The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [114]
“Sir, we will not continue anywhere. I am sorry that you made this wasted trip. As I said, my husband worries overly.” With that, Alexandra walked to the bell cord and gave it a healthy jerk. Her heart was pounding, she knew her face was flushed. Oddly, she still wasn’t particularly angry at this condescending little man, for he was what he was. Ah, but Douglas, he was another matter entirely.
“My lady, really—”
She raised her hand to cut him off. “No, sir, please don’t apologize. Do go along to Lady Abercrombie, the queen’s cousin, who doubtless is on her toes in anticipation of your coming, and as a result her heart is beating much too quickly for her good health awaiting you.”
“I wasn’t going to apologize! Your husband pleaded with me to come here and—”
“I beg your pardon, sir, but my husband wouldn’t plead with the king himself. It’s obvious you don’t know him well at all. Ah, Burgess, please see the good doctor out. He is in quite a hurry. He must see the queen, you know.”
“No, no, it is Lady Abercrombie, the queen’s cousin. Surely you can’t wish me to leave!”
“I am certain the queen would swoon to see you as well, Dr. Mortimer. Now, good sir, if you would excuse me—”
Burgess was in an unenviable quandary. The earl had informed him of the physician’s impending visit. He knew the countess hadn’t been informed and that had bothered him. Knowing her just briefly, he still knew she wouldn’t be pleased with what His Lordship had done. And now Her Ladyship was evidently booting out the good doctor. Burgess knew his duty. He also knew what was good for him. He drew himself up to his full five feet four inches and said calmly, “Dr. Mortimer, if you could come this way if you please.”
“Good-bye, sir. How very amiable of you to call.”
Mortimer wanted to be insulted; however, he was more confused by what had passed. He didn’t understand how the young lady, countess or not, had managed to rout him, and thus allowed himself to be led out without a word by a butler who looked more like an ostler, bald, round of belly, needing only a large apron about his middle. He was also very short, not at all what Mortimer would have deemed proper in an earl’s household. He stood for a moment on the front steps, staring back at the front door of the town house.
Douglas had hurried as quickly as he could to be here when the physician arrived. He imagined that Alexandra wouldn’t be too pleased to see the man, but he was concerned and he’d wanted the physician to see her immediately. He wanted the man’s word that she would be all right. The fact that he had no idea whether or not she was indeed pregnant didn’t matter. If she wasn’t now, she would be sooner or later. No, he was worried and he wanted his worries allayed by a man who should know what was what and Mortimer had been recommended by his own physician who’d tended him three years before when he’d been wounded.
Thus, when he saw the physician, standing outside his town house, staring foolishly back at the closed door, his greeting stilled in his mouth, and he frowned. Oh God, something was wrong. She was too small, he knew it; she was with child now and she would die and it would be all his fault. His voice was hoarse and urgent, but he didn’t question it, saying, “Dr. Mortimer. Is my wife all right?”
“Oh, my lord! Your wife? She offered me tea, you know. Your wife is fine. She is not at all what I expected. She isn’t as I am used to seeing in a lady. She is young, perhaps that is at the root of it. Most strange. I must go now, my lord. Ah, your wife, yes, my lord, your wife. I wish you all the best, my lord. Good luck. I dare say you will need it.”
Mortimer continued in that vein as he walked quickly down the steps and into his waiting carriage.
Douglas stood, his hand on the front doorknob, staring after the doctor. He appeared vague; he appeared to ramble; he appeared not at all the way he’d appeared early that morning when Douglas had called upon him. Still, he would have said something if Alexandra wasn