Page 87 of Saving Miss Pratt

On one such day, as he stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, Timothy realized that in his efforts to avoid thinking about Priscilla, he’d completely ignored Honoria. After dressing and forcing down a light breakfast, he mounted his horse and rode to the Marquess of Stratford’s elegant home.

Once there, he paced the floor of the front parlor, wondering what he would even say to her.

“Dr. Marbry.” Honoria greeted him as she whisked into the parlor amid the light scent of lavender. Her abigail, like an ever-present shadow, took a seat in the corner. “Please sit. I hope you were offered refreshment.”

Was he? He’d been scrambling over what to say and quite forgotten if the butler had mentioned it. Having no intention of causing problems for the servants, he found the best solution was to err on the side of caution. “Of course.” He smiled, hoping she wouldn’t press him to indicate if he’d agreed or declined. The arrival, or lack thereof, of refreshments would be her answer.

Her green eyes narrowed, her lips pursing as she was wont to do when in thought. It pleased him that at least he’d noticed that much about her during their time together. “Forgive my boldness. Are you unwell?”

Ah, she’d most likely noticed the dark circles under his eyes. “Tired. Things have been busy at the clinic.” At least they were for him. “Please forgive me for not calling upon you since the garden party.”

Unlike many other women, who no doubt would be thoroughly put out from his lack of attentiveness, Honoria’s eyes shone with warmth and understanding. “Think nothing of it. I admire your dedication to the poor, sir.”

Everything about her indicated she would be a perfect wife, meeting all of his needs with kindness and acquiescence. There would be no temper tantrums if he came home late at night, no complaints for his inattentiveness at parties, no demands of his time at mundane social gatherings. She would most likely perform all her wifely duties with the same calm acceptance. Lord, she probably wouldn’t even complain if he took a mistress.

And the thought chilled him to his marrow.

Was that really what he wanted? A marriage between relative strangers?

More importantly, was that what Honoria wanted? She certainly deserved better.

In answer to her previous question, the butler brought in a silver tray holding the tea service and some finger sandwiches, placing them on the table before Honoria, bowing, then taking his leave.

She poured, glancing up in question, pink blossoming on her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten how you take it?”

“Milk, no sugar.”

She nodded, then prepared his tea.

He paid particular attention to how she prepared her own, admitting to himself his own ignorance in the matter.Milk, two sugars.

When he sipped the warm liquid, he searched his mind for a mutually enjoyable topic of conversation. He didn’t even know much about her interests.

He recalled their trip to the booksellers—how long ago? “Did you enjoy your book?”

She tilted her head, her brows drawing down in question. It seemed to have slipped her mind as well. “Book? Oh, yes. The Anne Radcliffe novel.” She sighed. “Not as enjoyable as her other one, I’m afraid. And yours? Although I expect you may not have had as much free time to read as I.”

Although he’d wager she hadn’t intended it, her comment still illustrated how much he had neglected her. “Most interesting. I’ve been meaning to ask Ashton about it, to compare his experiences. Although I understand he spent time in Boston, which is a bustling city rather than the rugged wilderness portrayed in the book.”

“Perhaps you might loan it to me? Then I would be equipped to discuss it intelligently.”

Her attempt to engage him, to connect on some deeper level, twisted the knife in his gut. Would he allow her to be solely responsible for any real interaction between them? Why couldn’t he make a better effort?

“I would be happy to, although I fear there are some rather unpleasant details that might upset your feminine sensibilities.”

She blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. A dark shadow passed over her face. “I’m not a delicate flower who needs to be shielded and sheltered from unpleasantness.” She sipped her tea, perhaps attempting to compose herself. “Is that why you don’t discuss your cases at the clinic? That you believe they would upset myfeminine sensibilities?”

He stared at her, certain his mouth hung open and that he was the one to blink in surprise.

In an instant, she reined in the indignation painted on her features, the color on her cheeks morphing from rosy pink to stark white. “I beg your pardon.” She cast her eyes down, seeking something within her teacup.

“Don’t apologize. You were quite right. I presumed rather than asked. As for my cases at the clinic, I thought more not to bore you with the details of lancing boils and prescribing poultices for chest congestion. Besides, Ashton is adamant about preserving the privacy of our patients in the same manner he would in tending to those in society.”

She nodded, but he feared the damage had been done.

He was an arse. Perhaps Honoria would provide more in their relationship than mindless obedience. The idea should have given him hope.

But it did not.

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