for those final moments, wished his father’s soul well on its eternal journey, but he hadn’t been. His father had not sent for him.
James sank into the russet leather chair, ran a hand across the surface of the desk, breaking a trail through the coating of fine dust that had accumulated since the Holland cloth cover had been removed in the past few days. It felt wrong, sacrilegious, to be sitting here in his father’s chair. He felt as if any second the old man would stride through the door and give the look that silenced all, restored everyone to their proper place.
His father would not be striding through that door, though. Thirteen months ago, James had seen his casket lowered into the muddy churchyard, had thrown the first handful of dirt onto the carved wood surface in the role of son and heir. His father was gone and with the Lord. This house, these grounds, all of it was now his. His and Amelia’s, as his father had wished. The message he had left behind was short, frank, utterly clear—bring Amelia to Finchingfield. Even from the grave, his father could control James’s life. He had delayed the reunion as long as possible, until his distaste for practicing medicine had grown too strong and he had conceded in the end. Letting his father win again.
Sighing, he closed his eyes, breathed in the familiar smells—musty books, pipe smoke, lemon wax. The aroma of disappointment and disapproval. James’s chest constricted. The sooner he claimed the house, the sooner he could banish the old man’s ghost from it.
The sooner he could lay to rest all the expectations of a man who had been more judge than father.
“The view from up here is amazing.” Rachel pushed the heavy brocade curtains aside. The countryside rolled and dipped, cows and sheep scattered like buff and ivory dots across the hillsides, and not far away stood the rooftops of the town, the giant vanes of the mill twirling in the wind. A world like Ireland and yet not like Ireland. Heather wouldn’t turn those hills purple in the late summer, and the dusky smoke from turf fires wouldn’t billow from those chimneys in the winter. But the scene was more pleasing than any view of London and made her homesick.
“It reminds me of home.”
“Humph,” Peg grumbled frostily, not acting in the least appreciative Rachel had volunteered to help her.
Rachel dragged her gaze off the scenery and unhooked the curtain rings from the panels, letting the first one drop to the floor in a cloud of dust. Mrs. Mainprice had chided her for wanting to do servant’s work, but the doctor had yet to meet with her about her tasks here and Rachel had thought cleaning out the bedchamber better than idling . . . and letting her thoughts wander where they didn’t belong.
“You are very fortunate to be coming to live here, Peg,” Rachel said, the charm of the countryside making her feel pleasantly disposed toward everyone, even Peg.
“Work’s work. Don’t much matter where it takes place.” Peg grunted as she shifted the mattress off the bedstead. “Miss Dunne,” she appended without a hint of respect.
“But it is much better for your health to work out in the countryside, away from the filth and grime of London. Don’t you think?”
The girl cocked a narrow eyebrow. “I haven’t a choice one way or ’tuther, have I?”
Rachel blinked back at her. “I suppose not.”
“Are you thinkin’ you’d a-like to live here, miss?”
“I haven’t a choice, Peg,” she echoed. “I intend to find work in London, since Dr. Edmunds does not need an assistant here.”
“No, he doesn’t now, does he?” Peg heaved the bed away from the wall, the legs of the frame scraping across the boards. “Doesn’t need you at all.”
Rachel lifted her chin. She should have stayed in the kitchen with Mrs. Mainprice, where she wouldn’t be treated like an interloping pariah. “Mrs. Mainprice suggested I ask the doctor if he has a position in the household for me.”
“As a servant, miss?”
“What else, Peg?”
Peg’s lips quirked. “I dunno.”
Rachel did not mistake the implication behind Peg’s words, and her cheeks flared with heat. Peg believed she had designs on Dr. Edmunds. Hadn’t even Joe thought as much? Did everyone believe that had been Rachel’s true reason for coming to Finchingfield House today, to stay near the doctor?
To be near him out in an open meadow, just the two of them, the scent of grass and earth running in her