Page 158 of Rakes & Reticules
She nodded, watching a lopsided smile curve his mouth. “Excellent. Now, about those tarts. I believe I’ll take the lot.”
“All of them?” She chuckled. “You can’t possibly eat everything you purchase.”
“No, no. I am on the board of Magdalen House and bring whatever is left to our weekly meetings.” He winked at her. “You’ve made me quite popular.”
How could she saynoto this man? Kind, intelligent, generous, and good-looking. Well, she could enjoy his company without unlocking her heart. Details of her past could be kept vague. Besides, with winter on their heels, it was good to know a doctor.
“I’ve heard of the hospital. Do you provide medical services for the women there?”
“I do. I was impressed with the mission of Magdalen and the work they’ve done for females who have been taken advantage of or cast out. No one should be alone. I understand what desperation feels like and wish it on no one.”
“As do I. You are a good man.” And he was. Too good for her.
“I endeavor to make my parents proud every day. And I hope they look down on me and approve.”
“I’m sure they do, Dr. Brooks.” She handed him the tarts. This time, both his hands cradled hers as he took the bundle. Warmth spread through her like a cheery hearth fire.
“Shall we set a date?” he asked, his thick brows wiggling. “Is there a time that is better for you? Perhaps when you have finished your day?”
Dottie told him the direction on Watling Street, and they arranged to have tea in the Clatterly public room the next Wednesday afternoon. Though a widow, she wasn’t comfortable meeting a man alone. With her landlord’s hawk-like gaze on them, Dottie could relax.
“You have given me something to look forward to, Mrs. Brown. Until Wednesday.”
She watched him walk away, wondering at his motive. Surely, there was no lack of ladies vying for his attention. Would the kind physician still be interested when he learned her husband had died on the gallows? Yet, he had been there that day. She did not see him as a man who went to public executions for entertainment. Whyhadhe attended?
CHAPTERSEVEN
Wednesday
Sampson shook his head to clear it.Ridiculous.How could he be nervous? Yet his palms were sweaty, and he kept clearing his throat. The balding barkeep, with one foot propped up on a stool and a scowl on his ruddy face, continued to silently stare at him with menacing dark eyes after serving up an ale. Sam had quickly retreated to a table after asking for Mrs. Brown.
Mr. Clatterly,he presumed, was extremely protective for a landlord.
A plump woman with soft brown eyes bustled in with a tea tray. She set it down on Sam’s table with a wide smile, then put her hands on her hips.
Mrs. Clatterly, he assumed again, was much friendlier than her husband. How had they known who he was? There were more than a dozen men in the place.
“I’m Mrs. Clatterly, and that beast of a man over there is my husband.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m Dr. Brooks,” he said, standing for a proper introduction.
She eyed the ale he was sipping. “A bit of courage before she comes, eh? Well, best hurry. Dottie will be here in a blink.”
Her given name was Dottie? Or Dorothea? Dottie Brown. It had a warm sound to it.
Then she was standing before him, no heavy coat or hat on her head.
“Mrs. Brown,” he said simply, his discomfort evaporating at the sight of her.
He could drown in those ocean-blue eyes. Her thick auburn hair was pulled up in the back, long curls tickling her slender neck. A modest dress of dove gray clung to her full figure, taking his imagination for a jaunt. She looked every bit the lady who might instruct the daughters of wealthy merchants.
“Dr. Brooks,” she replied with a nod of her head. She murmured her thanks as he held out her chair. “Did you find the place without much trouble?”
He nodded. “I grew up in Cheapside. And you?”
“My father was steward for the Earl of Langhorn’s country estate in Kent. I lived there until I was fourteen.” She held up the teapot, an eyebrow up in question. He nodded, pushed the bumper of ale away, and she poured them each a cup. “My mother died when I was four—a fever of some sort is all I remember. Papa didn’t talk about it much. He loved her so.”
“My parents were also dedicated to each other. I hope to have the same someday.” Sam saw the panic in her eyes. “Not that I’m ready to wear the leg shackles quite yet.”
