Page 20

Graham shook the proffered hand. He could tell a lot of a man by his weak grip. It was a handshake born of entitlement without earning. “My lord, I appreciate you seeing me without prior notice.”

“Nonsense. Please, sit.” Edgerton crossed to a small table where crystal decanters caught the noon light. “Brandy? Or perhaps tea would be more appropriate at this hour?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

Graham took the offered seat, perching on its edge as if prepared to depart at a moment’s notice. The room smelled of beeswax and leather, of wealth that had aged like fine wine. It was the scent of a world he’d spent years avoiding—the world of his birth, not his choosing.

“I suspect this isn’t a medical consultation,” the Earl remarked, pouring himself a measure of amber liquid despite the early hour.

“No.” Graham drew a measured breath, tightening his control on the anger that had simmered within him since reading that newspaper. “I’ve come about Lady Abigail.”

Edgerton raised a brow.“I see. And in what capacity do you come—concerned citizen, attending physician, or knight in shining armor?”

His fist tightened where it rested on his thigh.As if she was some swooning heroine in a fairy tale.He steadied his breath and said with a cool, professional tone, “Then you are aware there was an incident last night.”

“Yes. I spoke to Abigail this morning.” Edgerton set his glass down without drinking. “A most unfortunate business.”

Graham shifted his shoulders, trying to loosen the tension winding between them.Unfortunate business, like a missed appointment.

“I was the gentleman who assisted Lady Abigail after she was attacked,” he said, cutting to the heart of the matter.

“Yes, she mentioned a doctor.” Edgerton’s gaze sharpened. “So it was you.”

“I witnessed the attack and intervened. She was injured—a sprained ankle, contusions to her throat and wrists.” He spoke with clinical detachment, replaying the crunch of the attacker’s nose beneath his fist. “I escorted her home. She insisted on using the servant’s entrance—to avoid disturbing the household. I urged her to seek further medical attention, but she refused.”

Edgerton settled into the chair opposite and steepled his fingers, peering at him over them. “And now you’re here because...?”

A clock ticked somewhere in the room. Graham met Edgerton’s gaze directly.

“Because I saw the article in The Post this morning. Lady Abigail’s reputation has been unfairly damaged by my actions.” His throat tightened around the words. “Whilenothing improper occurred, I understand that perception often outweighs truth in these matters.”

“A diplomatic way of putting it,” the Earl agreed.

Good God, the games men play.He had no stomach for it. “I’ve come to state my intention to offer for Lady Abigail’s hand, should she be agreeable.”

Edgerton’s eyebrows rose. He reached for his brandy and took a slow, deliberate sip. “How very honorable of you, Doctor. Not every man would be so conscientious”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Graham said. The words felt hollow.

The Earl set down his glass with careful precision. “You’ll forgive my directness, but I must ask—have you spoken with Lady Abigail about this?”

“Not yet. I thought it proper to speak with you first.” Traditional. Correct. Safe.

A faint smile touched Edgerton’s lips. “Proper indeed.” He rose and moved to the window, hands clasped behind his back. “You seem a decent enough fellow, Dr. Redchester, but marriage into a titled family is no light matter.”

Graham pressed his lips together. The man thought he was reaching above his station—using the situation to advance his standing. The assumption might have amused him if it weren’tso insulting to Abigail. As if her value lay in her connections rather than her courage, her kindness, her unflinching gaze.

“I believe my circumstances would withstand scrutiny,” Graham said, keeping the words he truly wished to speak behind his teeth with an effort.

Edgerton’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed? You seem very confident, Doctor. Are you, perhaps, well-connected outside your profession?”

Graham hesitated. This was what he’d tried to avoid. The title would silence doubt—but expose everything.

It always comes back to this.

“I have some family connections,” he allowed, the understatement bitter on his tongue.

“Dr. Redchester, while I appreciate your good intentions,” the Earl sighed and picked up his glass, “I must consider Abigail’s welfare. A physician, particularly one without significant backing, may find himself unable to shield her from society’s censure.”