Doctor...to Duchess? Page 7

  “It’s nothing particularly special—there are plenty of others with a much higher renown, if you’re into that sort of thing,” he replied briskly, reaching out to steer her away from the grand entrance hall after allowing himself a micromoment to scan their surroundings. They weren’t opulent in an ostentatious way. The restrained elegance of the marble flooring, a dual twist of matching mahogany stairwells, enormous swathes of Persian rugs and walls covered in well-chosen artwork spoke of the centuries of care and craftsmanship that had brought a select renown to Bryar Hall. Too bad every beautiful nook and cranny also hid a private sorrow, a painful memory.

  “Aha!” Her eyes sparkled with delight. “I knew it. You do love it! How could you not? Are these portraits family members?”

  “What?” Oliver turned to meet Julia’s delighted expression. She wasn’t to know there was a noticeable absence. Noticeable to him, anyway.

  “A few. Most. Let’s get on, then, shall we?”

  “Feign to deny it, Oliver Wyatt. I saw love in your eyes when we walked in here. Or is it—?” She stopped speaking, her own eyes clouding as she looked at him intently, scrutinizing his face as if it would reveal his secrets. Her face was so open, honest—the antithesis of the unwritten codes of conduct for England’s upper classes. Oliver felt another rush of desire to tell her everything. To bare it all and just see what happened.

  “This can’t be a burden to you, can it?” Julia put a hand on his arm as she unwittingly hit the emotional bull’s eye. The first person ever to do so.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just an old house, nothing more.” Oliver cleared his throat, gave her hand a conciliatory pat and pointed her toward a staircase. “Come along, then, Dr. MacKenzie. Let’s get you sorted.”

  * * *

  Julia dutifully followed Oliver as he loped up the stairs two at a time in long-legged strides. She’d seen something in his eyes that had spoken to her very marrow. What was it that kept him away from such an amazing place? Surely there had been good times here? Many reasons to preserve the family home? The estate. A community. An interwoven support system of people. “Home is where the heart is!” Matt had always riposted whenever she’d daydreamed aloud of the “little house with a picket fence” scenario. “We’ll have plenty of time to do that sort of thing!”

  Perhaps it wasn’t something they’d been meant to have together. She was so grateful to be able to give her children that solid base she’d always longed for. A home. But heartbroken at the price she’d had to pay. Looking around the beautiful surroundings, she had to stifle a laugh. This place was a far cry from her little cottage. A luxurious five-star setting with its arms flung wide-open.

  Her children loved it here. She was loath to tell Oliver they’d all but moved in with his father over the Christmas holidays. He’d been planning on going to his gentleman’s club in London but weather had snowed them in. They’d all been appalled at the idea of leaving him on his own and had made an enormous plate of gingerbread cookies for him on Christmas Eve, after which they’d ended up spending the rest of the holidays together. Reading by the fire, playing board games, playing music, chatting about the house and its history. It had been absolutely lovely.

  Her cottage suited her to a T. But being here in the main house? She had to admit, it took her breath away. A true testament to the glories of yesteryear. If she’d been wearing crinolines she would’ve looked more at home. She mentally superimposed her face onto one of the portraits of a woman in a Victorian bonnet with ringlets just peeking out beneath the lace.

  “What’s so funny?” Oliver’s tone implied he’d mistaken her burble of laughter for mockery.

  “Cool it.” Julia tried her best to placate him. “Just enjoying the view.”

  “It is quite special, isn’t it?” Without her having noticed, Oliver had drifted back down the stairs to stand just behind her. His brisk demeanor seemed to have dissipated up and away into the sky-lit dome of the hall. His face visibly softened as he scanned the room. There was obviously much more to this man than she’d given him credit for. Her first impressions— Well, her first impressions had been downright physical, but as to his character? She was sure there was a kinder, gentler side to his periodically gruff demeanor. Was he seeking balance between the two? How else could you explain that the same man who had a clear passion for caring, healing, for helping people survive life’s hardships, was so emotionally withdrawn from his own family?

  “I don’t understand it.”

  “What? The house?”

  “No. How reserved you are about this place when everything about it represents your family.”

  A flash of pain—or was it fury?—shot through Oliver’s eyes and drove directly into Julia’s heart.

  “Maybe forty-eight hours isn’t quite long enough for you to read me as well as you think you can.”

  “It wasn’t an accusation, Oliver. I am just trying to understand.”

  “Understand what, exactly?” Oliver countered.

  “Why you stay away so much when you obviously love it.” She let her words fill the space between them. He shot her another look, one intent on divining where her line of questioning was coming from. She felt herself straighten up under the scrutiny of his green eyes. There was nothing to fear in them, only questions to be answered.

  “Simple. I love my job and I can’t do it here.” Oliver broke their eye contact and gave the hall a final, cursory scan before resuming a brisk assent up the stairs.

  Interesting. It was an answer, but Julia was pretty certain it wasn’t the answer. Then again, maybe it was that simple. She’d not wanted a job in Manchester or London or Timbuktu. She’d wanted to be exactly where she was because the place spoke to her. Maybe that was what Oliver felt when he wasn’t tethered anywhere. At home. Who was she to judge?

  “Here we are.” Oliver’s voice sounded unexpectedly gruff as he opened a door just a short walk along the landing. “Everything you need should be in your room. I had one of the house staff pack up a few of your things while we were out. If you need anything else, ring me at the clinic and I can fetch it from your cottage.”

  “At the clinic?”

  “I’m heading over. No doubt we’ll catch up later in the afternoon.”

  Julia felt herself bristling. The clinic was her turf, at least for now. “Honestly, Oliver, don’t worry. A quick shower will sort me out and I’ll walk over to the clinic. If I need anything from the cottage, I can get the things myself.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  She fought the impulse to fold her arms across herself as he scanned her blood-and mud-covered clothes. How could a pair of eyes have such a physical impact?

  “You’re soaking wet, filthy and most likely in need of a rest. You worked hard this morning. It was a tough job.” He flashed her a smile. “Don’t fret, Dr. MacKenzie. I am quite capable of looking in on Dr. Carney and seeing to anyone else who might pop by. I didn’t get my degree via carrier pigeon.”

  “I wasn’t doubting your abilities.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment to try and regroup. Bickering with Oliver was hardly going to help her mission to prove she could run the clinic on her own. “I just—I just wanted to make sure you were all right, as well.”

  “Of course,” He looked bewildered at her change of tack. “Why do you ask?”

  She hesitated, wondering how far she dared tread into dangerous territory. Safe. Just play it safe. “It was a tough morning for me and I’m not used to receiving such royal treatment.” She blushed at her own use of words and tried to wave them away before they settled. “You’ve been very generous. I’m a bit too used to fending for myself, so...thank you.”

  Without a moment’s thought, Julia rose onto her tiptoes—pulled by an organic instinct—and kissed his cheek. In that instant, time took on an otherworldly pace. Her senses set alight as she felt her cheek moving against the soft stubble of an early five o’clock shadow. Heated tingles showered through her as Oliver’s scent ca
me to her—full, spicy, commingling with the morning’s hard graft. Was it his breath or hers she heard caught in a throat? Had he leaned in toward her as she’d risen to kiss him? Was it his hand or hers that had caught the others for balance? She felt her pulse flare in her lips as she withdrew them from his cheek, just barely missing his lips, her mind a jumble of wayward thoughts.

  Had she stood there, lips pressed to his cheek, for microseconds or the length of a sigh? She raised her eyes to his and saw they, too, were searching for answers—answers she couldn’t give.

  “Sorry, I—”

  “Not to worry.” His voice was light but the expression on his face told another story. Oliver had felt it, too. The connection. Something between them had shifted. Or fitted into place.

  Oliver pointed to the sage-colored door. “Off you go, then. I’d best get a move on.”

  And for the second time that morning she watched as he retreated, her brain exploding with questions and sensory overload. Could home be a person?

  Being with Matt had all come about as a happy fluke—they’d known the same childhood, the rhythms of how the other ticked. They’d been a good fit. They’d been great friends and lovers. But had she felt anything like this? Honestly? She closed the door behind her and leaned heavily against it.

  Being with Oliver felt exhilarating and new.

  She and Matt had known each other since they’d been kids—the only steady thing in each other’s lives. The best of friends. A sudden overseas assignment for Matt on her twenty-first birthday—his first to a combat zone—had led to a tearful goodbye which, well, had led to two beautiful twins. Rather than let an early pregnancy stand in their way, they’d vowed to marry and support each other so they could each realize their dreams—hers as a doctor and his as a commander in the SAS. His had come to fruition almost straight away. Hers? She felt her teeth dig into her lower lip. Her professional dream did come true—just not in the way she’d imagined.

  A door slammed shut below, jolting Julia out of her trip down memory lane. Was there any point in rehashing old dreams? Not really. Especially when, against the odds, it seemed as though other dreams were beginning to sneak into the old one’s place.

  * * *

  An hour later, and smelling decidedly fresher, Julia walked into the clinic fully expecting a waiting room bursting with patients. Instead, she found the place quiet as can be. A small cinch of disappointment tightened in her stomach. Oliver had said he’d be there, but it seemed he’d reneged on his offer. She tried to shrug away the feeling. It wasn’t like she had a hold over the guy or anything. Might as well sort out the clinic. There was nothing a good cleaning session couldn’t fix.

  She pulled open the door to one of the exam rooms, surprised to find Oliver in her chair preparing to lance what looked like a remarkably unpleasant boil on Nathan Tremblay’s neck.

  “Oh! So sorry, Mr. Tremblay.” She found herself giving Oliver a shy smile. What was that about? She didn’t do shy!

  “Apologies, Dr. Wyatt, I didn’t realize you were in here.”

  “It’s first-class service here today, Dr. MacKenzie!” The grin on Mr. Tremblay’s face was about as contagious as they came. “I only popped in to pick up my blood pressure pills. Lord Oliver took one look at my boil and insisted on having it out! Never knew his lordship was so handy with a needle and thread!”

  “Dr. Wyatt will do, Mr. Tremblay,” Oliver teasingly warned the local farmer. “Besides, we haven’t done the hard part yet.” He gave the man a knowing wink and lifted up a scalpel.

  “I can take over if you prefer.” Julia began to enter the room but stopped when Oliver put up a hand.

  “Are you kidding, with only one good hand?” Then more seriously, “This is one of my specialties. I’ve done this a lot.” He waved her out of the room. “We’re quite happy here, aren’t we, Mr. Tremblay? He was telling me about his switch over to organic cattle and how he keeps them clear of intestinal bugs with cider vinegar and garlic. Interesting stuff.” He began to swab the awkwardly positioned boil with a local anesthetic. “I can bring some of this information to the farmers down in the Sudan. Inexpensive—and effective.”

  And there it was again. The uncomfortable tightening in her belly. She’d almost let herself forget he wasn’t a “hang around” kind of guy.

  “Guess I’ll leave you two gents to it, then.” Julia gave them both a mock salute and pulled the door shut behind her. Seeing patients was one thing, proactive treatment and taking an interest in their personal lives was something else entirely. Maybe he was interested in hanging around after all.

  Stop it! He’s only taking an interest as it relates to his work in Africa. Nothing long-term about chitchat. He’s just showing good bedside manner.

  Julia dawdled for a moment outside the room, enjoying a bit of earwigging. From the laughter and steady flow of conversation, it sounded as though everything was going well. She had to admit, it felt a bit peculiar to see Oliver looking so at home in the clinic. It was hers!

  And we were back to square one. Anyway, if she didn’t start filling out forms for grants it jolly well might not be hers for much longer. She was going to have to get used to that plain-as-day fact whether or not the man could charm the tail off a monkey.

  “Whoops!” Julia fought to regain her balance as the door she’d been leaning on opened.

  “Daydreaming, are we?”

  “Hardly!” Julia righted herself and backed into the corridor as Mr. Tremblay came out of the exam room, a clean white bandage on his neck.

  “Looking good!” Neck boils could be dangerous—if they burst internally, the infection could cause blood poisoning or sepsis to the brain. Oliver had done well to take action. She walked and talked as they headed toward the foyer, hoping she could cover over her obvious eavesdropping.

  “That didn’t seem to take long. How do you feel?”

  “Right as rain.” The farmer lowered his voice and flicked a thumb toward the exam room where Julia caught a glimpse of Oliver clearing things up. “He’s right good at this doctoring business, Lord Oliver.”

  “We’re lucky to have him.” For a New York second. “Be sure to keep applying a warm, moist compress for the rest of the day.”

  “I know, I know! Lord Oliver’s already told me! Dr. Wyatt, I mean.” Mr. Tremblay waved a pamphlet in the air as he departed, throwing the words casually behind him, as if Oliver had been looking after him from the day he was born.

  Seriously? If Oliver hadn’t been responsible for putting her hand in a splint, she was pretty sure the patients here would’ve seen neither hide nor hair of their precious heir apparent. And neither would she. She sighed. If their moment on the stairs back at the hall was anything to go by, she was the one who needed a healthy dose of reality.

  Oliver materialized next to her with another one of his stealth appearances. His hand brushed against her hip. Another eddy of response from her tummy.

  “Checking up on me, were you?”

  “No!” Yes.

  “You smell nice.”

  “I’m sorry?” Julia looked up at Oliver, feeling too aware of the corridor not being built for two.

  “Better than eau de cow-logne.” Oliver grinned, waiting for her to catch up with his pun. If she hadn’t been so busy trying to figure out whether he was flirting with her or trying to torture her, she would’ve gotten there faster. Ha-ha. Very funny.

  Better stick to business. Safer terrain.

  “You seem to have dealt with the patient list quickly.”

  “There wasn’t too much to sort, but you already knew that.” Oliver pulled the appointments clipboard from its nail on the wall. “Let’s see, I saw Sarah Simms about a mole she wanted checked.”

  “Cancerous?”

  “A beauty spot.”

  “Becky Watt’s popped in for a well-baby check.”

  “Has the colic cleared up?”

  “The little one was good as gold. Takes after her mother, apparently.”


  “Any word on Reg Pryce?”

  “I called City Hospital and they say he’s critical, but his chances of making it are looking good, pending any surprises. They wanted me to let you know the stabilizing you did really helped.”

  Oh! A compliment. And a smile. Nice. Let’s talk about us now and whether or not you’re going to be straight with me about whether or not you’re going to kiss the clinic open—I mean me. No—keep the clinic open.

  Oliver reached over her shoulder and hung the clipboard back on the wall. Did he do that just so she could take another deep inhalation of eau d’Oliver? Should she tell him how nice it was?

  “Reg’s not going to be back on the tractor for some time yet, though.”

  That would be a no.

  “I hope you don’t mind but I also did a couple of telephone consultations for patients you’d booked in for this afternoon who I thought might be happier staying at home.”

  “Right.” Julia tapped her foot a bit, searching for anything else to ask him. Nope. No good. He’d thought of everything.

  “This is fun! I don’t think I’ve ever finished a day at work.”

  “Technically you’ve finished a day at my work.”

  “Isn’t it great? My days are usually twelve hours plus.” Oliver rubbed his hands together, as if revving himself up to say something big.

  Oh, no. He’s not going to let me go, is he? Say I overstepped the employer-employee line with the smooch on the cheek? Even though he’d appeared to like it, too? And didn’t really seem to be making any moves to change the very teeny tiny distance between them? Julia’s hackles started to go up and she was just about to launch into a grand defense of her role at the clinic when Oliver flashed her another one of those goofy grins of his.

  “What say you and I go down to Elsie’s tea shop for a cuppa and some cake?”

  You are much easier to hold at arm’s length when you’re cantankerous.

  “I don’t know, Oliver—there’s a lot to do.”

  “Rubbish. I’ve done it all, and don’t bother arguing. Elsie makes a mean lemon drizzle cake. Just one slice drives me mad!” His eyes twinkled suggestively. “In a good way.”