered her rosy cheeks. “I’ll have Sally open the first two guest rooms in the main hall. They’ll be across from each other, then. Are you hungry, my lady, or do you prefer to go straight up? Would you like a hot bath?”
Etta gave the housekeeper a grateful smile. “It’s Miss, not Lady, and please don’t go to any trouble. We would like to freshen up, and yes, we are ravenous. But a cold supper is all that’s necessary.”
“Pish to that, after you’ve been stuck in the cold. Pardon my impertinence, ma’am. It’s been too long since we’ve had guests. Sally and I will find something warm and filling.”
“Marmalade,” Tia said.
Mrs. Willoughby beamed and nodded. “He’s told you about that, has he? I won’t forget.” She cocked her head, eyes narrowed as she saw the stranger unload a trunk and called out, “Johns, guest rooms one and two, please, and find a bed for your friend. Then send him to the kitchen so Sally can feed him.”
MacIntyre sneezed as he assisted Johns with the luggage. Tia frowned, studying the older man’s lined face, then ran to him. She reached up and put the back of her hand on his forehead, then his cheek.
“He’s fevered.”
“I’m fine. Be off with ye, now,” he mumbled gruffly. “Ye dinna coddle a Scot.” He eased the largest trunk on his shoulder and waited for Johns to show him where to go.
Etta swore Mrs. Willoughby’s eyes lit up. “A fever, you say?” She hurried over and did the same as Tia. “You’re burning up, Mr…?”
