Amelia’s lip curled in disgust, and Ellen knew they were picturing the same thing.
Ellen glanced at the pocket watch on Amelia’s front. She hated leaving her friend like this, near the end of a long day, with her mind still on a patient working too hard to take care of herself.
“Tell you what,” Ellen said impulsively. “I heard there’s a new lecture series at the Nightingale Training School beginning next week. On uses of chloroform as a pain relief in surgery and labor. What if we go together?”
Amelia smiled. “That would be nice. If I can get away.”
“It’s nearly a quarter to five now, Ellen!” Mrs. Daugherty called out again.
Ellen jumped. “I’ve got to run! Mother is hosting a dinner party tonight and I promised I’d attend this time.” She grabbed her hat from the rack by the open door and shoved it on her head. “You know where to find me!” she called back to her friend as she flew through the front office and waved goodbye at the retired midwife Amelia employed as a secretary. “If Mrs. Duham comes by, tell her I’ll visit her daughter-in-law on Tuesday, and if you see Mr. Beecher, you remind him he’s not to go near his wife for at least six weeks. And if you see Barbara, make sure she’s holding that baby completely upright, on her bare chest, all night long if she wants his lungs to have a chance to develop properly.”
“Goodbye, Ellen.”
The door to the dispensary banged shut, and Ellen found herself squinting in the fading light outside the neighborhood of St. Giles. She hurried around the corner and back to New Oxford Street, a road that had been widened to bring housing and shops to the rookery. It had mixed effects, mainly. Ellen hailed a hansom cab and gave her parents’ direction. She settled back in the cracked leather seat and sighed. It had been a good day, all in all, and she hoped to get a nap in before dressing for her mother’s dinner.
When she entered her home the butler, a man with dark brown skin and piercing black eyes, hurried to her.
“Madam, you have a visitor. He’s been here over an hour.”
“Goodness, Meeks.” Ellen took off her hat and handed it tothe man. “Couldn’t he leave his card and come back another day?”
“I suggested that.” Meeks grimaced. “He’s waiting for you.”
Ellen’s curiosity piqued. She rarely received male visitors. “Is he French?” She’d been corresponding with several French medical students over the mortality rate of premature infants for the past few years, and she’d long hoped they’d come to visit one day.
Meeks’s jaw ticked. “Madam, I?—”
Ellen strode to the door. “Goodness, I hope I haven’t kept him waiting long.” She reached for the handle.
Meeks made a distressed sound behind her.
Puzzled, Ellen opened the door. It swung open to reveal a clean-shaven man with dark blond hair, naturally pale skin bronzed from the sun, and a muscular form rising from the settee. Her heart skipped a beat.
Mark. Her husband.
Buzzing sounded in Ellen’s ears. Surely someone had misunderstood. It couldn’t be Mark. An icy, numb calm settled over her, even though her fingers twitched at her side. She blinked, certain the vision would disappear if she just tried hard enough. But it was him.
Chapter Two
Three Hours Earlier
Time to gird my loins.Mark Glenfall, heir presumptive to the barony of Cottesloe, paused at the great, white townhouse before him. He shook his head and braced himself, walking up the white stone steps, and banged the brass knocker.
Mark yawned, fighting back exhaustion. He’d arrived in London by train that morning and had gone immediately to his home on the edge of Mayfair, eager for a warm cup of tea and a soft bed. Instead, he’d found a shut-up townhouse, cold fireplaces, and two elderly servants gaping at him like the fish he’d constantly eaten while in the Navy. He’d sent a damn telegram three days ago, letting his wife know their estrangement was—unfortunately—coming to a close. As he’d stomped around the house, he found the unopened telegram on a side table in the foyer, already gathering dust.
Apparently his wife hadn’t lived in their home for seven years.Seven years!And he’d had no idea. So he’d spun on his heel and stalked the three blocks to his wife’s parents’ home.
A middle-aged butler opened the door, interrupting Mark mid-yawn. “Sir?”
Mark half-wished he’d worn his Navy officer uniform. He took his bowler hat off. “I’m here to see Mrs. Ellen Glenfall.” He thought wistfully of a bed. Any bed, at this point. Because apparently his bed was covered in dust.I raced all the way here from Cottesloe to greet her before gossip of my Navy departure. And she’s not even here.
The butler looked down his nose. “The family is not receiving any visitors. They are out.” His crisp, upper-crust London tones sounded unfamiliar after the eight years Mark had spent on a ship.
Mark held back a curse. Of course she was out. That’s what Society women did, wasn’t it? Ellen and her mother were probably making calls and sipping tea with all sorts of fashionable people. And gossiping about ribbons, most likely.
No, he’d not be turned away so easily. As soon as he’d been discharged, he’d jumped ship and hurried to his family’s seat to support his brother, the baron. After all that, he’d not have the door shut in his face. “Then I shall wait for them.”
“I’ll take your card,” the butler said, frowning, as if this was a great sacrifice on his part.