Page 20 of The Love Remedy (The Damsels of Discovery #1)

20

“A cow has four stomachs and eats its own vomit. What do you think of that? It’s the absolute truth, Papa.”

Thorne listened to Sadie’s chatter, but the words wouldn’t stick.

Lucy was going to marry that weak-spined Duncan Rider.

This was not where she should lay her burdens—not onto a man who could barely help himself, let alone her.

“I told Mrs. Merkle, and she said I should save such information for the schoolroom. That ladies didn’t speak of internal organs or vomit when amongst company.”

“I have to think this is sound advice,” Thorne said, gripping Sadie’s hand a little tighter as they walked home from Sunday services.

The commotion amid the congregation this morning rivaled the time Mrs. Inglewood fell so fast asleep that she’d toppled off her pew and woke screaming that the devil had finally come to get her.

Today, the excitement was Mrs. Merkle’s triumphant visit. Both before and after service, she held court in the corner of the foyer, answering everyone’s questions with an even voice and serene smile. Yes, Scotland was lovely. Yes, she liked her new neighbors, but, no, the services at her new church were not as inspirational as the services here.

She’d seemed pleased to see Sadie, squeezing the girl’s hand and exclaiming about how much she’d grown and how pretty her new winter coat was. Thorne had pretended to read the announcement board, aware he was an object of scrutiny by many of the women who lingered to chat, a single man with a seemingly good income and a young daughter to raise. A goodly portion of the flock here had been expecting a match between himself and Mrs. Merkle for a while now.

One doughy old matron leaned over to gossip with her friend, and Thorne knew what she was asking. What had Mrs. Merkle found out about him that sent her to Scotland instead of the altar?

After twenty minutes of his feigning interest in knitting socks for the poor or contributing to the church upkeep fund, Sadie and Mrs. Merkle finally made their way toward him without any hangers-on.

Thorne had bowed over Mrs. Merkle’s hand, and the three of them discussed the weather for the requisite two minutes.

“I hope we see more of you before you return to Scotland,” Thorne had said.

Mrs. Merkle had blushed, and a load of rocks appeared in his stomach, weighing him down.

“I would be amenable to any invitation you might offer before I leave on Saturday,” she said.

Well.

Mrs. Merkle was nothing if not plainspoken.

The blush, however, niggled at Thorne’s conscience as he and Sadie walked home from church and made their way up to their rooms, discomfited by Mrs. Merkle’s expectation of an “invitation.”

Passing by Lucy’s door, Thorne could hear her and Juliet laughing. Bitterness filled his mouth with the taste of cold tea dregs, and Thorne decided it was resentment at Juliet and her deceit, not frustration that Lucy entertained an offer from Duncan Rider.

Surely not.

Thorne had been so distracted yesterday, he’d forgotten to go to the butcher’s. Sunday lunch was leftover mutton, and Sadie wolfed it down in between her recounting of what Mrs. Merkle had said after services and more fascinating facts about a cow’s anatomy.

“If I eat my peas, can I skip the washing up and look at my gift?”

It took Thorne twice the normal amount of time to wash and dry the dishes, not because Sadie wasn’t helping—it took more time with Sadie’s help than it did when he worked alone—but because every two minutes she would call for him to put down the dishes and come see the pictures in the folio Lord Blackstone had sent her.

When the kitchen was clean, Thorne insisted Sadie ready herself for bed first, then sat with her in the orange-gold light of the oil lamp as she exclaimed over the folio.

An impressively bound and embossed leather cover housed A Picture Journey of the African and Asian Continents published by Harvey and Darton. On one page was an illustration of an animal and, on the opposite, a description of the animal and where it could be found. Every three pages, the illustration had been colored.

It must have cost a pretty penny in 1825, when it was published. Thorne didn’t remember seeing it in his father’s library, but he hadn’t spent much time there before going off to school. He’d been a year younger than Sadie when he left his childhood home, only to return during holidays.

He and his father had never done this, lie side by side and read together. In fact, no one Thorne knew did such a thing.

Would Mrs. Merkle read with her children before prayers? Somehow Thorne couldn’t conjure an image of her curling up in a nest of books and chatter.

By the time Sadie fell asleep, Thorne was lost to melancholy. On nights like this, he would set a chair against the front door as a reminder not to leave the apartment lest he be tempted by the company and cheer of the local pub.

There had been a note accompanying the book, but Thorne had neatly slipped it out from the brown paper wrapping and stuck it in his pocket, despite it being addressed to Sadie.

His father had sent his warmest regards to the delightful Miss Thorne with hope she found the folio edifying. Since its publication in 1825, more animals had been discovered. If Miss Thorne would care to come for tea at Lord Blackstone’s home, he and his wife, Lady Blackstone, would be honored to host her and show her a more up-to-date collection of books about the natural world.

Lines and boundaries.

Which to cross and which to hold?

He read and reread the note, finally tucking it into the drawer where he kept his cravats, slipping it under the stacks of linen and silk. Stronger than his urge to leave the apartment for the warmth and conviviality of the pub was his urge to leave the apartment and see Lucy. Not simply because he desired her—which he did, very much—but also because he wanted to speak with her. What would she think of his father’s overtures? Would she suggest a rapprochement, or shake her fist in anger, like her sister?

Thorne worried about Katie as well. Juliet had told him that Katie was ill with a stomach flu and would stay home for the next few days, but he refrained from asking for more information, unsure of how much Lucy had confided in her. The puffy red skin beneath Katie’s listless eyes, the hesitation before she set her foot outside the door, the memory of Katie’s head bent so close to Sadie’s—all these images ran through Thorne’s head at various times during the day.

What Katie decided to do was of course not up to him. His concerns, his conceits, for that matter—they had no bearing on Katie’s life or well-being. This Thorne understood. How should he then reconcile what the church and society had taught him about women’s choices, and the very real gap between those expectations and reality?

What would he do if something similar happened to Sadie? To Lucy? Would Lucy understand his ambivalence and listen to his questions?

He went so far as to sit in the chair in front of the door to the hallway for a time, listing arguments in his head for and against going downstairs. In the end, he came to a decision.

It was time to leave.

Thorne couldn’t bear to contemplate living above an apartment that Lucy would share with Duncan.

He would take his father up on the invitation for a visit. Sadie needed a proper last name and a family other than him, and this time Thorne would not back down without a fight.

They would leave by the end of the month. He’d buy a house for him and Sadie—he could ask Rudolph for a loan—and go back to being a Thornwood.

With the memory of Blackstone staring down at Sadie lodged in his brain, Thorne finally fell asleep while the wind moaned long and low in the winter’s night.

—

“Did you know, a person’s brain weighs three pounds, more or less?”

Lucy made a noise of agreement and carried on staring at the office door. Thorne had gone in there after dropping Sadie off at school and shut the door without saying a word of greeting to her. She hadn’t greeted him, either, but of the two of them, Thorne was the one who should greet her first, not the other way around.

The person who had been the most wrong had to bend first. The Peterson siblings had always lived by this rule, and Lucy did not see why Thorne shouldn’t, too. Never mind that she wasn’t certain he knew the rule.

He should have, and that was that.

“D’you know what else? Over at London Hospital they cut a tumor out of a man, leaving him with two-thirds of his brain, and he woke from the surgery able to play the violin. Imagine that.”

Frowning at the door as though she could make Thorne uncomfortable with the force of a stare he couldn’t see, Lucy tapped her fingers on the counter.

“D’you know what else?”

“Mr. Gentry,” Lucy interrupted, trying to mask her exasperation. “Do you think you can check in the back storeroom to see if there are any more bags of dried chamomile?”

“Yes, indeed,” Gentry said, and gave her a little bow. “Anything else you’d like me to do back there? Alphabetize supplies? What do apprentices usually do?”

Lucy had done it.

She’d gotten herself an apprentice.

After one year probation, Gentry would be allowed to study at London Hospital as an apothecary just as she and Juliet had. Of course, he was decades older than most apprentices, but Lucy and Juliet had no doubt Mr. Gentry would be a model student and a huge help at the apothecary.

“Alphabetizing the supplies would be going above and beyond—”

“Say no more.” Gentry left for the back, whistling a naughty song.

Decades older than most, certainly, but since Lucy and Juliet came to him with the offer, he’d looked twenty years younger.

He’d refused a salary but agreed to a bonus after the first year if Lucy and Juliet were pleased with his work.

If Duncan hadn’t stolen the croup salve formula and Thorne’s visits to London’s other apothecaries had yielded no results, Lucy decided she would try to re-create her work. Even if she couldn’t patent it exclusively, perhaps she could earn enough money from the sales to keep the shop open along with paying Katie’s wage and putting some money aside for Mr. Gentry.

Meanwhile, Thorne had snuck out of the office while Mr. Gentry distracted Lucy. She cursed the agent under her breath.

In the interest of fairness and not for any other reason, certainly not because she missed his regard and craved his touch, Lucy stood in front of the office door. When Thorne returned a few minutes later, she pretended to be polishing the doorknob with a dusting rag.

“Miss Peterson,” he said, in his low, stony voice, “if you will let me pass?”

Lucy crossed her arms and leaned against the office door.

Thorne blinked, then drew his brows together. “Miss Peterson?” he said again.

Lucy held her ground. She wasn’t going to move a single muscle until he apologized for a list of faults that grew by the second. He not only had been unforgivably rude the other day but also must apologize for his terrible habit of making her feel safe and competent, and for smelling so lovely this morning.

Then he compounded his trespasses by scowling at her now. What is a woman to do? Lucy asked herself.

The scowl deepened, and Lucy’s heartbeat sped as Thorne approached her, one slow step after the other, until they stood, toe to toe, in front of the door. One more inch and they would be touching, one more step and he would have her pressed up against the door.

Lucy’s mouth watered as he reached out toward her, and she bit her bottom lip in anticipation.

“Good day, Miss Peterson,” Thorne said, then reached toward her hip as she leaned back against the door, but instead of putting his hands on her, he put his hand on the doorknob and twisted. The boards beneath her feet disappeared.

“Of all the blasted—” Lucy looked up from the floor as Thorne stepped over her prone body.

She’d forgotten the door opened inward.

“What are you even doing in here?” Lucy asked, standing to close the door and brushing off her skirt as if she hadn’t just toppled over onto her arse in front of the whole shop. “Shouldn’t you be upstairs practicing your marriage proposal now that Mrs. Merkle is returned?”

Rather than answer, like a real gentleman, Thorne sighed and rubbed his eyes as though he’d gotten only a few hours’ sleep last night. Too bad Lucy had no sympathy for the man.

“Sadie and I will be taking new rooms at the end of the month,” he said.

The pain of his words was like the cuts from a reed. At first, she felt nothing, but then Lucy had to press a hand to her stomach to keep her insides from falling out.

Well. That made sense, didn’t it? It wasn’t as if Mrs. Merkle could live here. Not over so scandalous a place as a woman-owned apothecary.

Why, then, did Thorne saying the words aloud slice Lucy to the bone? More hurt pressed against her throat and chest. What else might he say that would wound her, and how bad would the scars be that those words left behind?

Fear of the pain caused Lucy to strike out, flailing like a fool against an end she should have seen coming.

“Unfortunate that you’re leaving before finishing your assignment. I suppose Tierney and Company’s reputation for delivering full satisfaction is unfounded.”

Not the wittiest remark, but for some reason Lucy’s throat felt tight and her eyes burned, keeping her from thinking up anything more cutting.

“I am leaving because I have finished my assignment.”

“Ha,” Lucy said, raising her chin and wishing she could look down her nose at Thorne, but he topped her by at least three inches. “You have shown me no proof that Duncan stole my croup formula. In fact, it doesn’t matter, since he asked me to marry him—”

Thorne stepped forward and stopped a mere inch or two away from Lucy in front of the desk. The memories of their kisses here, the times he’d touched her, the times Thorne had told her to trust him, they floated in the air like ghosts.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice like an untanned piece of leather, rough against her skin. “Don’t marry him, Lucy.”

“Why not?” she snapped. “Why not marry a man who already benefits from my work? At least this way I’ll finally be paid as well.”

Through the grime of the windowpanes, the golden sunlight darkened to orange. The faint beams were reflected in Thorne’s dark eyes like tiny flames. Lucy’s heart thumped and she fisted her hands tight, pressing her arms against her waist so she wouldn’t do anything completely stupid, like reach out and pull him toward her.

“You don’t deserve—”

Laughter spewed from her mouth, and Lucy’s desire to hold Thorne close now turned to a desire to push him away—or out the window.

“Do not,” she said, each word honed so no matter where it landed, he would feel it. “Do not tell me what I do or don’t deserve.”

Lucy’s foolish heart had thought she was meant for Thorne, but if he wouldn’t help with the real burdens—the Guardians’ hatred of women, the life-and-death decisions she made, the way doubt would never leave her—then he was not the man for her.

Her throat dried at Thorne’s thunderous expression. Lucy almost stepped back as rage poured out of his skin and heated the air between them to an uncomfortable degree.

“Duncan has apologized, did you know that? Came to me and said—”

The office door flew open. “The two of you need to stop arguing this instant.” Juliet poked her head in, hissing with displeasure. “Unless you want all of London knowing your business by the end of day.”

“I don’t care what London knows. I have nothing to be ashamed of, despite what Mr. Thorne believes.” With a toss of her head, Lucy spun on her heel toward Juliet and gave Thorne her back. “Mr. Thorne is an agent of Tierney and Company. I hired him to find proof Duncan took my croup formula, but he hasn’t found anything.”

Juliet turned green.

This was not hyperbole; Lucy’s sister turned the color of the bruised sky before a storm. Hurrying to her side, Lucy took hold of Juliet’s wrist to feel her pulse while she put a hand to Juliet’s forehead.

“Dearest, what is wrong. Are you ill?” Lucy asked, pulling Juliet toward the ladder-back chair in the corner of the office.

“No, I’m fine.” Juliet stared at Thorne as though he were the devil himself. “Mr. Thorne is an agent for Tierney’s? The same agency as employs Mr. Winthram?”

“Yes.” Lucy pulled Juliet down into the chair, then opened the office window to let in the cold air despite the fog of soot that billowed in with it. There wasn’t much else to breathe in East London.

“Miss Peterson is under the impression that I have not completed my mission and found her thief,” Thorne said to Juliet, a quiet menace in his voice.

Lucy coughed, then returned to Juliet’s side, frowning at the man standing like a great stone in the center of the tiny room.

“Well, you haven’t, and thus you are dismissed.”

“Lucy...” Juliet tugged at Lucy’s sleeve.

“Dismissed, am I?” The menace vanished, and his words shot forward in an undercurrent of disbelief.

Lucy pulled her arm from Juliet’s grasp and straightened her spine. “You are indeed. You have failed—”

“Lucy!” Juliet cried.

She and Thorne turned as one to regard Juliet, whose color had now faded to the whitish gray of cheese water.

“Whatever is the matter, dear?” Lucy asked her sister.

“I have something to tell you.”

So small, her sister, Juliet. Most of the time, Juliet’s tiny frame was barely noticeable, her personality taking up most of the space around her, fooling folks into thinking her a much larger woman.

Lucy carefully knelt on the floor next to the chair and held Juliet’s trembling hand.

“I gave Duncan the first few pages of your formula,” Juliet said.

“Oh. Oh, I see,” Lucy said. This was a lie. She did not see anything, her vision blurring as Juliet’s words sank in.

“Oh,” she said again.

Lucy’s head dropped into her sister’s lap, the energy to keep upright drained away by Juliet’s confession. Ever so gently, Juliet pulled a few pins and took off Lucy’s cap, then started to stroke her hair.

“I knew you still loved Duncan. I thought if I gave him the first half of the croup salve formula, he would propose in order to get the second half.”

“Rather mercenary of you,” Lucy said quietly, letting Juliet pet her. A comforting numbness settled over her as Juliet spoke.

“When he didn’t propose, I told him to give it back, and he refused. Said that he could figure out the rest on his own.” Juliet sighed and looked over at Thorne. “Sadie must have said something to you.”

“She told me only that he had upset you,” Thorne said. “The rest was fairly easy to figure out.”

“He must need help after all, for he proposed to me yesterday,” Lucy said.

Juliet put her fingers under Lucy’s chin and lifted her head up so they could meet each other’s eyes.

“If you married Duncan, you would never have to work yourself to exhaustion the way you do now. You would have the time to work on your other formulas, or even stop work altogether. I hate to see you so burdened, my dear. I only wanted to find a way to help.”

Lucy sat back on her heels and regarded her sister. “I do not need anyone to lift my burdens for me.” A slight click of the tongue and Juliet’s pursed mouth put Lucy in mind of her mother when one of her children told an obvious lie.

“You are so burdened, it is a wonder you are standing at the end of the day,” Juliet said, shaking her head. “With the new funding for our clinic—”

Lucy gasped and clasped her hands. “The committee is giving you the money?”

“Yes.” Juliet’s radiant smile added inches to her height.

“They will pay you and Mrs. Sweet?” Lucy asked.

Juliet nodded, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, eyes wide with hope for forgiveness.

Lucy would, of course, forgive her sister.

What did 1 Corinthians say?

Love is not irritable or resentful. Love bears all things...

The Guardians and their ilk might quote the Bible, but did they understand it? When her father first made Lucy an apprentice, he had her take a vow. Lucy promised her father, and her God, that she would endeavor to place herself in the shoes of anyone who came to her for treatment.

This didn’t mean she wouldn’t complain to Katie when Billy cast up his accounts on every conceivable surface of their treatment room rather than neatly into a bucket like everyone else. It didn’t mean she and her sister wouldn’t make David laugh so hard he turned purple while telling stories of Mr. Gentry and how he’d mistakenly applied an onion poultice for his chest to his most private parts instead.

What it did mean was that along with every cure, Lucy doled out a modicum of grace. She allowed that fear and loneliness, that pain and isolation, that any of these circumstances can make even the kindest, wisest soul turn irritable or angry.

Forgiveness came easy if you allowed the people around you a bit of grace.

“I’m so sorry to make you worry. I just wanted to ease your mind,” Juliet said now, setting her hand to Lucy’s cheek. “I went about it wrong, and then I didn’t know how to set things right. I just thought you deserved to be loved and cherished, and it wasn’t enough for you to be loved and cherished just by me.”

Lucy smiled at her sister and put her fingers to the corners of her eyes, where tears began to gather. Behind them, Thorne shut the door quietly, taking himself off to who knew where.

Lucy did not have the energy left to mourn his departure. Instead, she listened to her sister’s excited chatter and waited for the pain to ease.