Earl of Oakhurst Read online

  Lord Oakhurst inclined his head. “Well met, Lady Penelope.”

  His accent was not that of a proper Englishman, but a Scotsman.

  She almost blurted out her realization, but had enough years of etiquette at her back to stay her tongue. Instead, she simply lowered her head and politely acknowledged the introduction.

  Silence descended uncomfortably over their small group and was made all the more awkward by the expectant stares from Lord Bursbury and Lady Oakhurst. Heavens! Did they expect Penelope and Lord Oakhurst to fall into one another’s arms, mad with immediate love?

  The very idea twisted in the hollowness of her chest.

  “Have you been in London long, my lord?” Penelope asked her question at exactly the same time that Lord Oakhurst extended an invitation to dance.

  “I’d love to,” Penelope said smoothly, even though she would like anything more than being trapped on the dance floor with an apparent suitor.

  He offered her his arm and she accepted—as good, obedient girls do—and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. They took their places, and the opening notes of the quadrille tumbled through the air.

  Lord Oakhurst offered her an uncomfortable quirk of a smile that said he wasn’t any more thrilled to be dancing than her. Maybe he was not a suitor after all.

  They came together as the steps dictated and his large gloved hands folded over hers. He had a light smoky scent about him. It wasn’t the expensive, perfumed aroma most men purchased, but something woodsy and pleasing.

  “Yer father introduced ye to me for a reason,” he said.

  “Oh?” Penelope lifted a brow. “Would it be too bold to assume that reason was marriage?”

  They turned to regard the small audience watching them like cats eyeing a twitching mouse tail. At once, Lady Oakhurst, Lord Bursbury and—drat it all, now Lady Bursbury as well—all spun away.

  Lord Oakhurst regarded Penelope once more, his face so stricken, so helpless, she nearly laughed. The music pulled them apart for a moment to link arms with other dancers in their square before bringing them together once more.

  “I apologize for my father’s boldness.” She leveled her eyes at his to convey her sincerity. “And in advance for my mother. Feel free to flee at any moment. I won’t blame you a bit.”

  “Actually, yer father introduced us due to yer knowledge of gout,” Lord Oakhurst began. “Do ye know much of it?”

  The cloud over Penelope lifted somewhat. “I have quite a bit of knowledge and considerable experience from my time at St. Thomas’s.” To women, her statement would be boastful and proud. But men were different creatures, ones who found confidence to be truth and any faltering to be weak.

  The dance had them separate once more and attach themselves to other partners. As she danced with an older gentleman, she realized Lord Oakhurst really was most likely approaching her about his grandmother’s gout. And if that were the case, she would have a reason to plunge back into medicine, even as she worked around her present conundrum of being without a husband.

  She spun around and into Lord Oakhurst’s strong, sure hold once more. Only this time, she eagerly anticipated their continued dance and hoped to expand a bit more on the fascinating topic of gout.

  3

  MacKenzie wasn’t the finest dancer. It was a fact he’d never cared about or even put much thought toward. At least, not until he danced with the likes of Lady Penelope Keats, who seemed to glide effortlessly through the steps with a grace that made him feel as ungainly as an ox.

  “What is it ye do at hospital?” he asked, continuing their conversation.

  They spun around and he caught the delicate scent of roses, sweet and sensual. It was a fresh smell, like that of the actual flower. Not the sickly-sweet perfume so many ladies insisted on dousing on themselves.

  Lady Penelope spun around and came to a stop before him. “I do everything, such as listening to the heart to determine health. I see to people who are having an apoplexy when one arises. I’ve pulled bullets and glass from wounds.” She slipped away to another partner and was returned back to him, her face practically glowing.

  “I dinna realize St. Thomas’s employed women.” He’d meant the statement to be a compliment, but the demure lowering of her gaze, shutting him off from her, told him he’d made a grave mistake.

  “I imagine it is verra difficult for a woman,” he tried again. “It’s always been so for women in the medical field. I’m sure ye’ve heard of Agnodice.”

  Recognition did not show on her face. Pity.

  “We’ve not been introduced,” Lady Penelope replied.

  “She died a long time ago.” MacKenzie chuckled. “She lived in ancient Greece and wanted to help women in their delivery of children into the world. In order to practice, she cut her hair to look like a man.”

  Lady Penelope notched her chin a smidge higher, her eyes bright with interest. “Was she discovered?”

  MacKenzie nodded. “But the women of Athens came to her defense and the law barring women from medical practice was lifted.”

  “For all of our advances in our society, we certainly have crawled backward.” There was an understandable edge of bitterness to her voice.

  “Ye must be verra good at medical practice to break through the barriers laid before ye.” He spun her around.

  “I am.” She lifted her head with determined confidence. “I have volunteered my time there for the last three years. Not as a physician, or a surgeon, or even a barber. Only as a volunteer. Many there do not relish the presence of a woman among them. I have been recently informed I cannot return until my marital status has become less ‘unfortunate.’”

  “Unfortunate?” He lifted a brow.

  “I’m single when society deems I ought to be wed.” She turned to another partner and spun about before returning to him.

  He recalled what Kendal had said of her, how she’d declined every offer of marriage thus far. “Ye dinna wish to wed?”

  A pained expression put a small line on her otherwise smooth brow. “Precisely. It is a man’s ocean and I am but a woman cast upon its waves. But when a woman does not want marriage or children, what is she to do, but try to swim alone?”

  The small muscles of her neck stood out with her sigh. “It would appear I am losing even that freedom, which is why I must finally concede to seek out a husband.”

  The music wound down to a close and they took their places across from one another to bow and curtsey. He offered his arm to her to walk her back to her father.

  “I believe it’s why my father introduced us.” Lady Penelope walked at his side with the same elegant grace she had danced with, effortless and beautiful. “Do forgive him. He only seeks to make me happy.”

  MacKenzie studied her from the corner of his eye, this woman who wished to have a role in a man’s ocean, as she put it, who sounded as though she deserved that role more than most men.

  “I think he means for ye to aid my grandmother,” MacKenzie replied. “Did she discuss her gout with ye?”

  “Of course not,” she rushed on. “She’s far too proper for that. I noticed it myself, but only because I spent most of my time at St. Thomas’s specializing in the affliction. Well, that and mesmerizing.”

  Mesmerizing? What the devil was that?

  “I can help her,” Lady Penelope offered, her eyes full of hope.

  “If it wouldna be any trouble.” They were walking slowly now, prolonging the moment when she would be delivered to her father.

  “Not at all.” She tilted her head becomingly and the gems in her fire-red hair twinkled like stars. “It would be entirely my pleasure to do so.”

  “Tomorrow then?” MacKenzie suggested. “Ye can come by for tea with her and discuss how ye could offer yer assistance.”

  “I’ll be there.” Lady Penelope smiled at him, a genuine smile that made her pale blue eyes glint like a summer sky.

  “Thank ye for the dance,” he said.

  Several men ling
ered by her father, their stares fixed on Lady Penelope. She must have seen them at the same time as MacKenzie, for her steps slowed almost to a halt. The energy and brilliance drained from her for a breath of a second, but in a blink it returned, replaced by a straight back and perfunctory smile.

  “Wish me luck in my search for a husband I do not want,” she said between unmoving lips.

  “Ye have yer pick of them.” He hadn’t meant to say it so sarcastically, and yet there it was—stated with weighted cynicism.

  “Is it cruel?” she asked abruptly.

  “Cruel?”

  “To wed someone simply for the benefit of marriage, without knowing or caring for them?” Her lips pressed together in contemplation. “It is cruel,” she answered of her own accord.

  “It is the way of society, my dear lass.” With that, MacKenzie delivered Lady Penelope to her father and bowed to her before making his departure.

  Gemma had watched the exchange with a fan fluttering beneath her flushed face. He fetched a glass of lemonade before making his way back to her. She took it with a grateful smile.

  “You’ve always been such a good grandson, James.” She paused for a delicate sip. “Tell me everything of your dance with Lady Penelope. She is such a delightful young lady, is she not? I’ve heard she’s extraordinarily accomplished. Not only can she paint with the skill of an artist, but she sings like an angel.”

  “She also has medical knowledge,” MacKenzie replied. “Specifically, on gout.”

  “Does she?” Gemma lifted her brows. “Accomplished, beautiful and skilled.” Exhaustion lined her eyes and the stiff-backed, regal way she’d sat in her chair upon arrival had begun to wilt.

  “I’ve asked her to come to tea tomorrow to speak with ye.” MacKenzie reached to take Gemma’s empty lemonade glass from her. “Shall we take our leave?”

  She pressed the small glass in her hands for a moment, and met his eyes. “You could do worse than her, James.”

  At that exact moment, Lady Penelope sailed by them on the dance floor, graceful and lovely. Alabaster skin, pink lips, auburn hair, pale blue eyes and a confidence that would rattle most men.

  But James MacKenzie wasn’t most men.

  “James.” A familiar, feminine voice rankled over his skin like a chill.

  He turned slowly in the direction of Lady Judith and waited for all the years of angst and hurt to slam into him. Except they did not.

  She smiled up at him, her smooth lips pulling back to reveal her small, white teeth as she batted her lovely brown eyes at him. “It’s been years.”

  He gazed at her for a moment and still not a modicum of emotion whispered through him. Apparently seven years and countless instances of eight glasses of whisky were enough to remove her from his heart. Thank God.

  “Condolences on the loss of yer betrothed.” He bowed formally. “Lady Judith.”

  “Thank you.” She let her gaze rove over him. “You may call me Judith,” she said sweetly. “I believe our past association would allow a lack of formality. And perhaps our future as well…”

  Emotion did edge in on him then, a white-hot flicker of anger. The closeness they shared had been a kiss, the confession of wondering at a life together, and then immediately following the death of MacKenzie’s uncle: her betrothal to Gilbert.

  “I fear that wouldna be proper, Lady Judith.” He bowed again. “Do excuse me.”

  “Father says you are considering a betrothal to me.” She caught the crook of his arm in what was obviously intended to be an endearing grasp. He saw it for what it was: entrapment.

  MacKenzie squared his shoulders. “Ye’ve heard wrong, Lady Judith.” He pulled his arm delicately from her grasp. “If ye’ll excuse me…”

  He inclined his head and stepped to take his leave.

  “Why?” The agreeable expression melted from her face and pulled the corners of her lips downward. “Why would you not do what is right? I am meant to be the Countess of Oakhurst.”

  “Are ye aware I was another earl’s valet for the last three years?” He squared his shoulders, expecting her scorn. “For a friend, after he inherited his earldom some years after we’d met.”

  “I’d heard.” Her gaze slipped away momentarily. He’d unsettled her. Good.

  Still, she pushed out her chest. “I can forego some gossip, as I’m sure you can imagine.” She leaned closer and spoke with an edge to her voice. “The title belongs to me. I’ve waited seven years, James. Seven years. I’ve earned it, regardless what you’ve done in your past.”

  But it was not his past that troubled him so much as hers. And what she’d done to him.

  As he watched, Lady Penelope was led to the dance floor in the distance on the arm of yet another gentleman. MacKenzie shifted his attention back to Lady Judith and answered earnestly, “Forgive me. I am already considering another lady.”

  The bulk of Penelope’s black medical bag was a welcome weight against her thigh. She kept it close to her side as she and her mother rode to Oakhurst Place, and had politely declined the footman’s offer to secure it outside the carriage.

  As they traveled the short distance, Penelope considered what she might be up against with regard to Lady Oakhurst’s foot. Advanced stages were far more difficult to treat. Urate crystals were insidious things that would eventually mutilate a foot. At that stage and beyond, the bones could never be the same. Hopefully, the dowager countess was not so far along in her affliction.

  “The Earl of Oakhurst is quite a handsome man,” Lady Bursbury said suddenly.

  Penelope shifted her concentration from her experiences with gout to recall the man she’d met the prior evening. “Is he?”

  In truth, she hadn’t noticed. He was tall with dark hair and eyes and appeared to be rather fit. Not all the men she’d danced with had possessed such appealing qualities. In that regard, she could see how one would find him attractive.

  “Oh, Penelope,” Lady Bursbury exclaimed. “Do try. If nothing else, he was the only one you seemed to speak to with any amount of interest.”

  “His conversation was the most interesting.” Penelope almost smiled at his mention of the Greek woman who had broken through the barriers of men. “He had a pleasant scent about him.”

  Lady Bursbury nodded.

  Penelope tried hard, recalling the sharp line of his jaw and high cheekbones. “He was rather handsome,” Penelope conceded.

  At this, her mother brightened. “Oh, I knew you thought so too.”

  Penelope had not actually, at least until this moment of reflection, but refrained from stating as much.

  “And he invited you to attend to Lady Oakhurst this afternoon.” Her mother’s eyes widened with obvious excitement. “I believe he’s quite taken with you,” she said in a singsong voice she reserved for moments of pure anticipation.

  Thankfully at that moment, the carriage pulled to a stop before Oakhurst Place. Within minutes, they were led up the stairs to the drawing room.

  Tea had already been laid out on the polished wood table, with delicate cups resting on small saucers with dainty blue flowers painted upon their glossy surfaces. Except there were not three cups.

  There were four.

  It appeared Lord Oakhurst would be joining them, a suspicion that was echoed in her mother’s nudge against Penelope’s side.

  Before she could shoot her mother a disparaging look, the double doors opened and Lord Oakhurst entered, pushing Lady Oakhurst in her wheeled chair. Most would expect a servant to attend to the older woman, but the earl seemed content with the task.

  Nor was that all he did for her. Penelope had seen him bring his grandmother a glass of lemonade at the ball. It was a rare kindness for him to care for her as he did.

  The four of them exchanged pleasantries and settled down to tea with Lady Oakhurst across from Lady Bursbury and Lord Oakhurst opposite Penelope.

  It was a different thing to see a person in the light of day when one had only known them in a candlelit ballroom
. If Penelope had presumed Lord Oakhurst to be attractive the evening before, she knew him now to be as her mother declared: handsome.

  His hands were large; his fingers blunted where he pinched the narrow handle of the teacup in a tenuous grasp.

  His eyes were not dark as Penelope had assumed, but a deep moss green. The bit of hair that had fallen over his brow the evening before, she now could see was a stubborn lock that curled forward when the rest was combed smoothly into place. It was boyishly endearing when the rest of him was so decidedly masculine in every way.

  But Lord Oakhurst was not the subject of her visit at Oakhurst Place. She needed to refocus her attention on his grandmother and how she might address the topic of seeing to the afflicted toe.

  Having never done medical house calls before, Penelope was unsure how best to go about bringing up the topic. She was just trying to piece together a way she could introduce it into the current conversation about the weather when Lord Oakhurst announced it for her.

  “Once we’ve finished our tea, I imagine Lady Penelope would like to see to yer foot, Grandmother.” He turned his green eyes toward Penelope. “If that’s amenable to ye.”

  Penelope nodded with relief. “Of course. I have everything I need here. Would you prefer I attend to you in your private chamber?” Heat effused Penelope’s cheeks as she regarded Lady Oakhurst. “I confess, I have only ever seen to patients at St. Thomas’s.”

  “That would be most agreeable,” Lady Oakhurst said.

  After it was settled that Penelope would see to Lady Oakhurst while Lady Bursbury remained downstairs, Lord Oakhurst took it upon himself to carry his grandmother to her chamber.

  Once he’d delivered her carefully into a chair close to where Penelope had set her black bag, he lingered. “I’d like to stay, if that’s fine with ye, Gemma.” He pursed his lips together. “Grandmother,” he amended.

  Penelope bit back a grin at the endearment. She had known the former Earl of Oakhurst, the profligate who had been found dead and partially naked in the Serpentine with a woman of ill repute. She hadn’t been acquainted with the Dowager Lady Oakhurst then, but no grandmother wanted to be made aware of such things in regard to their own grandson. Penelope was pleased to see the new Lord Oakhurst made up where his predecessor had so painfully failed.