The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [113]
Alexandra came into the drawing room to see a slight, balding, middle-aged gentleman standing in front of the bow windows, rocking back and forth on his heels, staring at his watch, not across the street at the beautiful park. When he saw her he quickly put the watch back into his vest pocket and gave her a slight bow. She said, her head cocked to one side in question, “Our butler told me there was a gentleman to see me. It is odd since I don’t know many gentlemen yet in London. For a moment I thought it must be Beecham, but no, I vow he would not be so indiscreet. It would not be his style. Who are you, sir?”
“I?” He stared at her, unblinking. “I? Surely, His Lordship said I was coming. Surely you must know who I am.”
His astonishment at her ignorance was genuine and she smiled. “No, Burgess merely said there was a gentleman in here. Are you perhaps a playwright or an actor who seeks patronage? Perhaps a vicar who needs a living? If that is so, I regret to tell you that His Lordship’s young brother will doubtless—”
“No! I am Dr. John Mortimer! I am a physician! I am one of the premier physicians in all of London! His Lordship asked me to visit you. As you know, he is concerned that you will bear his heir and that you are perhaps too small to complete the task successfully. He wished me to ascertain if this is true.”
She stared at him, disbelieving. Douglas, curse his black eyes and hair, had been called out earlier in the morning and had not returned. So, he’d arranged for this man to come. Well, at least he hadn’t yet returned, so that meant she wouldn’t have to argue with him in front of Dr. Mortimer.
“Dr. Mortimer,” she said, still smiling, but it was difficult, “I fear you have come for nothing. My husband worries overly. Besides, if I am already with child, then there is nothing to be done if I am too small, is that not true?”
Dr. Mortimer, a man who knew his own worth, which was great, and a man unused to a lady speaking so forwardly, a lady who treated him with such presumption, drew himself up and smiled kindly down at her. She was embarrassed, that was it. It was the only explanation for her odd behavior, though she didn’t seem to be at all. Still, he chose his avuncular voice, one that always soothed nervous ladies, chuckled slightly at her foray into wit, and said, “My dear Lady Northcliffe, ladies, no matter their beliefs or what they think they believe—undoubtedly provided with good intent by their older female relations—don’t have the ability to discern what is or is not appropriate for them. It is why they have husbands, you know. I am here to examine you, my lady, as requested by your husband. I will then tell your husband what is best for you when you conceive his heir. His concern for your size is laudable. As a physician, I take all factors into consideration and then guide you into the proper steps during the months until the child is born. Now, my lady—”
Alexandra couldn’t quite believe that this pretentious, thoroughly irritating man, physician or no, had walked into her drawing room and was treating her like a half-wit stray. But it was Douglas she wanted to cosh, not this specimen.
She smiled sweetly. “Would you like a cup of tea, sir?”
He smiled back at her, showing teeth. “No, thank you, my lady.” He fanned his hands in a gesture of spurious modesty. “My time isn’t always my own, you know. Why, in an hour, I must be off to see Lady Abercrombie. She is a cousin to the queen, you know, and I am her private physician. It was difficult for me to come and see you this quickly, but your husband is well-known to me and I decided to oblige him in this. Now, my lady, it is time for us to go upstairs to your bedchamber. If