Page 50 of Lady of Milkweed Manor

“Quite possibly. Beyond that risk, have you no objections?” When Daniel made no answer, Richard continued. “You said yourself she has few options. That the man who should have made some recompense, should be providing for her, has failed to do so. You are not in a position to do so, but I am.”

“Yet you do not offer marriage.”

Kendall frowned and sighed. “No. I am afraid not. Not at this point. We are not so well acquainted.”

“But acquainted enough to ask her to become your mistress?”

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “The particulars are yet to be agreed upon, of course, and will be strictly between Miss Lamb and myself. You can be assured of my discretion.”

“She will refuse you.”

“I am aware of that possibility.”

“I would ask that you dispense with this line of thinking altogether. But I have no authority to stop you.”

“No, being merely her former employer ...” He nodded thoughtfully. “Though I am beginning to understand why you chose not to tell Mrs. Taylor about your past regard for Miss Lamb.”

Richard Kendall found Charlotte Lamb strolling along the path parallel to the sea, swinging a stick of driftwood in her hand. He fell into step beside her.

“Where will you go now, Miss Lamb?”

“To Crawley. I have a great-aunt there.”

He nodded. “A pleasant prospect, then?”

She shrugged. “Pleasant enough.”

She seemed pensive, her eyes far away on the grey water, the distant gulls and beyond.

“If I could go anywhere I liked, I suppose I would return to Doddington. Though I am no longer welcome in my own home. Still, I would steal back to that dear place if I could. I was just imagining that very thing: strolling through the village and up the lane, past the churchyard and into my mother’s garden. ”

“Your family would not approve of such a visit?”

She shook her head. “My father would not likely see me, spending so much time in his library as he does. Beatrice, my sister, is so often at her pianoforte, or lost in the pages of a book, that the world outside the vicarage windows holds little appeal and she would not likely see me either.”

“What would you do there?”

“I would walk along the garden paths, pausing at every flower bed and ornamental tree, taking in which have flourished, which are languishing, and which have died. I should no doubt cry foolish tears over their loss. And feel just the slightest satisfaction that my absence has left some small mark on the place. Then, when no one was about I would find dear Buxley, our gardener, and see if he could, with every kindness and attention, save those suffering from neglect. And perhaps even coax the lost to return once again.”

She paused to toss the stick of driftwood into the sea.

“But, as that is not a real possibility, I suppose my second choice would be to return to the home of my aunt and uncle in Hertfordshire. I have spent many happy hours in their company and would find much solace in doing so again. Of course, I doubt my uncle would see fit to have me out in society, but even confined to their home, I believe I should be happy. My aunt has the most comforting way about her. Everyone who meets her says so.”

Charlotte stopped and turned toward him, hand over her mouth. “Do forgive me! I have used a week’s worth of words on your poor ears.”

He grinned. “Think nothing of it.”

“I suppose it’s due to spending so little time in adult company.”

“I am happy to oblige.” They continued walking. “So—why not away to Hertfordshire, then?”

She sighed. “My father has forbidden my aunt and uncle to shelter me. So”—she straightened her shoulders—“I shall return to Crawley. I am sure I shall enjoy it.”

“You did enjoy your time here —before recent conflicts, that is?”

“Yes indeed. I am sorry to leave such a beautiful place and such fine company.”

“I am happy to hear you say so. I had thought of a possible solution to your dilemma, if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion?”

“Of course.”

“I had thought that I might offer another alternative.”

“Yes?” She turned to look at him and they stopped walking.

“Yes. That is ... Please forgive my presumption. I realize we are not so well acquainted, but it did occur to me that you and I enjoy one another’s company.”

“Yes,” she agreed, but her brow began to wrinkle in growing confusion.

“As a physician, I have some means—not an overly grand income but sufficient, I believe, to offer you a comfortable living here.”

Her eyes lit, as if with pleasure, but, just as quickly, the hint of a smile evaporated and her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

“For a moment I thought you were offering me a post.” Her chuckle held no mirth.

He shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. “Well, in a manner of speaking ...”

“As a midwife. Or monthly nurse ...”

“Oh ...”

“I suppose I should be flattered. Or offended.”

He laughed nervously. “So, which is it to be?”

“Both, actually. I’m afraid you have rather stunned me.”

He found the blush in her cheeks charming. He asked timidly, “But you do not find the idea ... totally repugnant?”

She swallowed, looked at him and then away. “I do not find you repugnant, Dr. Kendall. But the nature of the offer ... yes, I’m afraid I do.”

“Well,” he said, and looked down at his boots. He forced himself to swallow the sting of her rejection, relieved for her manner of delivering it, the concession to his person. “Then, do forgive me. It was not my intention to offend you, though I cannot say I am overly surprised at your response.”

An awkward silence ensued.

“I do not suppose there is any hope of your forgetting the former portion of this conversation and allowing me to begin anew?”

She smiled tentatively. “If you like.”

He returned her smile and straightened. They began walking back toward the cottage.

“I am sorry I had not thought to offer you a more, shall we say, traditional post. In all truth, the midwives and nurses I know are older, work-hardened women with little education—very different from my perception of you. Still, I have no doubt you are more than capable, should such a position truly appeal to you.”

“I should never have guessed so until recently. Though I suppose a position of governess or lady’s companion is more in keeping with my upbringing.”

“I’m afraid I have no need of either at present.” He smiled wryly. “I also have a quite competent monthly nurse at the moment. And there is a local midwife as well—Mrs. Henning, whom you met—though she is getting up in years. Perhaps I might call on you in the future, should the need arise?”

“Indeed you may. Though I would have much to learn.”

“As do we all, Miss Lamb. But I have no doubt you would be a most able student. Have we an understanding, then?”

She nodded. “We do.”

“And may we ... part as friends?”

She smiled. “We may.”

Daniel watched the discussion from afar.

The exchange took longer than he would have thought and she did not strike Kendall nor stalk off as he’d guessed she would—hoped she would.

And now there was no mistaking the nod of her head, the slight bow the two exchanged, the smile on his friend’s face.

She had agreed. Daniel did not wish to think about what it would mean .

.. or to ponder why his chest felt like it might cave in on itself.