Page 22 of The Earl's Disguised Governess
Ernest paused as he slid his notes into a satchel. “I do know what you mean,” he said slowly, “but as I said, I was a medic before I was an earl. Am I to be expected to stop savinglives to sit around Little Harkwell until I am old and dying myself?”
His annoyance should not have been aimed at Stevens, but he couldn’t tamper it down. Miss Gundry had filled his thoughts, distracting him, and then there was the issue of his mother’s ire at this very topic of discussion. He truly did wonder if she had put Stevens up to this.
“There have been no complaints as of yet,” Mr Stevens said and hesitated. “Although if we do find that your … medic duties and noble ones begin to clash or slacken, then we will be forced to take further action.”
Ernest’s temper rose; it very rarely flared, but he could not believe it! “I have been the Earl of Bannerdown for all of seven months, Mr Stevens. I have been a medic for more than a decade. Please do not insult me by insinuating I cannot do both. I must contribute in such ways.”
“And I am not asking you to step down,” Mr Stevens said. “Merely that we shall be on guard for if you find yourself with too much to handle. Your title is not one you can give up.”
Ernest glared at him. “And neither is my profession.”
The tense silence filled the room and was only broken by the opening of the door. In walked Graham, and Ernest, despite his strange jealousy towards his friend, was glad to see him.
Mr Stevens stood up straighter. “Regardless of our discussion, Doctor Barnes, thank you for your dedication to the hospital.”
“You can thank me for more if you do not threaten my position,” he all but snarled as the board member left awkwardly. Graham looked between the closing door and Ernest, cocking his head.
“Trouble?” he asked.
“I suspect my mother is meddling and whispering in the ears of your board,” Ernest muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It tires me.”
“Ah,” he said. “Lady Katherine would not be herself if she was not meddling.”
“I fear that she might have meddled a touch too far this time.” Ernest slumped down against his desk, bracing himself on the edge.
Graham was quiet for a moment. “Do you ever think of it, Ernest? The war?”
“Yes,” he answered quietly. “All the time.”
“Do you ever feel as though … it is unfair that many men died, but so many of us lived?”
“All the time,” he repeated, his voice a whisper. “Every time a man comes in with battle wounds, I am pushed right back to that field hospital. Or every time they say they have continued to sustain injuries from the war that have not got any better, I think of the unfairness of it all. War buries some men and permanently scars others.” He paused. “Forgive me if this is disrespectful, but I have many feelings about wondering which is better. To die a hero but not live to the end of a long life or walk away from the war with the mental wounds.”
“I know what Archibald would have said,” Graham muttered.
Ernest nodded. “That battle changed us, Graham. Even if we did not fight as soldiers, we fought. We fought for lives and medicine and proper burials for those who died in our care.”
Graham swallowed, glancing out the window to compose himself for a moment. He nodded. “Indeed, we did.”
“I am proud of my service even if I am loathe to realize that I walked away to a noble title and inheritance while other men did not get to return to their betrothed.”
“That is precisely one of the reasons I am still trying to build the wing for the viscount.” Graham gave him a softer smile, one of encouragement and support. “Men like him deserve the grand honour for what they gave their lives to.”
“And yet if we built a wing for every man fallen by their sword, we should have tens of thousands of hospitals.”
Graham laughed quietly. “It is a regret that I cannot honour every man as he deserves. But we get to live on and continue our work, Ernest. That is an honour. So do fight to stay as a medic here. Be both an earl and a medic if it is possible, and when it is not, I trust you will make the right decision.”
“The right decision for whom?” Ernest muttered. “Because there is right for society and my mother, and then there is right for me.”
A small voice in his head rose up: If you were not the earl, then you might be able to court Miss Gundry without fear of judgement or being cast out.
But that was a foolish notion. He was the earl due to there being no other heirs. He did what he had to do. Duty was paramount.
“I am sure you will figure it out,” Graham said, giving him a teasing smile of which he had not seen in a long, long time.The battlefield had stolen not only lives but the brightness of his friend’s smile. “Speaking of finding things out, it has been some time since I visited Bannerdown. How about I visit the manor soon for some drinks? I hear your mother has redone the drawing room.”
“She has,” he acknowledged, but the thought of Graham—his closest friend, his assistant in the field hospital months ago—being near Miss Gundry, especially since they had both sung each other’s praises, sat uncomfortably in his stomach. “But it is not yet finished.”
Guilt simmered within him. He felt as though the real reason Graham wished to visit Bannerdown was not for drinks but for his cousin’s governess. After the two had got along well, Ernest could not prevent himself from thinking about the pair laughing together, bonding over …
