Doctor...to Duchess? Page 4

  “You’re married?” He made a stab at small talk, well aware he’d already clocked her ring-free hand.

  “Yes. Well...” She was flustered. “Was.”

  What was she now? Divorced? Separated?

  “Widowed.” She filled in the unasked question for him. “Just over a year and a half now.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.”

  “It was always a possibility.” Her voice was surprisingly even. Oliver looked up from taping her fingers with a questioning look.

  “The military life is an uncertain one,” she said without malice. “At least I’ve got the children.”

  Oliver felt his eyebrows raise another notch.

  “Children?”

  “Yes. Two.”

  “Did I see them today? I would’ve thought a fun day in a moat would be straight up a kid’s alley.” Children? She’d jammed a lot of living into her life. She didn’t look as if she was over thirty years old.

  “You’re not wrong there!” She laughed, a bit of brightness returning to her eyes as she continued. “They love it here—absolutely love it. But their school—it’s in Manchester—managed to lure them away from me for the weekend with the promise of a trip to London and a West End show.”

  “St. Bryar Primary not good enough?” The words were out before he could stop them. Oliver hadn’t gone there, so why he was getting defensive about the tiny village school was a bit of a mystery.

  “Not at all. You’ve got the wrong end of the stick.” Julia waved away his words. “My two—thirteen-year-old twins—are at the Music Academy in Manchester. I don’t know where they got it but they are unbelievably talented musicians. Cello for Henry and violin for Ella. Heaven knows they didn’t get it from me or their father.”

  “He wasn’t a musician?”

  “Heavens, no!” Julia laughed. “Special forces through and through.”

  “Yes, of course. You mentioned the military.” Oliver’s mind raced to put all of the pieces together. Widowed military mother, a GP, with children a good hour away at boarding school. What on earth was she doing here? Hiding away from the world?

  He watched as her blue eyes settled somewhere intangible. “His job was a different kind of creative. He saw his main mission as being a peacekeeper. Ironic, considering his job only existed because of war.”

  Oliver nodded for her to continue.

  “It seems people are always busy trying to stake their claim on this town or that country, while others are desperately trying to cling to the tiny bolt-hole they have, no matter how insignificant. It’s almost laughable, isn’t it? The messes we humans get ourselves into.”

  If her words hadn’t hit home so hard, Oliver would’ve immediately agreed.

  Every day with the Red Cross he saw the ill effects of war. Huge swathes of humanity moving from one camp to another. Lives lost over what, exactly? Half the time it was hard to tell what the endgame was.

  And now, sitting here in the tiny country hospital he had never imagined working in, it was next to impossible to divine what was significant in the world. The big picture? The small moments? The beautiful fingers resting on his palm? A torrent of emotion threatened his composure as he felt the heat of Julia’s hand cross into his.

  He looked up at Julia, unsurprised to see curiosity in her eyes.

  “No, it’s worse,” he answered with feeling. “It’s heartbreaking.”

  * * *

  If Oliver hadn’t left the small clinic when he did, Julia was certain her commitment to disliking him would have required some plasterwork. When she’d heard the first whisperings that the future heir of Bryar Estate had few to no plans to stick around once the place was his, she’d vowed to fight tooth and nail to keep the clinic open. If it could stand on its own two feet, there was no reason for it to be a factor in whatever he did with the rest of the estate.

  To keep her focus, she’d vowed to see Oliver as her mortal enemy. Of course, she’d done this before clapping eyes on her globetrotting nemesis. Who would’ve thought he’d be all sexy-academic-looking? And smell nice? And have long black eyelashes surrounding some seriously divine green eyes? Her normal composed, calm and collected disposition was feeling distinctly volcanic.

  Her laugh filled the empty exam room. Who was she kidding? Meeting Oliver had pulled the rug straight out from under her firmly planted feet. Up until now, life had been straightforward.

  Well, not really. Okay, not at all.

  Then when Matt had died everything had become an unknown. What did she know about being a thirty-something widow with two children and a general practice to build? Absolutely nothing.

  And now, finally—after so much soul-searching and a huge burst of encouragement from her children, who were joyously pursuing their passion for music—she’d found something that was her own. Something solid. Safe.

  Despite the clinic’s retro vibe, she loved every square of the stone exterior. Every bud on the climbing roses just threatening to blossom in the soft spring air. Every patient they helped in this chocolate-box village brought a smile to her lips. Speaking of which, she owed Dr. Carney an update before she went back to her cottage. The overnight nurse would give him his meds later but Julia always like to check in on him around teatime. He’d dedicated his life to this place, and she wanted him to know he’d made the best choice when he’d selected her to take over.

  She poked her head round the corner of his room and saw he was resting quietly. She placed a couple of fingers on his wrist and checked the heart-rate monitor. His obs looked good, considering. Truth of the matter was, she wasn’t all that sure how much longer he had, but nothing would stop her from making sure he had the most comprehensive care and comfort he could enjoy in his final days.

  “His heart’s in the right place, you know.”

  Julia started, realizing Dr. Carney wasn’t just talking in his sleep.

  “Who?” Stupid question. You both know who he’s talking about, ninny.

  “Oliver.” Dr. Carney opened his eyes to meet hers, and Julia was still amazed to see how clear and blue they were despite his rapidly declining health. “He’s just never really recovered and it makes being here...” He hesitated. “It makes all this quite difficult to deal with.”

  Recovered from what? Being born into gentry, being handed an amazing estate on a plate and rejecting it? Or did Dr. Carney mean something more immediate?

  “Do you mean seeing you here?” Julia sat down when he indicated she should perch on the side of the bed. She tugged at the corners of the handmade quilt one of the villagers had brought in.

  “Oh, I’m sure that wasn’t very nice for Oliver. We probably should have told him, but no. That wasn’t what I meant. I’ll leave him to tell you those things.”

  “Tell me what?” Julia felt the hairs prickle on the back of her neck.

  “It’s not my place to say, dear, but give him time. Patience.”

  “Dr. Carney, if you’re trying to get me to understand a man who is set to inherit all of this and chooses to be anywhere but here...” She paused for a moment. Telling Dr. Carney she thought a man passing up the chance to run his very own family practice was bonkers might not go down well. Then again, if Oliver’s plans didn’t involve the clinic at all, she had to ramp up her fight to keep it alive. She needed to know where she stood. “You don’t think he plans to sell the place, do you?”

  “Now that’s just idle gossip, my dear. Nothing’s been set into motion, has it?”

  Dr. Carney tutted as he gave Julia’s hand an affectionate pat. “I’ve probably already said too much. Just give him a chance. The two of you are an awful lot alike, you know.”

  “Ha! I find that hard to believe. He seems to like the high-flying life and I’m quite happy here in good old-fashioned St. Bryar.” Even as she said the words they didn’t sit well. The little she did know about Oliver was that he was passionate about medicine. And that he cared for Dr. Carney. It must’ve hurt coming in here and seeing a man he’d kn
own his whole life in this condition. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know the man at all. I guess his arrival just took me by surprise.”

  “It’s all right, dear. No one takes easily to change.”

  “Isn’t that the truth!” Julia quipped, meaning Oliver, then realized Dr. Carney had most likely meant her. Uh-oh. She thought she’d changed a lot since she’d come here. Maybe not. She peered at Dr. Carney, hoping for more answers, but he just smiled and looked toward the window. Just outside, a crab apple tree was in full blossom. Beautiful. If everything could stay exactly like this... Screech! Wait a minute. Embrace the change. Embrace the change. And give Oliver a chance. Maybe his plans for this place were for the better. Maybe he’d be sticking around for a while... An involuntary ribbon of excitement unfurled within her tummy.

  Easy, tiger. Stop reading into things.

  Julia gave Dr. Carney’s hand a small squeeze. “Rest now, Doctor, it’s been a long day.”

  Dr. Carney gave her a knowing smile. “Sweet dreams, Dr. MacKenzie.”

  * * *

  Oliver vaulted over the centuries-old stable door. It was how he’d always entered the kitchen as a boy and suddenly—some fifteen years since he’d done it last—he felt a rush of impulse to do it again.

  Sentimentality? Or just plain whimsy, because he’d met a beautiful woman? A beautiful woman who had tilted the world of St. Bryar on a whole new axis. He shrugged off the questions as a steaming stack of hot cross buns came into view.

  “Mr. Toff! Hands off!”

  The cry was familiar and so was the voice.

  “Clara!”

  “C’mere, you. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you since you’ve been back!” He was instantly surrounded with the same warm embrace he’d enjoyed as a boy and, after the shock of seeing Dr. Carney, he was grateful for the familiarity.

  Clara Bates had been with the family for over forty years and showed few signs of releasing her iron grip on the Bryar Hall kitchens.

  “It’s only been a few hours!” He pulled out of the tight embrace and held her at arm’s length. “Now. Tell me why I’m not allowed one of your delicious buns.”

  Pulling the platter of steaming baked goods out of his reach, she explained, “They’re for the Cakes and Bakes stall at the church.”

  “Sorry?” There’d never been so much as a toast soldier at church services in his day.

  “It’s new,” she continued with a broad smile. “One of our Dr. MacKenzie’s ideas. We’re raising money for one of those portable heart-attack machines.”

  “A portable AED?” he prompted. It was a good idea. In such a remote hamlet, they should have had one the second they’d come on the market. He should have thought of it. Then done something about it.

  “That’s it. If we make a certain amount, we can get a matching grant from the government or something like that. Dr. MacKenzie has all the bumph.”

  Oliver rocked back on his heels, finding purchase on the ancient cast-iron oven. Wait a minute: our Dr. MacKenzie? That was quick work. Making herself part of the woodwork here at St. Bryar was quite a feat, considering the villagers didn’t consider you a local unless your family had tucked a good three hundred years under their collective belts. Impressive. And ruddy annoying. He’d come back to nail down how things ticked at Bryar Hall, but with Julia changing things left, right and center, it didn’t seem anything would be still enough to get a proper perspective.

  He felt his soft spot for her become less pliable.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” the cook continued without noticing the creases beginning to form on Oliver’s forehead. “She’s just come along and blown a breath of fresh air into everything. Really made the place come alive again since your mother passed. Of course, it’s all very different from when the duchess was with us. Your mother was very traditional, wasn’t she? Liked things just so.” She gave Oliver a wide-eyed look and a squeeze on the arm.

  He knew what she meant. His mother had been renowned for living in the world of How Things Used To Be Done. If old-fashioned decorum was your thing, Bryar Hall was the place to be. One piece of cutlery out of place on a table laid for fifty, and his mother could’ve eagle-eyed it from the doorway. Oliver had always thought that was how everyone had liked things, as well. Surely he hadn’t misread his entire childhood?

  “Dr. MacKenzie’s not so much a stickler for the details, but she sure likes a good commotion! Seems there’s nothing she can’t lay her hand to and make it better. You should meet her. Birds of a feather, you two!”

  Birds of very different feathers, is more like it. He had always been hands-off when it came to the estate, and she was anything but.

  He drummed his fingers along the stove top, rattling through options. When he’d come home, his remit had seemed so clear: start the long-put-off handover of the estate with his father and decide once and for all how he would take on the mantle of Duke of Breckonshire.

  Home or away?

  Sell up or stay put?

  Suffocate under the aristocratic code or live freely as a conflict zone surgeon?

  Bish, bash, bosh.

  He knew he didn’t want to be here and so did everyone else. All he had to do was find a way to make cutting ties permanently as painless as possible. And what had things been from the moment he’d arrived? The polar opposite.

  How had Julia managed to get everyone here to don rose-tinted glasses? Even he’d been sucked in! Wild horses couldn’t have kept him from joining in that fun run.

  “Scooch. I have another batch of buns in the oven.”

  Oliver found himself being unceremoniously moved to the side as Clara bustled about the oven doors.

  “Are you sure there isn’t just one tiny bun free for me?”

  “What? And rob the village of a heart attack machine? Oliver!” Clara’s eyes went wide in mock horror before slipping one of the steaming currant buns onto the counter. “There you go, but I’ll leave you to tell Dr. MacKenzie why we won’t have hit our target if we’re twenty-five pence short.”

  Add fuel to Julia’s fire that he didn’t give a monkey’s about the locals? Hardly.

  “I’ll pay for it right now.” Oliver dug into his pocket and pulled out a bit of lint with a sheepish grin. “Put it on my account?”

  Perspective. That was what he needed to retain.

  A Cakes and Bakes sale was hardly going to make a difference to his ultimate decision, but perhaps having Julia here would make things easier. He hardly wanted to leave the clinic hanging in the wind, and she obviously saw the need for the country hospital to stand on its own two feet. Maybe that was why his father and Dr. Carney had hired her. She was putting down roots. Something they suspected he wouldn’t—couldn’t—do. That had always been for Alexander.

  He pushed away the thought. Some things weren’t worth revisiting.

  “What’s for supper tonight, Clara?”

  “Don’t expect the usual setup, love. Your father tends to eat a small meal in the library now with a good book by the fire. I can make you up something more hearty if you fancy. The larder’s always full.”

  Oliver raised his eyebrows in astonishment. His entire life, meals had been taken in the dining room. His parents had always insisted upon it. It was traditional. He tried to shrug off the surprise. He could hardly blame his father for not wanting to eat there alone. The formal dining room was formal. Not much fun if you were on your own.

  “Not to worry, Clara. I’ll eat with father.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and jogged up the stone stairwell to the main floor, wondering what else might be in store for him.

  The last thing he’d expected when he’d come home was to be the only thing about this place that hadn’t changed. Who would have thought all it would take to shift centuries of tradition was one very beautiful English rose?

  CHAPTER THREE

  “HELLO?” OLIVER PUSHED on the clinic door a bit harder. It wasn’t locked but the thing wouldn’t budge. It probably just
needed a good shove with his shoulder.

  “Hang on! Stop! You can’t come in.” Julia’s voice came through the curtained clinic door, clear as a bell.

  “I’m sorry?” Oliver knew he and Julia hadn’t gotten off to a particularly smooth start, but he didn’t think he’d be barred entry to the clinic.

  “You’re not supposed to be here!” Her voice sounded strained.

  “I didn’t think there were prescribed visiting hours,” Oliver snapped back. He’d been hoping to have a quiet visit with Dr. Carney—a game of chess, a bit of chat; perhaps a bit of fact-finding of his own. He guessed he didn’t need more of that. He knew where he stood with Julia. Loud and clear.

  “You’ll have to come round the back if you want to come in.”

  Oliver shifted the large newspaper cone of daffodils from one arm to the other and picked up his chess set. He’d never expected special treatment for having been born “up at the big house”—but this was a bit rich.

  He made his way around the small stone building, noting how well the flower borders and baskets looked. Julia or the gardener? He wasn’t sure, but he knew where he would lay his bets. At this point, he’d be surprised to hear a certain blond-haired, blue-eyed woman ever slept.

  The back door opened without a problem and in an instant his grumbly thoughts disappeared. Julia was halfway up a stepladder at the front door rather fetchingly twisted in an unraveled roll of wallpaper. Things had quite obviously not gone to plan.

  “Flowers!” Julia’s eyes opened wide with delight. She swiveled round on the ladder, and Oliver automatically lurched forward, dropping the flowers so he could grab her with a steadying hand as she swayed on the top of the steps.

  “Argh! Wrong hand!”

  “Sorry, sorry.”

  Julia held her left hand aloft as he shifted his hands to her waist, her right hand grabbing ahold of his shoulder as she tried to regain her balance. “I love daffodils! You shouldn’t have!”

  Still holding her waist, Oliver looked down at the daffodils then back up at her beaming smile. Awkward moment!