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Graham cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “The children appear much improved,” he observed. “The fever has broken in most cases, I presume?”

“In all but three, and Georgie still runs hot at night, poor lamb,” Mrs. Welling reported, settling Abigail in a worn armchair. “Timothy’s up and about already—that boy recovers faster than a weed grows. Little Mary Margaret has had the hardest time. She’s upstairs resting now.”

Abigail watched as Graham moved among the children with careful efficiency. His manner was formal, yet there was an undeniable gentleness in his touch as he checked pulses and listened to small chests. The children regarded him with a mixture of awe and wariness, particularly the older ones who had learned to distrust adults as a matter of course.

“Open wide,” he instructed Thomas, peering into the boy’s mouth. “Good. Any pain in your throat?”

Thomas grinned, showing a gap where a tooth ought to be. “Only when Cook tries to shove cabbage down it. Nasty stuff, that.”

Graham straightened, affecting a look of stern wisdom. “Cabbage, Young Thomas, is the backbone of a sound constitution. I’ve seen whole regiments survive on it.”

Thomas wrinkled his nose. “Then them regiments must’ve been sorry buggers, beggin’ your pardon, sir.”

Abigail’s lips twitched. “Thomas,” she said with a warning tone to mind his manners.

Trust Thomas to speak his mind to a duke.

Graham fought a smile. “I suppose, given the evidence, I’ll prescribe only small doses of cabbage—at least until you’re fully recovered.”

Thomas brightened. “Hear that? Doctor’s orders—no cabbage for the likes of me!”

Abigail shook her head. “We’ll see about that.”

A commotion from the far corner drew their attention. Georgie hid beneath the smallest worktable. His flushed cheeks were streaked with tears and he whimpered piteously around the thumb in his mouth. Mrs. Welling wedged half her bulk under the table and still couldn’t reach him.

“Come along, love. You can’t hide from the medicine forever,” she coaxed, trying in vain to reach for the boy. “Don’t make me come all the way under—I’ll never get back out again.”

Abigail got stiffly to her feet, but Graham caught her by the elbow before she made it two steps. He gave her a pointed look. “Allow me.”

She retreated to her chair and bit back a smile.

Mrs. Welling backed out from under the table with a groan and a muttered “Lord save me,” adjusting her cap as she stood. She looked at Abigail and sighed. “If he gets him out, I’ll eat my apron.”

Graham knelt, then crouched lower, folding himself to peer beneath the table. “I see you, Lieutenant Georgie,” he intoned gravely. “Shall we negotiate terms, or must I send in the artillery?”

Georgie paused mid-sob, uncertain. Graham’s brows arched theatrically, and then—unexpectedly—he covered his face with both hands and peeked through his fingers. “Boo!” he declared.

The little boy squealed in delight, and Graham repeated the performance. Within two more rounds, Georgie’s resistance crumbled. He shuffled out from under the table—giving Graham a wide berth but watching him curiously—and made a beeline straight for Abigail, clambering into her lap and burying his face in her shoulder.

Mrs. Welling eyed Graham with new appreciation. “Well, color me surprised. And you said you had no notion of children.”

Graham shrugged, dusting off his pants. “I saw one of the older children do it yesterday. He responded well then, so I hypothesized?—”

She waved a hand. “You keep your hypothesizing, Doctor. It worked. That’s good enough for me.” She deftly extracted Georgie from Abigail’s arms. “I’ll get this one his medicine and settle him for his nap. The rest of you, off to the schoolroom. Miss Alice is waiting.”

The small flock of children scattered and leaving Abigail and Graham alone. The silence was closed in quickly in the sudden absence of constant activity, like someone had closed a door on a rushing stream.

“We should go upstairs to see Timothy and the others who still have fevers,” she said, getting ungracefully to her feet.

Graham stood close, but to her relief, didn’t insist on helping her or arguing. “I am at your disposal, my lady.”

“Thank you,” she said. “For helping with the children. And for the other things as well.”

Graham avoided her gaze. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“The curtains. The supplies. The extra staff.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “It was nothing. A simple matter of resources allocated where they’re needed.”