A Wicked Scandal For The Bluestocking (Steamy Historical Regency) Read online

  “Right,” Charlene said, her tone business-like. “I’ll make sure that he’s all right. And if his fever spikes, I’ll take care of that too.”

  Eric heard the sounds of the doctor gathering his things and leaving the house. He was surprised, for a moment, that the man would leave his daughter alone with him, after all his talk about propriety.

  Not that Eric could do anything to her, though. His whole body felt exhausted, as though it was weighted down to the sheets. Nor did Charlene seem the type to do anything out of line.

  She would make a competent physician one day, if that was what she chose to do. His eyes drifted closed, and Eric suddenly wondered what her plans for the future were. He wasn’t sure why it mattered to him.

  Then, Charlene came into the room, hovering near the door for a moment. Eric could feel her eyes on him. “You should be resting,” she finally said.

  Eric smiled but kept his eyes closed, listening for her footsteps to come closer to the bed. Yet she continued to hesitate. “How do you know I’m not resting?” he finally asked, turning his head to face her.

  “Your breathing isn’t deep enough,” she said matter-of-factly, taking the boy’s open eyes as an invitation to come over to the bed. “Are you still in pain?”

  Eric shook his head. “No,” he promised her. He reached out and took her hand, rubbing his thumb lightly across her smooth, pale knuckles. He wasn’t sure why he did that, but it felt somehow right. “I’m very sorry that you got into trouble because of me.”

  Charlene looked shocked. Then, she laughed, the sound as light and musical as that of a babbling brook. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “I would have gotten into trouble either way. As Father said, I should never have been out there in Raven’s Hollow on my own.”

  “What were you doing out there?” Eric asked curiously. “It’s dangerous.”

  “I know it is,” Charlene said seriously. “But I like going there. For all its danger, it is somehow peaceful. Not to mention useful. I was there gathering herbs to use in medicines.” She paused.

  “You only interrupted my gathering. Father would have discovered me either way though: either because I got his help to bring you here, or because I came in this afternoon with a basket full of herbs.”

  “I suppose that makes sense,” Eric told her. “I still feel guilty.”

  “Don’t worry,” Charlene said, reaching around him to fluff the pillow a little more. “Rest, please. You’re safe now. Father has gone to send word to your father, and I imagine it’s only a short time until a carriage arrives to take you to your home. I’ll be back shortly to change the wrap on your ankle.”

  Eric nodded, forcing himself to relax, to let the exhaustion take him under finally. He woke a while later, when Charlene returned to do just as she had promised, her hands deftly removing the original bandaging and replacing it with a fresh one. Eric watched her the whole time, but neither of them spoke.

  Just as she was finishing up, they heard the sounds of footsteps in the front room. The door opened, and the doctor entered, followed by one of the Duke of Havenport’s men.

  “How are you feeling, Lord Cumberland?” Dr. Ellington asked Eric, peering over his daughter’s shoulder to check on the boy’s ankle.

  Eric laughed. “Like I won’t be going back to the wood any time soon,” he said, feeling a bit sheepish over the whole thing.

  The doctor smiled. “I’d say that is probably wise,” he said, nodding. “You may still feel some effects of the fever for the rest of the day, but it looks like the swelling has already gone down around the bite, and you have your colour back.”

  “I’m sure that my ankle will be fine,” Eric assured him. “It already feels much better. And as for the rest of it, I have you and your daughter to thank for saving my life, I’m sure. You have my sincerest thanks.”

  There was more that he wished he could say, in particular to Charlene, but he knew he had already embarrassed himself enough for the day.

  Besides, he could tell that social customs were important to the doctor, and anything more could be considered improper.

  They helped Eric to his feet, and he limped out to the carriage, letting them boost him into it. He sat back on the bench, stretching out his injured leg, still feeling the sting of the injury.

  A blushing Charlene stood beside the door to the carriage, and before the duke’s man could close it, she held out a bag. “Medicines,” she said, in response to Eric’s surprised look. “I made them. They should numb the pain and remove the poison. Plus help with the fever if it gets to be too terrible.”

  “Thank you,” Eric said, appreciating the gesture. She smiled up at the boy, and then the door to the carriage was shut and they were on their way back to Havenport Estates.

  Eric was sure that he would catch hell from his father, just like Charlene had caught hell from her own father. It had been irresponsible for him to go off like that, and Eric had proven himself nothing but a burden in need of rescuing. He winced just thinking about it.

  He had brought it on himself, though. So he squared his shoulders, knowing that he deserved whatever punishment he received.

  ***

  Two days later

  Eric hated that he had had to spend the final two days in the summer home in bed, but his ankle was feeling remarkably better. Of course, the skin around the adder’s bite was still tender to the touch and he was keeping it bandaged, but he was walking again and free of fever. Charlene’s medicines had worked magic.

  Eric had thought long and hard about his ordeal over the past couple of days, and he was certain now that he would have been dead if not for her. Charlene had saved his life.

  So he slipped away and sought her out before he and his father left Bath to go back to London. He found her at home by herself. “My father is at a patient’s home,” Charlene said, blushing and shyly ducking her head when she saw the young lord.

  “I won’t ask to come in,” Eric promised her. “I merely wanted to see you one last time before I left Bath, to thank you again for your care. It is because of you that I stand here today, and I want you to know just how much I appreciate that.”

  He could barely get the words out as he stared deeply into her eyes. The depths of the sea, yes. That’s what they were like.

  “It was nothing,” Charlene said, shaking her head. “Just what I’ve been trained to do.”

  The boy shrugged. “It might have been nothing to you, but it meant everything to me,” he told her. “As such, I swear to you that if you ever need anything, anything at all, you must come to me. And we must keep in touch in the future, so that the next time I am back to Bath, I have an escort who knows the dangers of Raven’s Hollow and how to avoid them.”

  Charlene looked amused at that. “Lord Cumberland, I appreciate the offer, but I was only doing what anyone in my situation would have done. I couldn’t very well leave you there to suffer.”

  There was something so sweet about her bashfulness, about her insistence that she hadn’t done anything special. She peered up at Eric through her eyelashes, and he couldn’t get over those eyes, those fascinating blue-green portals into her soul.

  He leaned down and kissed her, gently and chastely, then pulled back. Still, despite the fact that the kiss was nothing more than friendly, he couldn’t help feeling a buzz of desire go through his whole body.

  She wasn’t the first girl that the boy had ever kissed, not that there had been many, but Eric had never felt a reaction like this before.

  He pulled hastily away before things could go any further. Who knew when her father might be back? Besides, she was young and innocent, no doubt virginal, and he just couldn’t do that to her. No matter how much he suddenly wished to.

  “Goodbye, Miss Charlene Ellington,” he told her, as she brought her fingertips up to her lips, brushing them lightly against the skin that Eric had just brushed with his own lips. She looked shocked, but despite the impropriety of the gesture, she didn’t look scand
alized or frightened. Merely curious.

  Eric nodded to her and stepped back, before he could do worse. “Keep in touch,” he said once more, before he turned and left. What was that? Why was he so drawn to her? Eric knew that it didn’t matter, though.

  Even if the girl kept in contact with him, he doubted that he would see her again. A pity, really. She was intelligent and pretty, competent and fearless.

  But he was the son of a duke, and his place in life and his social circles were strictly predetermined. He could exchange letters with Miss Charlene Ellington, daughter of the doctor, saviour of his life, but nothing more than that.

  He would have to find a way to be content with that.

  Chapter 3

  Ten Years later…

  Miss Charlene Ellington

  Charlene ran her fingers over the fabric of Miss Matilda’s old dress, already imagining how they could reuse the fabric for the upcoming ball that Matilda wanted to go to.

  The fabric was in good condition; Charlene doubted that the girl had worn the dress more than a couple times. But she was a growing 16-year-old, and she had filled out a lot since the dress was constructed.

  There was no way that she’d be able to wear it again without major reconstruction to at least the bodice. Might as well piece together a new dress that was more in keeping with the latest fashions.

  Matilda was of the perfect age to be married off, and Charlene knew they wanted to have the whole country looking at her. Of course, that wasn’t Charlene’s task; she was merely the girl’s chaperone.

  Unmarried herself, Charlene doubted anyone would entrust to her the task of finding a suitable groom for a young lady such as Matilda.

  However, if Matilda went to this latest in a string of balls, Charlene was sure to be right there beside the girl, ensuring that nothing untoward happened to spoil her reputation.

  Now, Charlene sighed, her fingers still drifting absently over the fabric as she thought back to her own courting days. Her aunt, Lady Helene Ellington, brought the young Charlene to London when she was eighteen for her formal coming out to society.

  After two seasons, though, she still hadn’t made a match, and now, well, the men were much more likely to choose to court someone younger like Matilda.

  Every year, the girls presented to society seemed to be younger and younger – and not just because with each passing year, Charlene became more of a spinster!

  Sometimes, she wondered if things would have gone differently if she had been as young as Matilda when she came out to society. Perhaps if she had had less of a provincial upbringing, the men would have found her more comely.

  Of course, that was leaving aside the fact that Charlene was far more educated than many a man wished for his bride-to-be. Not only that, but she simply didn’t care for the games of the court.

  She was more than able to comport herself within the rules of the game, but at the same time, she wasn’t going to drive her father to ruin with a new gown for every ball.

  And there had been that one time when Lord Weatherton had caught her riding astride a horse rather than side-saddle like a proper lady.

  That story had spread like wildfire. Charlene had thought Auntie Helene might wither away with mortification.

  And that was not to mention her “witchery”. She knew that the other women were joking when then said that about her balms and lotions. They were merely commenting on the effectiveness of her perfumes and her skin-creams.

  Still, those whispers that she was a witch, coupled with the strangeness of her eyes, had no doubt caused many a suitor to overlook Charlene.

  She wasn’t about to quit making potions, though. Her family could use the extra money, and it was the only way that she could keep fresh the skills that she had learned as a child, living with her father.

  She wouldn’t go so far as to create tonics and tinctures or anything that a true doctor might sell. Where was the harm in grinding leaves and making pastes?

  Women paid her well for what she could produce, and it kept Charlene’s hands busy with things other than the piano playing that she was dreadful at.

  In spite of her strangeness, everyone agreed that Charlene had grown into a woman who, while not appropriate to be anyone’s bride, was more than able to chaperone young Matilda and some of the other girls on outings and to balls, keeping them out of trouble. Her reputation was that of a prude, and that helped her case on those fronts.

  In truth, she had never had more than a single kiss, in all her twenty-five years. She barely remembered Lord Eric Cumberland now, except for those haunting blue eyes of his, which still found her sometimes in her dreams.

  She sometimes saw him across the room when he happened to be in London, but the two had not so much as spoken since that day that Charlene had found him half-dead in Raven’s Hollow.

  Oh, what she wouldn’t give to go back home to her father, the doctor, and help him with the apothecary. He was doing well for himself, and Charlene knew that meant that he needed all the help that he could get, tracking down herbs and creating medicines.

  She found that life was much more interesting than her life here with her aunt. Yet here she was, still in London with Lady Helene. Her father said it was better this way; Charlene was sure he was still hoping that, miracle of miracles, some hapless man might one day take pity on her and marry her.

  She didn’t want to be some lording’s wife, though. She wanted to continue her studies and keep her control over her life. From every married woman that she had talked to, she wasn’t missing out on anything by remaining single.

  It just meant that she didn’t have a husband to please; a husband who would be irate with her if she made mistakes; a husband who would expect her to bear him an heir; a husband whom she had to beg for some petty cash.

  Granted, her father wasn’t rich, and there was only so long that he would be able to support his daughter. Having a husband would take away that worry about the future and the family’s stability.

  But perhaps when her father’s hands weren’t steady enough for medicine anymore, Charlene would be old enough that it was only right for her to help him out, if she was still unmarried. Either way, she refused to get married out of some uncertainty about her family’s finances.

  There was a knock at the door, and Charlene startled, nearly dropping Matilda’s dress. She set it to the side. “Come in,” she said, squaring her shoulders and smoothing her hands over her own dress.

  It was her aunt who bustled into the room of course. She looked dishevelled, and Charlene immediately knew that something was the matter.

  “What has happened?” Charlene asked her worriedly. Was it something to do with Dr. Ellington, or perhaps Matilda?

  “It’s your father,” Helene said, seating herself without going through the normal niceties. “Word has just reached me that he has been accused of murder!”

  Charlene stared at her aunt for a moment, unable to help her open jaw, even though she knew it was unsightly. “Murder?” she asked, appalled at the very thought of it. Her kindly father, murdering someone? No one who knew the man would ever believe such a thing!

  “They say that he was deliberately prescribing the wrong medicine and poisoning a noble!” Helene said, wringing her hands.

  “That’s absurd!” Charlene said, shaking her head. “You know Father. He would never purposefully administer the wrong medicine to anyone, let alone a nobleman.”

  “Well, perhaps if he misdiagnosed the man,” Helene suggested.

  “No,” Charlene said firmly. “Father knows his medicine. He would never do that.”

  “Somehow, the man died,” Helene said gently. “I know you don’t want to believe these horrid things about your father, but something must have happened.”

  “Sometimes, no matter how hard a physician tries, there is no saving the patient,” the younger woman retorted impatiently. “Everyone knows that. Surely they haven’t accused Father of murder if he’s done everything that he could for
the man!”

  Aunt Helene held up both hands. “I’m not the one accusing him,” she reminded her niece. “I don’t know what the true story is. All I know is that your father has been accused of murder, and that he faces not only losing his livelihood but possible execution if we don’t find some way to disprove these accusations.”

  Charlene was silent for a long moment. Execution? She couldn’t imagine life without her father. It had been a number of years now since Charlene had lived with him, but she still saw him as frequently as she could, whenever she chaperoned the young women to Bath.

  Not only did Dr. Ellington support his daughter, but Charlene knew that if the man was ruined, and especially if he was executed, there was no way that she could ever hope to practice medicine either, no matter how elderly of a spinster she became.