He slammed the door behind him.
Both Dr. Treath and his sister, Bess Treath, visited Caroline again the following morning. As before, Miss Treath sat off to one side, ready to assist her brother should he ask her to. He sat down beside Caroline, took her wrist between his fingers, and looked at his pocket watch.
“Excellent,” he said after a bit. “Normal as can be. Let me see your eyes.” He leaned closer and she felt his breath on her face, warm and minty. It didn’t do at all what North’s breath did to her. She just wished he’d finish. She closed her eyes then as he felt the bump on her head.
“That’s going down as well. Do you have a headache this morning?”
“Oh no. I feel fine, truly.”
She felt his hands lightly skimming over her throat to her shoulders. He leaned against her chest, listening to her heart.
“She looks fit, Benjamin.”
Caroline opened her eyes to see Bess Treath standing over her next to her brother.
Dr. Treath smiled down at her, taking her hand in his as he did so. He squeezed her fingers. “She has the look of Eleanor, doesn’t she, Bess?”
“Perhaps a bit. There’s a goodly dollop of deviltry in those green eyes of hers, but Eleanor was different, so filled with fun and laughter and so very beautiful. Caroline will have to grow into her kind of beauty. Let her be herself.”
Dr. Treath smiled. “She does have her own beauty, but there is a look of Eleanor about her, despite what you say.” He rose, still looking down at Caroline. “His lordship tells me he’s taking you to Scrilady Hall this morning if I agree to it. I do. You’re fit again. However, I will come to see you tomorrow morning. No sense in taking any chances.”
Bess Treath smiled down at her and gently shook her hand. “You are yourself, Miss Derwent-Jones. I hope you didn’t take my words amiss. Your aunt was very special in her own right, particularly to my brother, as I’m sure you know. I will also see you tomorrow. Good luck with the sparrows.”
“What sparrows?”
“The pregnant girls,” Dr. Treath said. “My sister has an interesting sense of humor.”
Caroline leaned back her head, watching the two of them leave beneath slitted eyes. Why hadn’t North come up with Dr. Treath?
She asked him when he was assisting her down the great stairs of Mount Hawke. She didn’t need the support, but she enjoyed the feel of his arm beneath her hand, the closeness of him. She wondered if he felt anything at all this morning or if men’s lust was reserved only for the evening hours.
“I had other matters to attend to,” he said only, not looking at her.
“What other matters?”
He did look at her then, stopping on the stairs. “I don’t recall thinking it was any of your business. Prying doesn’t become you, Caroline. Why do you ask?”
“It would seem to me that your male minions would demand that you monitor Dr. Treath so that you could assure them that I was fit as a stoat and ready to leave here within the hour.”
“Ah, but that happened anyway. Just look, Caroline, all of them lined up to bid you a fond farewell. A pity they’re not waltzing.”
“I hope they all rot,” she said under her breath, but he heard her and chuckled. It was a nice sound, that raw chuckle of his.
“Miss is leaving,” Tregeagle announced when she hadn’t yet even reached the bottom step.
“Yes,” she called out, “but I’ll be returning for dinner. Won’t that be nice, Coombe?”
“I daresay it could be pleasant,” Coombe said, “but I fear that Mr. Polgrain is beginning to suffer from a severe migraine. The good Lord knows what we’ll be eating this evening. Perhaps you’d best wait, miss. Yes, you’d best favor Scrilady Hall with your custom this evening.”
She laughed. They were really quite good, all of them. “Well, in any case, do tell Polgrain that even though I enjoyed the pilchard head thoroughly, my guests nearly vomited upon viewing it.”
“Surely that is too stark a word, miss,” Tregeagle said. “Far too vulgar for a Female Person to use. Perhaps retch is less offensive. Ah, look, I’ve opened the front door for you and there is Mr. Owen all ready to take you away from… to take you home.”
She said nothing more, just walked beside North onto the wide, very worn front steps of Mount Hawke. Owen was dutifully standing beside an ancient gig, pulled by an equally ancient old cob.
“Goodness, Owen, where did you unearth that thing?”
“Good morning, North, Caroline. Mrs. Trebaw insisted you must be pampered, Caroline, thus this relic. I just hope the wheels don’t fall off.”