Doctor...to Duchess? (8 page)

“Lord Oliver—”

“Oliver, please.”

“Oliver,” Elsie continued. “I know you’re busy down in Africa and all, but I have to tell you, I’ve been making this lemon drizzle cake for well over a decade now, waiting for you to come in and have another slice.” She set down two mismatched china plates weighted with enormous slices of cake and signaled for the teenaged girl behind her to place a teapot and creamer alongside them. Elsie’s granddaughter, perhaps? Blimey. Had that much time passed?

Julia was doing a terrible job of disguising her amusement at his public berating. She was supposed to be sticking up for him, wasn’t she?
Thanks for the backup!

“Elsie, I will let you in on a secret.” The woman leaned in toward him, obviously on tenterhooks.

“My mother used to send me one of your fabulous cakes once a month for years. You must never tell Clara.” It had been the one chink in the heavy armor of aristocratic mothering. A cake care package from his mum with a small note in her meticulous hand keeping him updated on things in the village. He still had the notes.

“Well, you should have said! I could’ve carried on after your mother passed away. We all miss her, you know, Lord— Oliver.”

“Thank you, Elsie, I’ll hold you to that. She’d be pleased to know you’re keeping me in cake!”

Elsie pressed a hand to the table and feigned a faint. “You make a woman blush with pleasure.”

“I try my best.” He dropped Julia a wink before noticing her expression had moved from mirthful to murderous. What had he done now?

“I’ll let you get on, then. Enjoy your cake, you two.”

He watched as Julia silently poked at the thick slice of yolk-yellow cake with her fork. She wasn’t one of these women who preferred lettuce leaves to afternoon tea, was she?

“Lemon drizzle not to your liking?”

She pushed the plate across to his side of the table.

“You’d better have it.”

“And would you mind telling me why?”

“Not at all.” She lifted her blue eyes up to meet his. Bright as a cornflower. He liked them better when she smiled and that dimple of hers appeared high up on her right cheek.

No dimple.

“Why do you raise their hopes like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re going to stick around, be a part of their lives.”

“Ah.” He leaned back in his chair and studied her. “For an Englishwoman, you’re very forthright.”

“For an English gentleman, you’re not behaving very honorably.”

“And what, exactly, has led you to this conclusion?”

“From what I hear, you don’t have many plans to stick around.”

He didn’t respond.

“You’ll be letting down a lot of people if—
when—
you leave again. People who care about you.”

Julia immediately regretted saying the words. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe them. It was that she didn’t know what the villagers thought; she just knew what she thought—it was too soon for him to go!

“I’m sorry, Dr. Wyatt, that was uncalled for.”

“Are you trying to pin the tail on the donkey?”

She blinked at him, not really certain where he was going with this.

“Are you trying to make an ass out of me, Dr. MacKenzie?”

“No, not at all. I think you’re doing a pretty good job of that yourself.” She clapped her hands over her mouth, horrified she’d let more of her inner voice out than she’d planned, and was astonished to see Oliver’s lips break into a broad smile.

“You’re really not in the manner of mincing words, are you, Dr. MacKenzie?”

“What happened to Julia?”

“What happened to Oliver?”

“Good point.”

Now what? Tell him you’re sorry when you’re not? Change the topic and pretend this never happened?
Not likely to work.

She poured their tea, buying herself some more thinking time before putting the eggshell-blue pot down with a quiet sigh. She may as well give peace a chance. Her parents had been diplomats, always advising the long game as the wisest move. Truth was, she didn’t have a clue why he’d come home, and trying to rat him out as a fly-by-night before he’d announced his plans wasn’t fair. She wanted him to be fair with her—so she owed him the same privilege. Private deal made, she offered her olive branch.

“What do you say we start over?”

He scrubbed at his chin and gave her a sideways look. She liked how he didn’t agree immediately. That she could respect.

“Clean slate?”

“Erm...” She lifted up her splinted fingers. “Sort of.”

At this, Oliver gave a full belly laugh, turning a few silver-haired heads in the small café in their direction. He lowered his voice and leaned forward on his elbows. “What do you say we negotiate an open-book policy?”

She quirked an eyebrow and nodded. “I’m listening.”
Not to mention fighting the temptation to crook a finger and beckon you to lean in just a little bit closer.
Julia!
Stop it.
The man’s trying to reason with you, not lure you to into his gentleman’s quarters.

“I’m here for a month.” Oliver pressed on despite her best “I’ll believe it when I see it” look. “During which time, I promise I will answer everyone’s questions as honestly and openly as I can—but I have to spend a lot of time with the estate ledgers.”

“And?” She spread her palms in a “so what?” gesture.

“Let’s just say Oliver and spreadsheets were never the best of friends. Until I have a real handle on all of the estate’s enterprises, I can’t decide—”

“Whether or not you are going to stay?” she finished for him, not really wanting to hear the answer. A week in and the last thing she wanted was to see him leave.

Oliver fixed her with one of those “deep into your soul” gazes.

“Are you asking for yourself or for the good people of St. Bryar?”

“Both?”

Nice one. Oliver will never see through that answer.

“Honestly, Julia? I don’t know.”

She exhaled slowly, hoping he couldn’t see the disappointment in her eyes. What had she expected? A declaration of love after one kiss on the cheek and a body-slam in a moat?

“It’s not like I’m just going to leave the place to fall into ruin. It would kill my father, for one. And two, these people have meant a lot to my family.”

“
Have
meant?”

“
Do mean
. A lot. To me.” He gave her a pointed look and slid a hand over hers with a gentle squeeze. One that told her she’d been given a lot more access to the real Oliver Wyatt than most, but it was time to reel it in.

“Okay. That’s fair.” She nodded decisively then sat back in her chair with a playful grin, fingers crab-walking out from under his to pull the china plate of cake back to her side of the table.

“I thought that was mine!” Oliver protested, reaching for the plate, the glint of a chase in his eye.

Before he could reach it, Julia put a protective hand around the giant wedge of gooey cake, took a huge forkful and waved it in front of her lips. “Didn’t I say?” She stuffed the bite into her mouth and mumbled through the crumbs, “Lemon drizzle is my favorite.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“
W
ITH
A
ROOK
?
How humiliating.”

Oliver looked at the chessboard in disbelief. Nearly a week into his chess tournament with Dr. Carney and he was still getting trounced. The fact he also got to spend time with Julia might just have taken the edge off his daily humiliation. “I don’t know how you do it!”

“Practice, dear boy. Practice.” Dr. Carney smiled as he moved his rook across the board to take Oliver’s king. Checkmate. Again. The piece suddenly fell from his hand with a sharp flinch.

Oliver jumped to his feet and pushed away the tray holding the chessboard. “Are you all right? Do you need more meds?”

“Not to worry, Ollie. Just a sore stomach is all. It comes with the territory.”

“We can up the morphine.” Oliver spoke seriously now, as a doctor.

“Honestly, Oliver. It is money best spent elsewhere.”

“What are you talking about? You’re going to get the best palliative care we can offer.” As he said the words, reality dawned. Dr. Carney knew the place had limited funds and was trying to scrimp on his own treatment to save money for the other patients. Selfless to the end.

The realization was like a hammer blow to his conscience. Like it or not, he was part of this community and, like it or not, had a responsibility to be a better part of it.

“Look.” Oliver laid a hand on Dr. Carney’s painfully thin arm. “I am afraid, this time, you are going to have to obey doctor’s orders. You’re getting more meds. I’ll sell Great-Aunt Myrtle’s portrait if necessary. We should get a couple of hundred for the frame at least.” He gave Dr. Carney his best teasing wink, hoping it covered his true feelings—utter grief. The sting of seeing him suffer was quadrupled by the knowledge his mentor was willing to forego meds to help others.

No longer able to fight the pain, Dr. Carney nodded his assent. “Thank you, Oliver.” He took the proffered medication and his voice soon grew soft as it began to take effect. “It’s so very nice to have you here. Better than all the medicine in the world.”

Oliver stayed until Dr. Carney drifted off to sleep, keeping an eye on his obs, putting the pieces of the chessboard back in order and fighting the temptation to howl at the heavens for taking down a kind man in such a cruel way.

“Hey.” Julia’s whisper came from the doorway. “Everything all right?”

Oliver cleared his throat before answering. “Yes, he’s just sleeping. Can I have a quick word?”

“Absolutely.”

He followed her as she went to the waiting room and curled up in a corner of the sofa. It looked vaguely familiar. Had it been in his mother’s sitting room? He hadn’t been in there too often but something about the floral pattern struck a chord in his memory banks.

“What’s up?” Julia prompted as he sank onto the other end of the sofa.

“It’s about Dr. Carney’s meds. He’s concerned about the budget of the clinic and that’s the last thing I want him to be worried about.”

“I agree.” Julia nodded a quick assent. This was a change in the right direction.

“I’m willing to pay for everything he needs. Money’s not an object.”

“Ah. You see. This is where it gets a bit tricky.” Julia unfolded her legs and stretched them out as she struggled to find the best way to word things. She’d promised the duke she wouldn’t tell anyone he was paying for Dr. Carney’s care. But if he was refusing meds because he believed the resources would be better spent elsewhere... What a mess!

“What’s tricky about me paying for some morphine?”

“It’s already being paid for but Dr. Carney doesn’t know it.”

Oliver stared at her uncomprehendingly.

Talk about caught between a rock and an Oliver.

“Julia? What’s going on? The man needs meds and he’s refusing them.” Oliver raised his hands with a “What gives?” expression and searched her face as if it would give him answers. Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she fought the urge to look away. She couldn’t tell if she was blushing because Captain Adventure was staring deep into her eyes or because she knew something he should know. This was his future, after all—managing Bryar Estate, the clinic. One he was proactively avoiding. If you didn’t count all the time he’d been spending in the clinic over the past week. Or was that just him hiding from the estate ledgers?

“Your father. He’s been paying for everything.”
There. She’d said it.
She’d have to apologize to the duke—but English decorum be damned! Her first loyalty was to her patient.

“My father? He didn’t say anything to me. And Dr. Carney doesn’t know?”

“We, your father and I, were pretty certain he would refuse it—would insist the money be put toward the clinic, other patients. I told him the bed and monitoring equipment had been donated by the City Hospital. Which was sort of true. Your father donated to the Wyatt Wing and in turn they gave us the equipment.” Another uncomprehending look. “You know?” she pressed. “The one your great-grandmother put funding toward after World War I? They’ve now got a new serenity garden featuring the rose named after your mother. It’s lovely. You should see it.”

Julia watched as Oliver connected the dots and began to nod as the pieces came together. Her heart leaped to her throat. He obviously hadn’t had a clue about any of this and it was affecting him deeply. Cold-hearted heir, he definitely was not.

“What have you told Dr. Carney about the fun run?” Oliver’s energy level suddenly shot up a level, the cogs visibly whirling.

“Nothing yet. I’ve not really had a chance to tot it up.”
You’re not the only one who’s been distracted lately.

“Could we not tell him the villagers decided the money should go toward his care? A thank-you for the years of service?”

Julia felt the prick of tears at his words. “I think that’s a perfect idea. We’ll tell him tomorrow.”

“No, no. You tell him.”

She pushed herself up onto her and knees and crawled a little closer to him on the sofa. “Wouldn’t it be nicer for him to hear the news from someone he really knows? Who really loves him?”

“No, you go ahead.” He waved away her suggestion. “It was your idea.”

“No, it wasn’t—you just came up with it.”

He laughed and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. And didn’t remove his hand. “I would never, in my wildest dreams, have come up with the idea of holding a muddy fun run in the Bryar Hall moat.”

Julia wanted to protest but one look at him was a give-away that he spoke truthfully. “Fun” and “Bryar Hall” weren’t things that went together in his book.

If Julia hadn’t ached for him before, her heart was well and truly constricting with compassion for him now. She felt his thumb give a gentle rub along the base of her neck. Without stopping to check herself, she tipped her cheek toward his hand and closed her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips as she felt his hand move to her cheek.
Oh, my. This is nice.

She forced herself to open her eyes again as Oliver slowly traced a finger along her jawline. His gaze had a softness to it she hadn’t seen before. Had keeping everyone at arm’s length—continent’s length, more like it—made it easier not to care? What exactly was he trying to avoid? Feelings? Love? As she felt the gentle caresses of his fingers, all the thoughts in her mind blurred into one very clear desire. If she were to just lean over and—

The front door swung open and with it came Tina Staunton, one of the overnight volunteer relief nurses. Julia jumped up and made to close the door behind her as if she’d been standing there all along, heart thumping at full pelt.
That was close!

“All right, Dr. MacKenzie?” She smiled at Julia then did a double take as she spotted Oliver on the sofa.

“Lord Oliver, so sorry. I didn’t see you there.” She shot him a bashful smile.

“Dr. Wyatt, you remember Tina Staunton? Her parents run the village shop,” Julia prompted at turbo speed, seeing he was visibly struggling to remember who she was—maybe he was just at startled as she was.

“Of course!” Oliver got to his feet and extended a hand, clearly back in English gentleman mode.
He’d felt what she had, right?

“How are they? I’ve not seen them for ages.” He patted Tina’s arm as he shook it.

“You should get down to the shop, then.” Tina blushed as she shook hands. Little wonder; she was the right age to find him as attractive as Julia did. She glanced at the woman’s ring finger. A gold band was firmly in place on it. Phew!

Uh-oh.
Where had that come from? Had she been
jealous
?

Hardly.

Maybe?

Of what?
A man you have no proprietary rights over who could demolish your long-awaited slice of dream-come-true? Or, more accurately, the man whose lips you can’t keep your eyes off.

“Would you like to come along, Julia?” Oliver looked at her, a hint of furrow forming on his brow.

“Sorry, I was in cloud cuckoo land for a minute.” She forced herself to tune back into their conversation.
Concentrate, Julia.

“Tina’s parents are highlighting some local artisan foods down in the village. There’s a—” he looked to Tina “—what did you call it again?”

“A Bite of St. Bryar. That’s what they’re calling it,” Tina enthused. “You should both go. Any money raised is for Dr. Carney and Reg Pryce. We all hate that Dr. Carney is so poorly and want to make sure he knows how much he means to us. And, of course,” she continued, talking at a rate of knots now, “Reg’s son is having to take on all of his dad’s work with him in hospital and, with it being spring and all, he’s going to need an extra pair of hands. A couple of the lads down the village have said they’d help, but if we can afford to get a contractor in for the day, it would make the world of a difference to the Pryces.”

“Well, then.” Oliver nodded decisively. “I guess you and I had best head down to the village.”

* * *

“Have you tried this one?” Julia forgot herself entirely as the dark-chocolate-covered salted caramel began to melt on her tongue. Before she thought twice, she was lifting a piece to Oliver’s lips. Her eyes connected with his and she stopped, midmovement, vividly aware of what a familiar gesture it was. Feeding someone. Her stomach began a mad carousel journey, her insides churning. Being with Oliver kept rousing the sensualist within her. She kept catching herself holding his gaze a bit longer than she would a friend’s, flushing, looking away, then looking back to make sure the sensation had been real. Whenever their hands brushed, a whorl of heat curled up from her core to around her heart before she could squash it back down.

“Well, go on, then.” His voice was low. Teasing. Tempting her to move into that irresistible space where they weren’t quite touching but might as well have been. “What are you waiting for?” His lips parted. Julia felt an electric response surge through her body. She felt ridiculously alive. He moved in closer.
Ooh...

She barely stopped herself from blurting, “
Open wide,”
throwing the chocolate in his mouth and scarpering.

Instead, the sensualist in her, a Julia she’d hardly known existed, slipped the chocolate between his lips, allowing her fingers to linger so that very, very briefly—and deliberately—she was able to feel his lips close upon them.

If someone had told her waves were crashing inside of her she wouldn’t have disagreed. As she drew her fingers away she felt the space between them close. The connection was there again like a thick, humming band of energy. One look at his face was proof positive he felt it, too. As her hand dropped to her side, she felt his fingers slip through hers as he nonchalantly turned to scan the room. How could he do that? Probably wise. Snogging Oliver Wyatt in the middle of a village food fair probably wouldn’t be the most discreet thing to do.

Nerves suddenly got the better of her. Who knew secret hand-holding could feel so sexy? Lucky chocolate. Swirling round behind those lips of his. She couldn’t do this.
Play it cool.

She would go find something she hated: beetroot. Someone had to have a beetroot something-or-other to help her get her feet back on planet Earth. Heaven did not and could not come in the form of Oliver Wyatt.

* * *

Oliver grinned broadly as the savory sweetness of the homemade chocolate trickled down his throat. It was delicious. But not as pleasant as the connection he’d just shared with Julia. She’d been visibly flustered and something told him, despite her feisty reactions to him, that she didn’t see him as all bite. The idea that her feelings might blossom and grow as his had was appealing. About time something nice happened here. Then again, a fling with the GP whose future was in his hands was hardly a stellar move. Not to mention the fact that every moment he spent with her was a moment that would make it harder to leave. Who knew best-laid plans could suddenly grow flimsy? Pliable? He’d never even considered staying before now. Maybe...

He looked across the room as Julia spooned some bright purple chutney onto a cracker, laughing with the woman who had made it. If he didn’t know she’d only been here some seven months, he would’ve sworn she was a local.

It had taken her half an hour to get past the front door when they’d arrived as person after person had greeted her. She certainly had the spirited tenacity of a GP committed to the long haul. He looked around the room, scanning the faces, trying to see things from her point of view.

Look at them all.
Each and every one of these people was more than just a chart for her. She most likely imagined knowing them throughout their lives, the same as Dr. Carney had. She would see them through pregnancies, sickness, trifling matters, life-changers.

Totally different to the professional world he’d chosen. Of course, the odd patient stood out here or there, but mostly you only had time to do the best you could and move on to the next person the best you could. That was what everyone had told him he’d done when Alexander had fallen ill, but he’d never believed them. Had never let himself get close enough to anyone to explain how gut-wrenchingly sad he was that he’d not told someone about his brother’s rash earlier. If only he’d known meningitis didn’t take prisoners.