The Artist's Healer - Regina Scott Page 0,57
the fact.”
Abigail looked to where Linus was speaking with Doctor Owens. He glanced up and met her gaze, then excused himself and strode to her side. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, her face. Her heart.
“Abigail,” he greeted her with all politeness even though she caught Jess’s pleased smile at the use of her first name. “I know you and Mrs. Denby must have work on the Regatta. Would you have a few moments to talk?”
“Of course.” She excused herself from her friend and followed him toward the bronze wall clock. Mrs. Harding, seated in her usual spot by the windows, nodded her approval as they passed.
He leaned closer, and she caught a whiff of mint. “I signed the lease on the house this morning. Mrs. Kirby says I may move in whenever we like. I have only a few furnishings from London—my desk and chair, Ethan’s bookcase, and a small table my mother favored.”
She had to force her mind to focus. “Mrs. Catchpole will know who’s available to help move. The house has beds, a dining table and chairs, glass hutch, and settee, if I recall. What else would you like? Mrs. Kirby keeps catalogs from all the major furniture manufacturers and cabinet makers in Dorset and London. We can order what we need and have it delivered. What’s your budget?”
He grimaced. “Seeing as how I just took a cut in pay, not as much as I’d like. Besides the basic necessities, which we appear to have covered, there are the table and cabinets for the examining room.”
“I’ll speak to Jesslyn about those,” Abigail said. “I believe she put some of her father’s things up in the attic when she and Lark moved into Shell Cottage. I’m sure she’d rather they went to good use.”
He nodded. “There is one other item,” he said, so hesitantly she could not imagine what it could be. “I’d like a painting for over the hearth in the withdrawing room. One of your paintings.”
Warmth pulsed through her. “I’d be honored.”
His smile had her leaning closer before she thought better of it. He was moving to meet her.
Then his head snapped up so fast she felt the rush of air. “Was there something you needed, sir?” he asked.
Abigail turned to find Doctor Owens standing beside them, smile amused. “Miss Archer, Doctor Bennett. Forgive the interruption, but a rumor has been brought to my attention, and I thought to track it to its source.”
Had he too heard she was helping Linus with his new home? Her cheeks heated, but he looked to Linus first.
“Is it true you were abducted by French agents?”
Abigail blew out a breath even as Linus put on a smile.
“Two gentlemen were rather insistent on my help,” he told the other physician. “We believe they may be French.”
“Some say they come through the castle on the headland,” Owens confided. “Secret caves, I believe the story goes.”
Only a few knew the French had been using the caves beneath the castle as a way to sneak ashore without anyone seeing them. Who had mentioned the matter to a Newcomer?
“Not much of a secret if rumors are flying,” Abigail told him.
“And I have had no further trouble,” Linus added. “I can only hope they have left the area, perhaps with willing smugglers or a crossing in the night.”
Doctor Owens nodded. “Then there’s to be no action by the militia.”
“No, worse luck,” Abigail said. “Though the soldiers at West Creech did make a search, I understand. Never fear, Doctor. We will not allow a French victory in Grace-by-the-Sea.”
Linus merely nodded, but he was regarding her again as if he very much feared she was about to take a risk too big for her, and him.
~~~
A few miles away, across the Downs, a caravan of coaches rolled along the road to Grace-by-the-Sea. Drake, the newly belted Earl of Howland, had driven this way many a time over his thirty years, but never with so much riding on his shoulders. His late father had been a man well known throughout the realm and feared no little by those who’d understood him best. Three of them sat in the carriage with him now.
“How much longer, Father?” Miranda asked, swaying back and forth in her seat as she tried to catch a glimpse of their new home out the window.
“Will you please stop asking that question?” her grandmother fretted, face the same shade of white as the hair that peeked out of her tall, feathered bonnet. “We