Page 27 of A Touch of Charm
Andre chuckled, patting her head affectionately. “Perhaps, Mary. You did a splendid job today.”
Mary beamed, then glanced shyly at Thea, her curiosity seemingly piqued. “Miss Thea,” she asked innocently, “will you be Dr. Andre’s nurse, too? You look at him like my mama looks at my papa.”
Thea’s cheeks turned a soft shade of pink, and the child’s candid question momentarily swept away her composure. She exchanged glances with Andre, whose eyes danced with amusement and something deeper.
“Well, Mary,” Thea replied with a gentle smile, “I think I will leave the nursing to you, the expert.”
Mary giggled, satisfied with the answer, and twirled around the room, her energy infectious. The air between Thea and Andre shifted in the silence left by Mary’s innocent words. Andre shifted awkwardly, a warm flush creeping up his neck at Mary’s audacious suggestion. His gaze darted to Thea, who seemed to be battling her own rising color. He told himself it was merely the absurdity of the notion that painted her cheeks with such a rosy hue. Yet, as he fumbled for words, a glance at Thea’s eyes, wide with surprise, reassured him that decorum would soon restore their composure.
However, as Andre watched Thea wring her hands, Mary’s simple question lingered, weaving their unspoken feelings into something tender and hopeful.
It may be doomed, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist.
Chapter Eleven
Afew hourslater, there was nothing for Thea to do but wander through the practice at 87 Harley Street. Stan had gone to retrieve his belongings from the Langleys’—the earl and his countess with whom he’d stayed since he’d arrived in London—while Mary took her midmorning nap on the armchair in the oculist’s treatment room.
Thea returned to Andre’s room diagonally across the hall, leaving the doors open to hear Mary if she woke up. Or worse, if she snuck up on her, curious as she was.
Thea had a strong desire to be near Andre, ideally alone.
Andre was gathering Mary’s folded muslin bandages and putting them in a neat pile on a metal tray. Since no patient was in sight, Thea ventured into the room to speak with him.
She eyed the skeleton that hung from a nail on the wall.
“Is this real?”
“Yes,” Andre answered.
“Who is it?” She rubbed her hands uncomfortably.
“I beg your pardon?”
“If this is a real person, then who is it?”
“I don’t know.” Andre leaned back and eyed her curiously, as if there were a stain on her collar. “Every group of students is assigned a skeleton at the university. We had to study every detail of human anatomy, and when Alfie and I finished the anatomy course, we purchased the skeleton for a small fee.”
“So you know what all the parts of this are called?” Thea stepped closer to the bones and noticed they were connected with metal pins and wires. She lifted the skeleton’s hand, which didn’t feel real. There was little left of a person, and the hand felt like a thing, a model of what may be inside a human or what may have been a human long ago. “What’s this called?”
“The fossa or the attachment?” Andre asked with a swift glance at the second bone of the index finger.
“All of it. Everything has a name, right?”
“This is the tuberosity of the distal phalanges.”
Thea blinked at his explanation. “All of these protrusions have names?”
“Of course. The grooves, too.”
“Why?”
“Well, think about how you’d localize an injury or a fracture.”
Thea let go of the skeleton’s hand and opened her left palm, inspecting it closely and trailing her right index finger along the lines on her palm. “What about these folds? Do they have names, too?”
“This is the anterior palmar view, with many names.” Andre put his hand under hers as if she were a precious treasure he barely dared to touch.
She looked at him, unsure what to say.
