Page 2 of The Countess's Awakening (The Lovers’ Arch #3)
CHAPTER 2
W ang couldn’t claim to be an expert in British aristocratic etiquette. But he felt quite confident that lusting after his best friend’s stepmother would be frowned upon. Especially when said lady was incapacitated and practically a recluse. When she inhabited the same residence where he was staying as a guest. But most of all, his feelings were particularly inappropriate because he was reasonably sure the lady did not return them. Would never do so. She was a member of the aristocracy. A countess, for goodness’ sake.
While Wang did not consider himself less than any man, and was proud of his heritage, he was acutely aware society did not see him as the countess’s social equal. He was a Chinese immigrant. A member of the working class, and those two things alone placed her as far above his station as the stars were from Earth.
Knowing all this, he was hard-pressed to determine when his feelings had grown so out of control. Something had sparked the first time he saw her. But it hadn’t been lust. She had looked so delicate. A beautiful flower battered by the elements and yet still clinging tenaciously to a sliver of earth to avoid being swept up in a storm.
He had recognized her fragility, and her quiet strength, and they had called forth every protective instinct he had. He had quelled those impulses, of course. Had avoided her as much as he could. Even when he suspected he could help her with her infirmity, he still had resisted. When his friend Lord Hartfield had suggested he help her, he had demurred, proclaiming himself incapable of helping her. Not because of a lack of expertise. But because the interaction required for the treatment would batter the restraints he had placed on those inappropriate feelings.
So he had waited, knowing full well it was time to return to America, yet lingering because some instinct called him to remain close to her. To find her help through another means if necessary. To be nearby and ready to assist if she ever asked for it.
That moment had come today. He had been unable to withstand the lady’s tears. They had scoured his heart and propelled him to act, to offer his help, to bring her hope. Her need obliterated every other consideration. He would make it work. He would help her achieve her dream. Even if it meant tying his impulses with iron chains. After all, he wasn’t an impulsive youngster. He had been on this earth for almost half a century, and was well-practiced in the art of restraint.
Wang descended the front stairs of the elegant townhouse of the Earl of Hartfield and turned left, toward the street they called The Strand. He didn’t hail a cab. The distance was not great, and he needed to think.
Now that he had her agreement, Wang realized what he had agreed to. What he had promised. And what it would cost him to deliver the help she needed while staying professional and detached.
Good God, merely touching her feet, holding her delicate calves in his hands, had affected him to a degree he had not thought himself capable of. And he would have to do much more touching during her therapy. Her back, her legs. He may need to uncover more of her body. Massage her in a way that might upset her modesty.
It would be something if he could assure her that his touch was that of a medical professional. Detached. Impersonal. But he feared that with her, with Esther, it would be a lie.
Esther? No, no, no. He had to stop thinking of her in those terms. She was the Dowager Countess of Hartfield. Lady Hartfield. A lady. Far above his station. And a patient in need of help.
These urges she awakened in him were a nuisance. They would impede helping her as she needed. He had to control them. Snuff them out. Already he had let her see too much.
He had been trying to avoid her since the day they had visited Cremorne Gardens, when he had carried her in his arms. She had felt so right there… Her light body reclining against his chest, her slender arm around his shoulders, her soft perfume caressing his senses, and her face so close he imagined he could brush his lips across her forehead if he only dipped his head. The urge had been so powerful that he had forced himself to keep his eyes forward. Never looking at her.
He had betrayed nothing that day. And had done a great job of keeping his distance since then. Avoiding being alone with her or even crossing paths with her. Which had been easy, because Esther—no, Lady Hartfield—rarely left her bedchamber these days.
He frowned at the reminder of her seclusion. It worried him, but it was not his place to intervene.
Except today. When he saw her crying, he could not stay away. And when she confessed the depths of her despair… Well, nothing could have prevented him from offering his help. Not only with a handkerchief to dry her tears, but to use his knowledge and skills to help her heal.
Would he be able to deliver on his promise? He would do his utmost. Even if the effort to hide his attraction to her killed him.
But first, he needed to secure the place in which to hold her therapies.
His fast strides had brought him to the establishment he sought. He had come across Essex Baths while searching for a place in which to set up a clinic in London. Colin wanted to open a hospital similar to the one they had established in New York. A place that blended Eastern and Western medicine techniques to perform orthopedic treatments and surgeries, rehabilitate the infirm, and employ the latest technology and medical advances to treat the patients. Although unconvinced about staying in England, Wang agreed to help his friend. Colin had a lot on his mind, and Wang was glad for something to occupy his time.
The locale next to the baths was available for leasing, and they had considered it a suitable location for their clinic. Especially if they could convince the owner of the baths to sell them part of that establishment to use as hydrotherapy pools.
He strode into the baths and was immediately greeted—or maybe the more apt description would have been intercepted—by the clerk.
“May I help you?” the ferret-like man inquired, looking him up and down. Not hostile, but not exactly welcoming either.
“Good afternoon, sir. May I speak to the owner of the establishment? I’m looking to hire the baths for private use.”
“I am the owner, but we cannot accommodate you. Perhaps you would have better luck in Limehouse. There are public bathhouses there.”
Wang smiled, ignoring the slight. Limehouse was a predominantly Asian neighborhood in London, and this man’s mention of it was a not-so-subtle reminder of his place in this society. As a friend of the Earl of Hartfield, no one had been openly hostile to him. But neither had they been friendly. People’s reactions ranged from curiosity at best to thinly veiled suspicion at worst.
At one point in his life, it would have bothered him. He would have fought over it. In fact, he had. Many times. Until he realized that people’s reactions were nothing but fear of the unknown. Of anything or anyone who looked different. That his own people held deep prejudice against the westerners as well. And that the best way to combat prejudice was not by fighting, but by fostering connection and understanding.
“The bath is not for my use. It’s for the Countess of Hartfield. She wishes to enjoy the pool in solitude.”
As he expected, the mention of aristocracy softened the other man’s attitude.
“A countess, you say? Very well then. But if she wishes to reserve the entire women’s baths for her private use, it’ll need to be at night. After we are closed to the public. And then only for an hour.”
“That is acceptable. What time?”
“Seven. The price will be three guineas. We will provide a servant to attend to her.”
Wang extracted some coins from his pocket to pay the exorbitant price, three times that of a regular admission to the baths, but it was well worth it to have a private pool in which to hold her therapies.
“That won’t be necessary. I will attend the countess myself.”
This time undisguised suspicion sharpened the clerk’s eyes, and Wang wondered if he was going to withdraw the deal.
“Men and women’s baths are separate. Highly irregular to have a male servant attending a lady in her bath.”
“It’s a good thing that I am not her servant, then, but her doctor.”
“You are a doctor?”
“Indeed, I am. The countess is infirm. She suffered an accident that rendered her unable to walk. It is my hope that with hydrotherapy, she will regain the use of her legs.”
“Never heard of that. Once a cripple, always a cripple.”
Wang clenched his jaw so hard it ached. The effort needed to prevent himself from issuing a cutting retort was almost unbearable. Apparently, he could tolerate personal insults much better than hearing this weasel man call Esther a cripple.
“It’s a new form of treatment. The Earl of Hartfield himself is a doctor and has used it with some success. Just imagine, if the countess recovers after using your baths, how much more popular they will become.”
As he had expected, the lure of money was an effective antidote to the man’s ignorance.
“Fine then. Tomorrow at seven. You shall enter through the women’s baths. And whether or not the countess needs a maid, there will be a female attendant present the entire time.” That last seemed to be added to discourage any sort of untoward behavior.
Wang smiled. “Thank you.”
With a nod, he departed the establishment. He had sorted out the use of the facilities. If only he could sort his feelings with as much ease.