That evening he stood in the library, slowly organizing his books on shelves with deep contentment. It was such a foreign feeling it took him several moments to recognize it. The Navy hadn’t been a bad choice—he’d certainly grown and matured there–-but neither did it fill him with the delight that being surrounded by scholars and ancient works of literature did. It wasn’t snatching babies clear of the jaws of death, but he hoped it made the world a happier place.
The door creaked open behind Mark. He setTwenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seaon a shelf above his head, where hewas putting modern literature. “No tea,” he said without looking. “Just have James let me know when he and Mrs. Glenfall return safely.”
There was no response. He turned, expecting to see one of the Gayes. Instead Ellen, tired and frustrated but whole and healthy, stood here, in his favorite room of the house, willingly.
“Ellen.” Happiness fluttered in his chest.You translate ancient poetry for a hobby, and that’s all you’ve got? Her name?
“Do you mind if I sit here a bit?” Her nose and cheeks gleamed pink from the cold air outside.
Mark gestured to a leather wingback chair near the roaring fireplace. “Please, make yourself at home.”
Instead, she sighed and stepped toward him. She stopped beside him, and leaned forward, reaching for his hand. Mark’s entire body tensed.
She picked up a book from a teetering pile.
Mark’s heart plummeted. For a moment there, he’d thought...but no, of course not.
Unaware of the effect she was having on him, Ellen read the spine, then flipped open the book. “Greek myths.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes.” It came out husky and ragged.
She turned the page.
“Are you well?” Mark looked her over, seeing the dirty hem of her gown, the way her fingers were pale and her knuckles whitened as she gripped the book. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” She sighed again. “Yes. It was a hard day.”
His stomach clenched in preparation for bad news. “How are your patients?”
“The Baggins baby, the one with whooping cough I mentioned? He died.” Ellen studied an illustration of Zeus and Leda, her voice austere. “A few days ago. I just found out. Frankly, I’m surprised the poor thing lasted as long as he did.”
Sympathy surged through his veins. “Those poor parents.” He turned to face her fully and clasped her hands, still clutching the book, in his. “I’m so sorry you lost him.” Her hands were stillchilled from the night air, and he resisted the desire to chafe them warm.
Ellen froze at his touch, but didn’t pull away. “It is not the first nor the last time a child I know will die of that. But it is still hard.”
“Of course it is.” Mark’s thumbs, apparently, had minds of their own, because they began to rub small circles against the back of her hands. “You care so deeply.”
She gripped the book tighter. “A few of the babies I saw today are struggling with the cold. I always lose more babies in winter than other seasons. And Mrs. O’Malley has a bad, rattling cough. I don’t think she’ll last this pregnancy. She may not last the winter. It was just...hard.” She finally looked at him, and his breath caught as her brown eyes met his. “I’m glad today is over.”
“You need to get warm.” Mark backed her to the leather chair and eased her down. It was a testament to how badly her day had gone that she let him do it. He went to the bell pull near the door and rang it. When the housemaid appeared he requested mulled wine, then returned to Ellen.
She sat, holding the closed book to her chest as she stared at the fire.
“What can I do?” Mark ached at the sight of her. She looked so vulnerable, so sad.
Ellen looked up at him, as if surprised to find him still in the room. “Oh! You’re wearing spectacles!”
Mark flushed and took them off. “Just for reading,” he said gruffly, beginning to slide them in his breast pocket. He’d so far avoided wearing these in front of her, drat it.
“No, don’t take them off.” She wrinkled her nose with a smirk. “You look terribly distinguished with them.”
Mark’s embarrassment faded. “Distinguished?” He slid them back on and stared at her through the lenses.
“Very. When did this happen?”
“A couple of years ago?” He smiled hesitantly at her. “You don’t think they make my eyes look too small?”
“You’re the perfect image of a scholar with those. Quite dashing.”