brother-in-law to provide you with a character reference.” Mrs. Woodbridge gazed along the length of her patrician nose, her eyes two chips of obsidian honed to slice. “Ah well, James is a good man and likely shall. Sometimes, though, his heart is far too soft. He has a tendency to pity the unfortunate and downtrodden. The wretched of this world.”
Rachel bristled. “He is not providing me a character reference out of pity, Mrs. Woodbridge. I have done good work and deserve his recommendation.” Though she had feared he would refuse for reasons she would never tell Sophia Woodbridge.
“I cannot judge the quality of your work. I must leave that to James, but I do worry—you must understand, Miss Dunne—about the soundness of his judgment when it comes to a pretty face like yours.” Her eyes flashed like the edge of a blade. “He can be lonely in this house and deeply misses the companionship of his wife. James loved Mariah, my dear sister, more deeply than words could ever describe. She was the best of women, the loveliest, the most accomplished. Any other woman could only pale in comparison.”
Such as me?
Rachel returned Mrs. Woodbridge’s stare. “I have occupied too much of your time, Mrs. Woodbridge. I have a tea to make.”
Gathering her skirts in her fist, Rachel hurried back into the house. Awful, spiteful creature. The woman was just being mean because she despised the Irish. Delighting in telling Rachel that she was inferior to Mariah Edmunds. So smug, so cruel. Didn’t she realize Rachel already knew she could never expect to gain Dr. Edmunds’s affection?
Rachel raced through the back door and collided with Joe on the other side, her basket slamming into his chest.
Joe reached for her arms to hold her steady. “’ey there, miss, now, what’s wrong ’ere?”
“That woman is dreadful,” Rachel spat through gritted teeth.
His brows jerked high and his mouth quirked. “Miss Guimon’ used to b’lieve so too.”
There. That made the last.
James closed the file and packed it in the box with the others. He had updated every patient file and placed each one in its appropriate stack—some bound for Dr. Calvert, some for Thaddeus, some even for young Hathaway. He would appreciate that.
Standing, James rubbed the stiffness out of his back and made a circuit of the room, inhaling the long-familiar smells with a twinge of nostalgia. Foolish, really, to be bittersweet about the room. Soon he would never again have to worry if the aroma of camphor bothered his patients, especially the more delicate ones. Or if the settee was comfortable enough. In three days, London would be fading into the distance and the clear skies of Finchingfield—not misty soft like those of Ireland, but blue enough for him—would be on his horizon.
He glanced at the boxes of notebooks and ledgers, rising on his desk like headstones to his medical career. The moving agency was collecting the first crates today and everything was ready. The momentum propelling him forward was unstoppable now, a force like water rushing over a falls, months’ worth of planning fully engaged. He was going to walk away from it all. He was going to become a gentleman farmer at last.
So why the unnerving certitude that, just around the next bend in the path of his life, he would encounter a brick wall?
Lord, help me come to peace with this decision.
James shut the office door behind him and tossed the key upon the entryway table. It would go with the other keys Thaddeus would be collecting soon, when he came to take temporary control of the house until the new tenant arrived.
Mrs. Mainprice was humming as she scrubbed down the hallway wainscoting in Peg’s absence—probably the last time that task would be required of any member of his diminishing staff. She lifted her head as he passed.
“Miss Amelia’s in the garden, sir,” she said, a statement he could either interpret as a warning or encouragement.
“I should see how she is doing today.”
“Do you wish me to bring lemonade out to you, sir?”
“I won’t be out in the garden that long, Mrs. Mainprice.” He wouldn’t push himself just yet. One step at a time. And with the grace of God, each step getting easier as he took it.
Sophia was reading beneath the pear tree while Amelia danced her dolls across the rim of the fountain, the sunlight warm on her bright curls. They composed a lovely familial tableau, as charming as any painting. Yet here he was, little more than an