Doctor...to Duchess? (4 page)

To keep her focus, she’d vowed to see Oliver as her mortal enemy. Of course, she’d done this before clapping eyes on her globetrotting nemesis. Who would’ve thought he’d be all sexy-academic-looking? And smell nice? And have long black eyelashes surrounding some seriously divine green eyes? Her normal composed, calm and collected disposition was feeling distinctly volcanic.

Her laugh filled the empty exam room. Who was she kidding? Meeting Oliver had pulled the rug straight out from under her firmly planted feet. Up until now, life had been straightforward.

Well, not really. Okay, not at all.

Then when Matt had died everything had become an unknown. What did she know about being a thirty-something widow with two children and a general practice to build? Absolutely nothing.

And now, finally—after so much soul-searching and a huge burst of encouragement from her children, who were joyously pursuing their passion for music—she’d found something that was her own. Something solid. Safe.

Despite the clinic’s retro vibe, she loved every square of the stone exterior. Every bud on the climbing roses just threatening to blossom in the soft spring air. Every patient they helped in this chocolate-box village brought a smile to her lips. Speaking of which, she owed Dr. Carney an update before she went back to her cottage. The overnight nurse would give him his meds later but Julia always like to check in on him around teatime. He’d dedicated his life to this place, and she wanted him to know he’d made the best choice when he’d selected her to take over.

She poked her head round the corner of his room and saw he was resting quietly. She placed a couple of fingers on his wrist and checked the heart-rate monitor. His obs looked good, considering. Truth of the matter was, she wasn’t all that sure how much longer he had, but nothing would stop her from making sure he had the most comprehensive care and comfort he could enjoy in his final days.

“His heart’s in the right place, you know.”

Julia started, realizing Dr. Carney wasn’t just talking in his sleep.

“Who?” Stupid question.
You both know who he’s talking about
,
ninny.

“Oliver.” Dr. Carney opened his eyes to meet hers, and Julia was still amazed to see how clear and blue they were despite his rapidly declining health. “He’s just never really recovered and it makes being here...” He hesitated. “It makes all this quite difficult to deal with.”

Recovered from what?
Being born into gentry, being handed an amazing estate on a plate and rejecting it?
Or did Dr. Carney mean something more immediate?

“Do you mean seeing you here?” Julia sat down when he indicated she should perch on the side of the bed. She tugged at the corners of the handmade quilt one of the villagers had brought in.

“Oh, I’m sure that wasn’t very nice for Oliver. We probably should have told him, but no. That wasn’t what I meant. I’ll leave him to tell you those things.”

“Tell me
what
?” Julia felt the hairs prickle on the back of her neck.

“It’s not my place to say, dear, but give him time. Patience.”

“Dr. Carney, if you’re trying to get me to understand a man who is set to inherit all of this and chooses to be anywhere but here...” She paused for a moment. Telling Dr. Carney she thought a man passing up the chance to run his very own family practice was bonkers might not go down well. Then again, if Oliver’s plans didn’t involve the clinic at all, she had to ramp up her fight to keep it alive. She needed to know where she stood. “You don’t think he plans to sell the place, do you?”

“Now that’s just idle gossip, my dear. Nothing’s been set into motion, has it?”

Dr. Carney tutted as he gave Julia’s hand an affectionate pat. “I’ve probably already said too much. Just give him a chance. The two of you are an awful lot alike, you know.”

“Ha! I find that hard to believe. He seems to like the high-flying life and I’m quite happy here in good old-fashioned St. Bryar.” Even as she said the words they didn’t sit well. The little she did know about Oliver was that he was passionate about medicine. And that he cared for Dr. Carney. It must’ve hurt coming in here and seeing a man he’d known his whole life in this condition. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know the man at all. I guess his arrival just took me by surprise.”

“It’s all right, dear. No one takes easily to change.”

“Isn’t that the truth!” Julia quipped, meaning Oliver, then realized Dr. Carney had most likely meant her. Uh-oh. She thought she’d changed a lot since she’d come here. Maybe not. She peered at Dr. Carney, hoping for more answers, but he just smiled and looked toward the window. Just outside, a crab apple tree was in full blossom. Beautiful. If everything could stay exactly like this...
Screech!
Wait a minute
.
Embrace the change. Embrace the change. And give Oliver a chance
. Maybe his plans for this place were for the better. Maybe he’d be sticking around for a while... An involuntary ribbon of excitement unfurled within her tummy.

Easy, tiger. Stop reading into things.

Julia gave Dr. Carney’s hand a small squeeze. “Rest now, Doctor, it’s been a long day.”

Dr. Carney gave her a knowing smile. “Sweet dreams, Dr. MacKenzie.”

* * *

Oliver vaulted over the centuries-old stable door. It was how he’d always entered the kitchen as a boy and suddenly—some fifteen years since he’d done it last—he felt a rush of impulse to do it again.

Sentimentality? Or just plain whimsy, because he’d met a beautiful woman? A beautiful woman who had tilted the world of St. Bryar on a whole new axis. He shrugged off the questions as a steaming stack of hot cross buns came into view.

“Mr. Toff! Hands off!”

The cry was familiar and so was the voice.

“Clara!”

“C’mere, you. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you since you’ve been back!” He was instantly surrounded with the same warm embrace he’d enjoyed as a boy and, after the shock of seeing Dr. Carney, he was grateful for the familiarity.

Clara Bates had been with the family for over forty years and showed few signs of releasing her iron grip on the Bryar Hall kitchens.

“It’s only been a few hours!” He pulled out of the tight embrace and held her at arm’s length. “Now. Tell me why I’m not allowed one of your delicious buns.”

Pulling the platter of steaming baked goods out of his reach, she explained, “They’re for the Cakes and Bakes stall at the church.”

“Sorry?” There’d never been so much as a toast soldier at church services in his day.

“It’s new,” she continued with a broad smile. “One of our Dr. MacKenzie’s ideas. We’re raising money for one of those portable heart-attack machines.”

“A portable AED?” he prompted. It was a good idea. In such a remote hamlet, they should have had one the second they’d come on the market. He should have thought of it. Then done something about it.

“That’s it. If we make a certain amount, we can get a matching grant from the government or something like that. Dr. MacKenzie has all the bumph.”

Oliver rocked back on his heels, finding purchase on the ancient cast-iron oven. Wait a minute:
our Dr. MacKenzie
? That was quick work. Making herself part of the woodwork here at St. Bryar was quite a feat, considering the villagers didn’t consider you a local unless your family had tucked a good three hundred years under their collective belts. Impressive. And ruddy annoying. He’d come back to nail down how things ticked at Bryar Hall, but with Julia changing things left, right and center, it didn’t seem anything would be still enough to get a proper perspective.

He felt his soft spot for her become less pliable.

“You don’t know the half of it,” the cook continued without noticing the creases beginning to form on Oliver’s forehead. “She’s just come along and blown a breath of fresh air into everything. Really made the place come alive again since your mother passed. Of course, it’s all very different from when the duchess was with us. Your mother was very traditional, wasn’t she? Liked things just so.” She gave Oliver a wide-eyed look and a squeeze on the arm.

He knew what she meant. His mother had been renowned for living in the world of How Things Used To Be Done. If old-fashioned decorum was your thing, Bryar Hall was the place to be. One piece of cutlery out of place on a table laid for fifty, and his mother could’ve eagle-eyed it from the doorway. Oliver had always thought that was how everyone had liked things, as well. Surely he hadn’t misread his entire childhood?

“Dr. MacKenzie’s not so much a stickler for the details, but she sure likes a good commotion! Seems there’s nothing she can’t lay her hand to and make it better. You should meet her. Birds of a feather, you two!”

Birds of
very different
feathers, is more like it.
He had always been hands-off when it came to the estate, and she was anything but.

He drummed his fingers along the stove top, rattling through options. When he’d come home, his remit had seemed so clear: start the long-put-off handover of the estate with his father and decide once and for all how he would take on the mantle of Duke of Breckonshire.

Home or away?

Sell up or stay put?

Suffocate under the aristocratic code or live freely as a conflict zone surgeon?

Bish, bash, bosh.

He knew he didn’t want to be here and so did everyone else. All he had to do was find a way to make cutting ties permanently as painless as possible. And what had things been from the moment he’d arrived? The polar opposite.

How had Julia managed to get everyone here to don rose-tinted glasses? Even he’d been sucked in! Wild horses couldn’t have kept him from joining in that fun run.

“Scooch. I have another batch of buns in the oven.”

Oliver found himself being unceremoniously moved to the side as Clara bustled about the oven doors.

“Are you sure there isn’t just one tiny bun free for me?”

“What? And rob the village of a heart attack machine? Oliver!” Clara’s eyes went wide in mock horror before slipping one of the steaming currant buns onto the counter. “There you go, but I’ll leave you to tell Dr. MacKenzie why we won’t have hit our target if we’re twenty-five pence short.”

Add fuel to Julia’s fire that he didn’t give a monkey’s about the locals? Hardly.

“I’ll pay for it right now.” Oliver dug into his pocket and pulled out a bit of lint with a sheepish grin. “Put it on my account?”

Perspective. That was what he needed to retain.

A Cakes and Bakes sale was hardly going to make a difference to his ultimate decision, but perhaps having Julia here would make things easier. He hardly wanted to leave the clinic hanging in the wind, and she obviously saw the need for the country hospital to stand on its own two feet. Maybe that was why his father and Dr. Carney had hired her. She was putting down roots. Something they suspected he wouldn’t—couldn’t—do. That had always been for Alexander.

He pushed away the thought. Some things weren’t worth revisiting.

“What’s for supper tonight, Clara?”

“Don’t expect the usual setup, love. Your father tends to eat a small meal in the library now with a good book by the fire. I can make you up something more hearty if you fancy. The larder’s always full.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows in astonishment. His entire life, meals had been taken in the dining room. His parents had always insisted upon it. It was traditional. He tried to shrug off the surprise. He could hardly blame his father for not wanting to eat there alone. The formal dining room was
formal
. Not much fun if you were on your own.

“Not to worry, Clara. I’ll eat with father.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and jogged up the stone stairwell to the main floor, wondering what else might be in store for him.

The last thing he’d expected when he’d come home was to be the only thing about this place that hadn’t changed. Who would have thought all it would take to shift centuries of tradition was one very beautiful English rose?

CHAPTER THREE

“
H
ELLO
?” O
LIVER
PUSHED
on the clinic door a bit harder. It wasn’t locked but the thing wouldn’t budge. It probably just needed a good shove with his shoulder.

“Hang on! Stop! You can’t come in.” Julia’s voice came through the curtained clinic door, clear as a bell.

“I’m sorry?” Oliver knew he and Julia hadn’t gotten off to a particularly smooth start, but he didn’t think he’d be barred entry to the clinic.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” Her voice sounded strained.

“I didn’t think there were prescribed visiting hours,” Oliver snapped back. He’d been hoping to have a quiet visit with Dr. Carney—a game of chess, a bit of chat; perhaps a bit of fact-finding of his own. He guessed he didn’t need more of that. He knew where he stood with Julia. Loud and clear.

“You’ll have to come round the back if you want to come in.”

Oliver shifted the large newspaper cone of daffodils from one arm to the other and picked up his chess set. He’d never expected special treatment for having been born “up at the big house”—but this was a bit rich.

He made his way around the small stone building, noting how well the flower borders and baskets looked. Julia or the gardener? He wasn’t sure, but he knew where he would lay his bets. At this point, he’d be surprised to hear a certain blond-haired, blue-eyed woman ever slept.

The back door opened without a problem and in an instant his grumbly thoughts disappeared. Julia was halfway up a stepladder at the front door rather fetchingly twisted in an unraveled roll of wallpaper. Things had quite obviously not gone to plan.

“Flowers!” Julia’s eyes opened wide with delight. She swiveled round on the ladder, and Oliver automatically lurched forward, dropping the flowers so he could grab her with a steadying hand as she swayed on the top of the steps.

“Argh! Wrong hand!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Julia held her left hand aloft as he shifted his hands to her waist, her right hand grabbing ahold of his shoulder as she tried to regain her balance. “I love daffodils! You shouldn’t have!”

Still holding her waist, Oliver looked down at the daffodils then back up at her beaming smile. Awkward moment!

“Ah—you didn’t,” she interjected before he could change his embarrassed expression. “They’re not for me, are they?” A soft flush crept onto her cheeks as she shifted her hips to release his hold on her waist. Shame. He quite liked being here so close to her. Holding her.

Should he just lie and give the flowers to Julia? Her eyes had positively glittered at the sight of the spring bouquet. Then again, he was a terrible liar.

“I had intended them for Dr. Carney,” Oliver confessed. “They’re his favorite, and I thought they might brighten the place up a bit, but it seems you pipped me to the post.”

“Hardly!” Julia tried to untangle herself from the soft green wallpaper speckled with daisies. “I don’t know why I thought I’d be any good at DIY and now you’re a witness to the fact that I’m a first-class disaster.”

It was impossible not to smile along with her goofy grin but his gut was actively disagreeing with the “disaster” pronouncement. She looked like she’d stepped straight out of a nineteen-forties “Women Do It Well” war poster with blond hair caught up in a polka-dotted scarf, deep blue blouse knotted at the waist and pedal-pushers resting on her hips.

“See? You can’t even speak, it’s such a palaver. And this was meant to be your big surprise!”

“Surprise?” What on earth for? Stepping into—onto—her life and making about the worst series of impressions he could?

“Don’t be coy, Oliver,” Julia teased as she climbed down from the ladder, wallpaper crumpling to the floor as she went. “Your face spoke volumes when you saw that the waiting room hadn’t changed since the queen’s coronation. I have been planning on doing this for weeks, and this led to that... Then there was the fun run, and that took ages to organize, and all of the sudden you were here and everything’s a big fat mess—and I’d so meant for it to look just perfect for you whenever it was you were meant to come back, which turned out to be now. I’d wanted everything to be perfect.”

Just staring at her red-as-they-come lips as she spoke a mile a minute had Oliver in a daze. It was little wonder everyone had fallen under her spell.
Hurricane Julia?

“Oliver?”

“Yes, sorry?”
Focus, man!

“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

“What’s that?” Oliver forced himself to move his gaze from her lips to her eyes. Cornflower-blue—that was what they were. A very lovely shade of cornflower-blue.

“Talking and talking and talking until the other person gets brave enough to stop me because it turns out everything I’m saying is absolute rubbish.” She put her hands on her hips and squared off with him as if daring him to interject.

I could lift you off that stepladder and kiss you. That would change the flow of conversation.
Oliver forced himself to take a physical step back, incredibly grateful he hadn’t said the words out loud. This was all going in a very different direction than he had intended.

Whoosh!
There goes one quiet visit with Dr. Carney out the window
.

“I know!” Julia zipped past him and headed down the corridor before he could stop her. “I’ll just pop the kettle on and get you and Dr. Carney a nice cup of tea, then you can get on with your visit. I think we’ve got some biscuits from yesterday somewhere about the place. I’ll find a vase for those flowers, too. Just forget that I’m here—I think that’d be for the best. Don’t you?”

Sensibly?
Yes. Realistically? Impossible. Oliver turned and watched as she disappeared into the clinic’s tiny kitchen. He knew it was ridiculous but it seemed as if the very light of the waiting room had dimmed when she left.

He pulled a hand through his hair and gave his head a good shake. Hurricane or fresh spring breeze, he needed to keep his wits about him. This was the trip that was meant to serve as proof that a life at Bryar Hall was not his future. From the moment he’d arrived it had felt like an alternate universe. A Bryar Estate buzzing with life and possibility and Julia.

Must be sentiment playing tricks on him. It had been a while since his last visit. He gave his head another shake. Dr. Carney and a good game of chess. That would put him back in familiar territory.

* * *

Julia opened the tiny door to the freezer compartment and stuck as much of her face in as possible.

Could her cheeks have been burning any brighter? Talk about mortifying! She’d been hoping for a fresh start with Oliver—but this? Behaving like a complete and utter blithering idiot? Not really what she’d had in mind.

She pulled out an ice cube, closed the door and let herself slide to the floor. She ran the tiny cube along her face and let herself imagine the scene she’d actually hoped for. A cool, calm and collected Julia. One who had filled out all of the funding forms and had positive responses. One who ran a clinic that wouldn’t need a single penny from the estate. Or, at the very least, one who’d crafted an immaculately refreshed waiting room. The walls were done up with the beautifully pale green paper she’d found for next to nothing on a trip into Manchester to see the kids on one of those days when she’d needed a dose of Mini MacKenzie hugs.

She could do with some of those now. The children came home most weekends and it was then that she felt she could really call this place home. The house would be filled with music and chatter and Dr. Carney would insist on one or both of the children playing for him in his room. Then the clinic would fill with music and Julia would see drop-in patients, or garden, or pootle around the kitchen and forget for whole swathes of time that she was a widow and that all of this wonderfulness had come to pass because Matt was no longer here. Her hand curled into a fist around the melting remains of the ice cube.

The click of the kettle coming to a boil pulled her back into the room. She wiped her hands dry with a tea towel, pushed herself up and started making some tea. The ordinary, everyday action of swishing warm water into the brown pot, opening the dented canister for the tea bags and pouring milk into the small pitcher settled her. So much had been churning up inside her these past two days. She must be missing the children.

No. That wasn’t it. She always missed the children.

Quit dodging the obvious, Julia!
There was one tall, dark-haired and very handsome reason she was feeling off-kilter and, from the click-clack of chess pieces coming from Dr. Carney’s room, she had a premonition she would be feeling this way for a while.

Now, if only she could channel some of this energy into putting up wallpaper...

* * *

“Are you kidding me?”

Julia wailed the words in disbelief as she saw her Wellington boots float past the bottom of the stairs. Barely sleeping had been bad enough, but now this.

The late spring frost she’d enjoyed from her upstairs window had quite obviously not been entirely benign. If floating footwear was anything to go by, the pipes in her aging cottage had burst. Terrific! Her children would be home over the Easter break and that was only a fortnight away.

Sucking in a deep breath, she took a step into the water. Cold, cold, cold, cold! She stuffed her feet into the boots, not that they did any good, ran the handful of steps to the front door and opened it, feeling a rush of goose pimples shoot up her body as the shin-deep water eddied and gushed past her legs. The cottage would take ages to dry out. First-class disaster!

“That’s an interesting way to start the week.”

Julia looked up, startled to hear the resonant male voice. The voice that seemed to bring nothing but trouble with it.

“It’s a tradition where I come from,” she riposted, suddenly very aware she was only wearing a small nightdress. With tiny little straps. And not much disguising the fact her arms weren’t the only bits of her body that had gone taut.

“Oh? And what tradition is that, exactly?” He lazily crossed his arms as he leaned against a beam in the small portico, water slipping past his booted feet and a smile playing across his lips. “Giving oneself pneumonia?”

He had a point. She was freezing.

“It’s a spring cleansing,” she retorted with what she hoped was a quirky smile and went to close the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“I’ve actually come to help.”

“What? How on earth did you know—?”

“With the clinic,” he interjected, giving her a pointed look. With
those
eyes. “Remember? I said I’d help at the clinic?”

She stared at him as her brain played catch-up. Had she not said very specifically that he shouldn’t come?

“Given our...mishap... I thought you might need an extra pair of hands. I’ll also need a look at the books and, as things have obviously moved on from Dr. Carney’s tried and true system, seeing how you run the place would be helpful.”

Oliver pushed himself away from the beam and moved forward to take a look into her cottage. He was suddenly close. Very close. He took no notice of her personal space at all, which wasn’t very considerate, given that he was barging into—
Mmm
... Julia’s mind stilled, her senses caught in an intoxicating twist of Oliver’s warmly spiced cologne. A fresh shiver of response reminded her she was really feeling the cold now. It would’ve been too easy to nestle into the crook of his neck, press into his chest and take another deep breath of...

“It looks as though I might have to play knight in shining armor to boot!”

“You forgot your white horse.” Julia spoke before thinking, unsure if she was flirting or sniping. Common sense seemed to be taking a backseat to the flickers of attraction careening around her body on a race course to nowhere.

Flickers?
Ha!
Fully-fledged bonfire was more like it.

She chanced a look up into his eyes and saw the warm look had disappeared and been replaced by a cool efficiency at her comment.

Note to self: stop talking!

“You can’t possibly stay here until the pipes are fixed. Go and get some things together. We’ll stick you somewhere in the house. It’s big enough. We shouldn’t get under each other’s feet.”

Not really the most welcoming of invitations.

“
No, that’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”

Stay in the same house as Oliver? Not a chance. How she was going to clear out her house and run the clinic with one hand was beyond her but, if her gut was anything to go by, close proximity to a man whose moods flipped on the edge of a coin was definitely not something she needed. Not by a long shot. Especially since he seemed to want to put her and the clinic under the microscope.
Good luck finding any loose change. This is an efficient ship, Dr. Oliver Wyatt!

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He walked back to the porch and pulled out his car keys, as if the matter was settled. “There isn’t much chance of this place drying out in the next few days, let alone hours. I won’t have you falling ill on top of everything else.”

“It’s not just me, remember?”

Oliver stopped, waiting for her to fill in the blank.

“My children. My children are coming home in a fortnight for the Easter holidays.”

“As I said,” Oliver repeated. “There’s enough room that we shouldn’t get under each other’s feet.”

“Thanks for the warm welcome,” Julia whispered, her eyes following his receding figure. Hot and cold? Regal and relaxed? She wasn’t sure which way the wind blew with this man but one thing was certain—her nice and cozy world looked set to be turned on its head. Again.

* * *

Oliver gripped the steering wheel tightly in the hopes his whitening knuckles would offer him some clarity. Banging his head against the dash might help. He briefly considered it as a viable option.

What on earth had he been thinking?
Inviting Julia to stay at the house when her very existence barely gave him time to think? Out of sight she had already invaded his psyche. The past twenty-four hours away from the clinic—away from Julia—had been an exercise in self-control. A day apart was meant to have helped him get a clear head before tackling the clinic’s future.