The Artist's Healer - Regina Scott Page 0,52

been sketching since I was a child, but Jess’s father encouraged me to paint, and I think even he was surprised when I turned out to be good at it. Still, it took me a while to figure out my paintings could help pay our way, then to convince the members of the Spa Corporation board at the time to allow me to open the shop where others could sell their handicrafts. They thought I was too young, too untried. Jess’s father supported the idea, so the others agreed to give it a try. Now we support ourselves. We need no one’s pity.”

But perhaps their respect, their admiration. He could see it in the way her gaze went off across the grass, the proud set of her chin. She had every right for pride. She had made a way for herself and her mother.

His father had been revered by the soldiers he tended. They knew their lives rested in his hands and that he would do all he could to be worthy of their trust. Linus felt the same way about his patients. Abigail had taken on the burden of supporting not only her family but others in the village. She should be commended.

Yet those who were used to leading sometimes found it hard to follow. And she had been raised by a man she could not trust. Would she trust any more easily now?

Mrs. Archer trotted back to the blanket, smile broadening her face. “Such a fine young man, your Ethan. You must be very proud of him, Doctor Bennett.”

“I am blessed to have such a son,” Linus assured her. “As you are blessed with a remarkable daughter.”

Abigail glanced at him, brows up in obvious surprise. Then her gaze traveled past him.

The smile she effected was patently false as she rose. “Someone’s watching us from the trees. It could be one of your French assailants. Hurry! Let’s catch him!”

Chapter Sixteen

Abigail dashed toward the trees, sure that Linus would follow. The shadow she’d spotted ran, and she chased him deeper into the green. Brown coat, brown breeches, brown boots, a cloth cap pulled low. She couldn’t even be sure of the color of his hair as he fled from sunlight to shade.

“Stop!” she shouted. “In the king’s name!”

That only made him run faster.

“Abigail!” Linus’s voice pulled her up short, and she waited for him to reach her side. He put a hand on her good arm. “Stay here.”

“Why?” she asked, but he was already striding past her. She followed.

They broke from the trees. Like courtiers before their king, the grass of the Downs bowed in the breeze. A lone rider was swiftly disappearing on the road to Upper Grace.

“He had a horse waiting.” Abigail threw up her hands, then winced as her arm gave her a nip.

Linus rounded on her. “He could have had colleagues waiting. Do you have any idea how dangerous it was to run after him? You aren’t even armed.”

“Neither are you,” she argued. “And you came along readily enough.”

“To protect you!” He put both hands on her shoulders and peered into her face. “You took a risk, and an unnecessary one. Do you think me incapable of defending myself and my family?”

“Apparently more capable than you think me,” Abigail said, pain spreading. “Please remove your hands. You’re hurting my arm.”

Immediately he stepped back, face paling. “Forgive me. Do you need a sling?”

“No. Nor do I need laudanum or an examination of any sort. I’m going to walk back to my mother now, and I don’t require your assistance to do that either.” Eyes burning, she turned and marched for the trees. He did not follow.

Abigail slowed her steps and rubbed at her eyes. What, was he no different than the other men she’d known after all? She’d thought more of him. Her father, Mr. Greer, even the vicar didn’t deem it a woman’s place to support herself or make decisions about life-and-death matters. She wasn’t foolish, uneducated, or incapable. Why must she trust that some fellow, who was just as fallible as she was, would come to her rescue in any situation? One never had before.

“Is everything all right?” her mother asked as she rejoined them. Her mother must have called Ethan in, for she sat on the blanket with one arm around the boy, who was once more clutching the kite, face tight.

“Fine, Mother,” she said, keeping her voice light for Ethan’s sake. “I repacked the hamper. When Doctor Bennett returns, we should go.”

Her mother’s