“Mrs. Prewitt.” Joss summoned the housekeeper from the hallway and deposited Jacob in her reluctant embrace. “Clean him up and send him to Cook for a biscuit.”

His son temporarily occupied, Joss turned his attention to the ink-spattered contracts covering his desk. God, what a mess. As partner in Grayson Brothers Shipping, Joss was fully empowered to sign the contracts and deal with the matter in Gray’s absence. But it chafed him that he didn’t truly understand the crux of the problem, had no idea whether he signed the new contract for good or ill. He had only the advice of their solicitor to work from, and Joss didn’t trust that toadying prig with tuppence.

Not that Gray would have known any better how to handle the situation. His brother had no education in legal matters, either. This was why Joss was determined to study law. They couldn’t build a successful family business unless one of them could look at these piles of legal prattle and make sense of them.

The butler appeared in the entryway. “A caller, sir.”

“I’m not at home.”

“It’s Sir Toby Aldridge, sir.”

“Damn,” Joss muttered, sifting through a stack of parchment. Just what he needed—the task of entertaining that insufferable ass in addition to everything else. “Didn’t he get the message that Bel’s taken ill?”

“Yes, he did,” a voice said from the corridor. The insufferable ass himself rounded the doorway and entered the study. “All the more reason for me to call.”

Joss dismissed the butler with a look. “You’ll have to come back another day,” he told Toby, sitting down to his desk. “She’s feeling too poorly for social calls, and I’m in no humor for them either.”

Toby flopped into a chair opposite. “Don’t treat me as if I’m some stranger off the street. I’m marrying Isabel in less than a month, for God’s sake. Now, what’s the nature of her illness?

Has a doctor been called? Can I see her?”

“It’s just a sore throat,” Joss said. “She doesn’t want a doctor. And no, you can’t see her.”

The butler appeared in the doorway again. “The Countess of Kendall and a Miss Osborne, for Miss Grayson.”

“Tell them I’ll be there momentarily. I’ll show them up to Miss Grayson’s chambers myself.”

“Now see here.” Toby rose from his chair. “You just said she’s not to receive callers. Why can Lucy and her friend go up, and not me?”

“Because Bel asked to see them. She didn’t ask to see you.” Joss brushed past Toby and walked down the corridor to the entryway. Toby’s footsteps followed him to the foyer, where Lucy waited. Joss bowed to the countess first. “Please excuse my appearance,” he said, gesturing toward his ruined attire. “The work of my son, I’m afraid.”

Lucy smiled. “Yes, I’ve heard young Master Jacob is a handful.” Her gaze drifted over Joss’s shoulder. “Toby, what a pleasant surprise. I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Why should it be such a surprise? Wouldn’t any gentleman call on his invalid intended?”

Ignoring Toby’s complaint, Lucy continued, “Miss Osborne, this is Miss Grayson’s brother, Captain Josiah Grayson, and her betrothed, Sir Toby Aldridge. Gentlemen, allow me to introduce my friend, Miss Hetta Osborne.”

“Miss Osborne. You are welcome.” Joss bowed to the newcomer, a young lady a few years older than Bel, dressed in a simple muslin frock and a curry-colored spencer. He straightened to find her regarding him with intense, unwavering curiosity. Joss suppressed the urge to pull a face, call attention to her rudeness.

“Miss Obsorne’s come to stay with me through my confinement. Her father is the doctor at Corbinsdale. When Bel sent word that she’d been taken ill, I immediately thought to bring Hetta with me.” Lucy laid a gloved hand on her friend’s arm. “Miss Osborne’s practically a physician in her own right.”

“A female physician?” Now Joss enjoyed his turn to stare. Miss Osborne was a compact, efficiently made sort of woman. In manner and bearing, she had the air of a matron, but girlish freckles dusted her milk-white complexion. Indeed, she stared with all the unabashed curiosity of a child, but intelligence sharpened her eyes—eyes that were a warm shade of hazel. They gave him pause.

It had been a long time since Joss had noticed the color of a woman’s eyes. Lately, a cursory glance was all he spared any new acquaintance before slotting the person into one of two categories: “Tolerate” or “Dismiss.” But he wasn’t sure yet how to categorize this woman. He needed a closer look. Thus, he found himself studying her appearance with undue concentration.

He found himself noting that her eyes were a rather appealing shade of hazel, flecked with green.

Behind him, Toby made a sound of derision. “Practically a physician? If Isabel is ill, she’s going to be seen by a real doctor. I’ll send my own personal physician.”

Miss Osborne lifted her chin. “The only reason I cannot claim the title ‘physician’ is my sex. I’ve received the same benefit of education and experience as any of my male counterparts.”

“As any country quack, you mean.” Toby turned to Joss. “You can’t seriously mean to entrust your sister’s health to this … this girl.”

Lucy grasped her friend’s arm. “Hetta, don’t be offended. Toby doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s just upset over Bel’s illness.”

“Yes, I understand.” Miss Osborne fixed Toby with a withering look. “I’m well acquainted with the irrational behaviors gentlemen exhibit when their ladies are ailing.”

“Irrational behaviors?” Joss said. “It’s irrational for a man to display concern?” Now Miss Osborne was truly becoming a problem. She was making him side with Toby. Much as he begrudged Toby any consideration, Joss understood all too well the agony of watching—at least, hearing—a woman suffer. “One would think you’d have some sympathy,” he said. She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Sympathy would imply understanding, and I’ve never understood why women are labeled the weaker sex. In my observation, males suffer the condition of helplessness with far less courage than females suffer pain.”

Her grip tightened on a small black valise. “As for me, I do not suffer ignorance. I came here to attend Miss Grayson. I assure you, I have the training and experience to provide her with excellent care, despite the efforts of some”—she shot a look at Toby—“to limit me, simply because of physical characteristics given me at birth.” Her eyes flashed as she turned to Joss.

“One would think you’d have some sympathy.”

Well.

Joss inhaled slowly, considering. This Miss Osborne was either an impolitic fool or an example of cleverness. A physician, did she call herself? In a minute’s time, she’d managed sharp pokes to both of his raw, open wounds—his lingering grief over Mara’s death, and his frustration with the restrictions that accompanied his mixed parentage and illegitimacy. For a purported healer, she was a real pain.

Now she had the temerity to suggest he should reward her acid nature, endorse her abilities just because they shared this tenuous link of skirting social convention. As if it made them allies. He could not deny her access to Bel, Miss Osborne’s gaze insisted, without impugning his own intelligence.

His alternative, of course, would be to deny her skills as a physician and turn her away—

thereby siding with Toby. Joss suppressed a growl of annoyance. It was a devil’s bargain, either way.

Miss Osborne knew it, too. As they stared one another down, her thin eyebrows arched with anticipation. Oh, she was clever. The woman was no fool.

“Very well.” Joss made a dismissive bow. “Mrs. Prewitt will show you to my sister’s chambers.” Damned if he’d do it himself.

“Thank you.” Lucy smiled, in an obvious effort to dispel the tension. Watching Miss Osborne ascend the stairs, she whispered, “Please don’t mind Hetta. She rather delights in being shocking.”

“I understand, Lady Kendall.” As Lucy followed her friend above-stairs, Joss turned back to his study. Miss Osborne did not know her good fortune, to be able to choose the occasions on which she gave offense. People found Joss shocking as a matter of course, whether he delighted in it or not.

Toby’s smooth voice stopped him halfway down the corridor. “I can’t believe you’re permitting this.”

Joss sighed. Would the man never leave?

Toby continued, “And here I thought you were the intelligent brother.”

“And here I thought you were smooth with ladies. You didn’t display any of that reputed charm with Miss Osborne. After the way you insulted her, I could scarcely turn her away. Poorly done, Aldridge.”

“Oh, leave off.” Toby lowered his voice as he closed the distance between them. “If a dead wife entitles you to become a full-time prick, I should think an invalid betrothed earns me a moment of incivility. If Isabel’s condition fails to improve—or God forbid, worsens—I will send for my doctor immediately, and you will have hell to pay.”

Joss stared at him. He’d never heard that tone from the man before. What a day this was. Mangled contracts, tipped inkwells, female doctors … and now this insufferable ass began to demand his respect. Worse, Joss felt compelled to give it. “Agreed.”

“Good. Now agree to let me see her.”

“I would let you see her. If—” Toby was three risers up the stairs before that “if” halted him mid-step. “If she wished it. But she doesn’t.”

“What do you mean, she doesn’t? I’m going to be her husband in three weeks.”

“She’s not your wife yet. For now, she’s just my sister. And my sister doesn’t want to see you.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“There you are. At last.”

Bel looked up from her reading. Toby stood at the entrance to her private sitting room, holding a parcel under one arm and stealing the thoughts straight from her mind. There he was. At last.

She wished she could stand to greet him, but her head was spinning. Throughout her illness, she’d suffered bouts of dizziness. Spying his dashing figure in the doorway only made matters worse. Perhaps she shouldn’t have agreed to see him so soon, but she’d been putting him off for more than a week now.

She laid aside the newspaper, forcing her lips into a tight smile. Oh, how she longed for him to turn away, so she might pinch a blush to her cheeks. Maybe she could manage the appearance of better health, if not the corresponding strength.

But she could tell, Toby was having none of it. “How pale you are,” he said, placing his parcel on the table and sinking onto the divan next to her. He made an impetuous motion as though he would embrace her, then seemed to think better of it. Bel didn’t know whether to be grateful or disappointed.

He asked, “Do you know how sick I’ve been with worry? I’ve come by the house every day, you know. Why wouldn’t you allow me to see you?”

Warm brown eyes scanned her appearance. Bel felt his gaze catching on the dark circles beneath her eyes, the sallow tone of her cheeks, the dull texture of her hair. She must be hideous, and of course he looked as suave and handsome as ever.

“How could I have allowed you? It isn’t proper.” She fidgeted with the handkerchief in her lap, picking at the tatted edge. It wasn’t quite a lie; just an incomplete truth. She couldn’t very well tell him honestly, I couldn’t let you see me until I felt completely assured of my sanity. She’d spent days floating in and out of feverish dreams, terrified that, like her mother, she would never fully return from them. Even once the fever left her, she’d lain awake in bed all night, scouring the darkest corners of her mind for any flitting moths of madness.