Marrying Winterborne (The Ravenels #2) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,50
“She informed me it was a fait accompli, the presumptuous chit.”
“You did say last month that you needed an assistant, aye?”
“One of my choosing, since I’m the one who will be called upon to train and guide him.”
“Do you doubt her proficiency?” Rhys asked.
Havelock could have destroyed Garrett Gibson’s incipient career with a simple “yes.” However, he was too honest to take that route. “Had any man come to me with her qualifications, I would have hired him on the spot. But a woman? There’s too much prejudice to overcome. Even the female patients will prefer a male doctor.”
“At first. Until they become accustomed to the idea.” Seeing the objection on the older man’s face, Rhys continued with a hint of amused chiding, “Havelock, I employ hundreds of hardworking women who demonstrate their skill every day. Recently I promoted a salesgirl to manager of her department, and her performance has been equal to that of any man at her level. And obviously Fernsby’s abilities are beyond question. I’m not a radical, Havelock; these are facts. Therefore, as men of reason, let’s give Dr. Gibson a chance to prove herself.”
Havelock reached up to tug fractiously at a lock of white hair as he considered the situation. “I’ve fought enough battles for one lifetime. I have no desire to take part in women’s struggles against injustice.”
Rhys smiled, his gaze unrelenting.
The doctor let out a sighing groan, acknowledging that he was being given no choice in the matter. “Damn you, Winterborne.”
THE DAY WAS bitterly cold, the air laced with frost that stung the nose and chilled the teeth. Helen shivered and gathered her wool half-cape more tightly about her neck, and pressed her numb lips together in a futile effort to warm them.
According to the rules of mourning, enough time had passed since Theo’s death that the Ravenel sisters could now respectably leave their faces uncovered in public, so long as they wore veils draped down the backs of their hats or bonnets. Helen was grateful that she no longer had to squint through a layer of black crepe.
The Ravenel family and a handful of servants were about to depart London on a train bound for Hampshire. It seemed to Helen that Waterloo Station, a ten-acre system of sheds filled with a complex web of platforms and additions, could not have been more perfectly designed to cause the maximum amount of confusion for travelers. The volume of travelers practically doubled each year, forcing the station to expand in an ad hoc fashion. To make matters worse, the railway employees often gave contradictory information about where a train would arrive or depart. Porters carried luggage to the wrong trains and guided people to the wrong hackney carriage ranks and booking offices. Passengers seethed and shouted in frustration as they milled inside the open-sided sheds.
Helen jumped at the sound of a nearby brass orchestra that began to play a regimental march with strident enthusiasm. The first battalion of the Coldstream regiment had been brought down from Chichester, and a crowd had gathered to cheer their arrival.
Annoyed by the uproar, Devon said to Kathleen, “I’m going to find out where our blasted train is. Don’t move an inch until I return. I’ve already told the footman that any man who approaches you or the girls is to be beaten to a pulp.”
Looking up at him, Kathleen placed her feet firmly on the planks as if rooting herself.
Devon shook his head with a reluctant grin. “You don’t look obedient in the least,” he informed her, stroking her cheek with a gloved finger.
“Am I supposed to?” Kathleen called out as he left.
“It would be interesting to see at least once,” he retorted over his shoulder without breaking stride.
Laughing, Kathleen went to stand beside Helen.
While the wide-eyed twins viewed the procession of Coldstreams, dressed in brilliant scarlet tunics trimmed with gold buttons, Kathleen sobered and glanced at Helen’s subdued expression with concern. “I’m sorry we have to leave London.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Helen said. “I’m perfectly content.”
It wasn’t true, of course. She was worried about being separated from Rhys for so long. Especially in light of how infuriated he’d been at her refusal to elope. He wasn’t accustomed to waiting or being denied something he wanted.
Ever since Rhys had left Ravenel House, Helen had written to him daily. In the first letter, she had asked about his health. In the second she had told him about the family’s travel plans, and in the third, she had dared