The Artist's Healer - Regina Scott Page 0,18
room, one bed, and all our food and clothing were donated. Now we have a flat, a business, respect. We don’t have to wait in hope that others will support us.”
“Yes,” her mother acknowledged. “And I rarely see you.”
Frustration nipped at her. Abigail rubbed her forehead and prayed for patience. “I have also apologized for that. But I must paint, I must see to the shop. I was not born to be a lady who sits about all day doing embroidery.”
Her mother slumped, and too late Abigail remembered how she filled her days.
“And embroidery, alas, is all I appear to be good at,” her mother muttered.
“Never.” Abigail threw back the covers, climbed from the bed, and went to enfold her mother in a one-armed hug. “You gave me life, kept me safe from Father, instilled in me a purpose. You know Gideon adored you.”
She sniffed. “I miss your brother so. I wish he would write and let us know how he fares.”
They had not heard from Gideon for nearly six months now. He was serving with Wellesley in India, and Abigail couldn’t help fearing for his safety even as she deplored the cruel war there that decimated its people.
“I know, Mother,” she murmured. “But I’m here. Now, what did Mr. Hornswag have to say about dinner?”
Her mother brightened as she pulled back. “A nice ham and pea soup. I have a loaf from Mr. Ellison. Shall I bring you some?”
“I’ll join you in the dining room,” Abigail said.
“But Doctor Bennett…” her mother started.
“Will have to accustom himself to disappointment,” Abigail said, going to fetch her bed jacket and determined to put the handsome physician from her thoughts, at least for the moment.
~~~
Linus walked his son home down High Street. Ethan’s silence continued to concern him, though, at the moment, it was a blessing. His mind offered noise enough.
He knew his role as physician. He’d taken an oath to abstain from every voluntary act of mischief and corruption, to refuse to dole out poison when asked. Indeed, he worked to give his patients only the best—his attention, his knowledge, his experience, his time. It didn’t matter their gender, age, prestige, or wealth. Disease and infirmity knew no prejudice. He focused on healing, improving conditions, easing suffering.
But this evening, when he’d looked into Abigail’s eyes, he hadn’t seen a patient needing his care. He’d seen a woman—beautiful, vibrant, vital.
And that scared him.
He did not have a wealth of experience with women. He’d been studying for his profession since he’d been a youth, first under his father and then at the college in Edinburgh. He’d known what he wanted, where he was going. And then, he’d met Catriona, and all his carefully made plans had fluttered away like parchment caught in the wind. That experience had proven he knew little about love and marriage, and he had no plans to try again.
Surely he was wiser now. Surely his youthful passions had cooled. Abigail might intrigue him with her fiery hair and attitude to match, but he could admire without embroiling himself further.
Couldn’t he?
~~~
After a difficult night, Linus was certain he had mastered whatever maggot had entered his brain the previous evening. He dropped Ethan off and checked Abigail’s wound. He was congratulating himself on his professional approach when he caught himself inhaling the scent of peaches that clung to her. He made himself lean back.
“I am satisfied yesterday did not give you a setback,” he said, depositing the used bandage in his bag.
“Excellent,” she said. “Then I can attend Jesslyn at her wedding.”
“Let’s see how the next day or so goes,” he suggested.
He glanced up in time to see her face puckering. “You must make a decision, sir, and I pray it is the right one. You cannot deny me the opportunity to celebrate my dearest friend’s wedding.”
He would if he thought it would endanger her health, but he decided not to argue the point now. “Perhaps a few more sedentary pursuits in the meantime.”
That didn’t seem to make her any happier. She wiggled on the bed. “What about going to watch the militia practice with Mother and Ethan?”
“I thought they only met Monday, Wednesday, and Friday,” he said. “Today is Saturday, if I recall.”
“It is,” she allowed. “But Mr. Carroll came by last evening to let us know they were conducting a special drill today. Everyone else is going.”
“And you think this will be a particularly edifying sight,” he said, turning for his bag again.
“Oh, the last few drills have been highly