“IF I MAY BE SO BOLD as to ask once more, m’lady, are you certain you wish to do this?”

There was one thing Millie was quite sure of. This was the first time in all her twenty-six years that their butler in the Edinburgh town house had ever questioned her wishes. Or was it her sanity he was wondering about? She’d never done anything this outlandish, not even as a wee tot.

“I’m certain.” She looked around the drawing room. The Persian carpets had been rolled up, and cloths had been draped over every chair, sofa, and table. Even the pictures hanging on the walls had been covered. She had no worries about any repercussions from her family. One of the benefits of spending her life conforming to every rule and regulation was that she’d earned the right to a little wildness.

If her rooms at Baronsford could be cleaned of the damage done by a greased pig, so could this drawing room.

“Bring them in here. All of them. Now.”

“As you wish, m’lady.” With a defeated look, the butler nodded to the footmen standing uncertainly by the doorway.

“And there will be an extra day’s wages for everyone who helps put the room to rights later,” Millie said. She immediately heard murmurs of approval behind her as she closed the last window.

The cages were carried in and placed on the floor. After sending the servants out, she started to free her new companions. The canary immediately took flight, circling the room and fluttering up against every window before landing on top of a covered painting on the wall. The bird was truly the most silent songbird in creation, and she looked at Millie now with the same doubtful expression the butler had been wearing.

Upon her release, the squirrel became a russet-colored blur, racing about the room, leaping on and off the furniture. Espying the tray of refreshments, in the blink of an eye the creature was on the table, sitting back on her haunches and stuffing walnuts into her cheeks as fast as she possibly could.

Millie proceeded to release the three chickens next. They were truly the most pitiful birds in creation. Looking at them now, scraggly and thin, with patches of feathers missing entirely, she had no doubt about why they’d gone unsold at the market. They strutted about, soiling the dark wood floor and clucking and pecking at furniture cloths and each other.

The monkey quieted down the moment the cage was opened. Clearly seeing herself as superior to the rest of the animals, the little mammal climbed calmly up Millie’s arm and sat on her shoulder, holding on to the collar of her dress and eyeing the rest with benign disdain.

Millie felt the same pang of regret she’d had yesterday after sending her note to Dermot, demanding today’s meeting. She should have held off, for she was curious to know what other companions he might have sent her.

As a man and a doctor, Dermot McKendry had fascinated her since before she ever met him. It was not just the stories Jo told her or the initial state of his office. He had an absolutely wicked sense of humor. This latest foolishness was tremendously endearing and totally unexpected. Since the arrival of her menagerie, she’d had no time to think. No time to wallow in the gloom of her situation. These past few mornings, she’d opened her eyes with a sense of expectation, hurrying downstairs to discover what new gift had been delivered.

To Millie’s surprise, the canary trilled for the first time a moment before the knock came at the front door. She glanced toward the clock just as it chimed the hour.

Dermot was, of course, on time.

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WHATEVER EXPECTATIONS or misgivings he’d had about how his mischief had affected Millie, they were cast to the wind the moment Dermot entered the drawing room. She’d kept all of his gifts, and they were running freely about the room.

“Close the door. Quickly! We can’t allow them to escape now, can we?”

Formality was forgotten. The footman backed out immediately, and Dermot turned in time to have a yellow bird fly at his face. He gently tried to shoo it away, but the canary seemed to have a mind of its own.

“I believe she’s the angriest of all.” Millie stretched out her hand, and the bird landed on it. “She did, however, sing for the first time only a moment ago.”

Millie was a vision from a fairy tale. She was dressed in white with a monkey on her shoulder and a bird perched on her finger. Her hair was in slight disarray. Her cheeks glowed pink. He wished he had some artistic talent, for this was an image that needed to be painted and admired. He quickly dismissed the thought; he could never capture the vibrant essence of her personality on canvas.

“The canary is a she?” he finally asked. He didn’t have the heart to tell her only the male bird sings.

“They’re all female. I imagined you knew that.”

She motioned to a table holding the tray of sandwiches and pastries and such. The red squirrel sitting on the tray grabbed the last walnut from a dish and scampered off.

“No excuses today, Dr. McKendry. You’re joining us for refreshments.”

“Ouch.” He looked down at the chickens pecking viciously at his trousers. “Get away.”

“Reason with them. Tell them it’s your fault the cook has tied a different color ribbon to their feet to identify the day they’re to go into the stew.”

He noticed the ribbons. She wasn’t jesting. “Perhaps they should be fattened up a wee bit first.”

“You’re right.” She encouraged the canary to sit on an unlit lamp and led the way toward the table. “I’ll speak to the cook about it.”

Dermot moved cautiously, with the clucking chickens weaving between his legs and continuing to peck at him. “Stop! Is this any way to treat the man who delivered you here? There are far more ignominious fates than ending up as Lady Millie’s dinner...though at the moment, I can’t think of one.”

Millie stopped and faced him. “So you admit these gifts came from you?”

He bowed. “You’ve caught me out. I may have had something to do with it.”

As his hostess proceeded toward the table, he frowned at the monkey who was perched on her shoulder and sticking out its tongue at him.

Millie sat, and he joined her. With a little nudge, the monkey climbed down and followed the squirrel, who had returned and was pawing through a plate of sandwiches.

“Would you care for one, Doctor?”

The red squirrel lifted her face, both cheeks stuffed full. The monkey paused as well and glared, a sandwich held in each hand. The warning was clear.

“I’m fine.”

“Coffee, then?” She poured out a cup and handed it across the table.

Dermot was about the take a sip when the yellow bird flew across the room and landed on his shoulder. It trilled prettily in his ear, and he began to think he hadn’t chosen too badly—in this case, at least—when the feathered rodent flew away, leaving a spot on his blue coat.

He put the cup down.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

The hens were at his feet again, this time going at his boots. When one attacked his knee, however, Dermot reached down, grabbed the offender, and tossed it over his shoulder. It sailed off in an indignant flutter of feathers and squawks, the red ribbon trailing behind. “Nothing at all.”

The canary flew back and perched on his other shoulder. Obviously, it was not finished. Looking him in the eye, it crooned a few low notes and then flew off, leaving its mark there, as well, as he’d anticipated. Perhaps it was a ‘she’, after all.

“Are you finding my little friends to be a nuisance?”

“Not at all.” The chickens were back, pecking away with a vengeance. He shook his napkin at them and crossed his legs.

“Are you comfortable, Dr. McKendry?”

“Absolutely,” he lied.

“And enjoying yourself?”

“Absolutely.” At that moment, the red-ribboned hen jumped up on his knee, digging in with her sharp talons. “How could I not be?”

When he batted the bird away, the squirrel leapt off the table and ran through his legs, and the monkey stood on the tray and screeched in support. The canary was back, this time landing on top of his head, pecking at his scalp.

“Bloody hell!”

Dermot jumped to his feet, his hands and feet moving simultaneously as he tried to ward off the assailants.

“Excuse my outburst,” he managed to get out between defensive maneuvers. “But how ever did you train them in such a short time?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said innocently, calmly watching as if nothing were amiss. “You do live in the Highlands, Doctor, do you not?”

He caught the hint of a smile on her lips. He’d brought these beasts to her door, but it was her eyes that danced with mischief.

“The last time I visited the Abbey, I walked through the farms. Working farms. I can’t understand why you’d be so troubled by an animal or two.”

“Very well. I’ll say it. I apologize for afflicting you with this plague of wild things.”

Then, as suddenly as they began, the animals lost interest in him. The chickens wandered off, the squirrel and the monkey resumed their breakfast, and the canary flew to the top of the clock, where it began to sing.

Dermot shook his head and sat down again, returning Millie’s smile.

She tilted her head toward the door. “I’ll be sure to pass on your apologies to the staff. The housekeeper was ready to resign her post last night. And the butler thinks I’ve gone mad. The maids run away and hide whenever the footman opens the front door.”

Dermot eyed the chicken with the red ribbon warily. She was peering at him from behind Millie’s chair. He would offer his own apologies on the way out. He didn’t know how to tell her exactly, but chaos wasn’t the only result he’d wanted to achieve. Her raised spirits were the thing he’d hoped for, and her bright face told him he hadn’t miscalculated.

“First the piglet. And then these animals.” She waved at the creatures around them. “Why did you go to such trouble?”

Millie’s question was direct, and it helped him. Perhaps the time had come to speak candidly. He reached out to pick up his cup, saw the warning looks on the faces of the monkey and the red squirrel, and thought better of it.

“I know it was not your intention to raise the stakes on the pranks we’ve been playing on each other.” She folded her napkin and smoothed it over her lap. “And I know you’re not doing it to court me. There’s something else.”

He wished his actions had been an attempt to court her, but he pushed the thought away.

Dermot was a master at maneuvering a person’s thinking to calm them or to challenge them. The years spent in his profession had equipped him with invaluable tools that he could employ to help someone afflicted with grief or melancholy or some other state of mental distress. And many times this past week, he’d thought of this very moment. But suddenly, his mind had gone blank. He could only speak from his heart.

“My intention was to distract you.”

“Distract me?” She was surprised. “Why?”

“Because I know what you’re going through right now.”

She started to respond but stopped. The cup moved slowly to her lips. He didn’t want his words to undo whatever ground she’d gained these last few days. Go slowly, he told himself.

“What is it exactly that you know, Dr. McKendry?” she finally asked, putting the coffee cup down on the table.

It was not possible to evade her questions, even if he wanted to. Directness defined the way she lived her life. The way she saw the world. Dermot was the same. “I ran into you—or rather, you ran into me—a few days before the ball at Baronsford. It was in a lane above Cowgate. You were too upset to look up, but I recognized you.”

Her eyes closed momentarily, and she massaged her temples. She was looking for a plausible way to explain her being there. But he didn’t want any more fabrications muddying the waters between them.

He reached inside his pocket and took out the card that he’d been carrying around since that day. “You dropped this when you were giving your money to some children in the lane. It’s Dr. Jessen’s card.”

She glanced at it and shook her head. “You must be mistaken. I did walk in Cowgate once during that week but—”

“Don’t, Millie,” he said softly, tossing formality aside. “I know. I went to speak with him . . . as a physician. He told me the difficult news he’d had to deliver to the young woman who just left his office.”

Her chin lifted. Her eyes were wide and frightened. Dermot wanted to move to her side, take her into his arms, tell her that all would be well.

“Who have you told?”

“No one. Your decisions, your choices, are for you alone to make. I would never undermine you in that,” he said with passion, meaning every word. “It was as a friend and as someone in the medical profession that I took the liberty of trying to distract you and to make you aware of options that are open to you.”

“Bringing the lecture notes about surgical procedures was part of your plan.”

“It is an option that’s available that Dr. Jessen might not have discussed with you. And there are excellent surgeons in Edinburgh. I told you about Dr. Isabella Drummond because she is always referred to in the highest terms and she’s a woman.”

“You took me to the museum, to the Royal College of Surgeons.”

“I wanted you to meet other doctors. Jessen is a fine physician, but he is not close to the best for treating a patient with your condition.” His voice shook, but he tried to keep his tone convincing. “Your life is at stake, Millie. You can’t trust one person and one opinion. You have the means to—”

“What if no one can help me?”

Susan’s face appeared in his mind’s eye, and like ashes caught up in the wind, the image disintegrated, whirled, and flew away. Dermot hadn’t helped her. He hadn’t known how, and he’d made a mistake. This was now, he told himself. He’d grown. He had far more knowledge, more connections. And he needed Millie to trust him.

“Someone will help you. I’ll help you. There is a way, and we’ll find it.”

Her eyes glistened as she leaned toward him. “Thank you.”

Her hand stretched across the table. He took it in his own. Her fingers were cold, and they clutched his tightly. He couldn’t let her die. He wouldn’t allow it to happen.

“I’m grateful to what you’ve done, and for your friendship, but right now, I need time,” she whispered, taking her hand back. “Time to think.”

He understood, but he also felt like a failure. He had so much more on his mind that he wanted to share. She mattered to him. More than as a friend, or as his partner’s sister-in-law. Millie had become essential to him. She’d filled a gaping hole in his heart that had lingered there for years.

“Millie.”

“It’s all right. But please, right now, I need you to leave me.”

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THE DOOR CLOSED BEHIND Dermot, and her tears welled up and overflowed. Millie sat on the edge of the chair as her sobs overtook her. She wasn’t alone. She didn’t have to go through the illness on her own.

The monkey climbed onto her shoulder and put her arms around her neck.

Millie laughed through her tears, petting the little animal.

Dermot knew her secret. He cared. He was affected by what she was going through. He had hope when she didn’t dare to have any. She wiped her face and tried to calm herself. She wanted to share some of the weight she’d been carrying for the past few weeks with him.

But she couldn’t do this to him; Mr. Turner’s words kept coming back to her.

Dermot had loved, and he’d lost. He’d suffered badly, to the point of being committed to an asylum.

She could feel his affection for her. If she accepted his help, would he be hurt once again? She could not forgive herself if her own affliction caused him pain.

And what about her? Would she be satisfied if he helped her as a family friend . . . remaining impartial? She cared for him too much already. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She had no answers.