Dominic pulled out his watch fob and made a show of reading its time. Henrietta’s toes danced beneath her skirts. Was he being obtuse on purpose?
“Louise is practicing the pianoforte at her aunt’s this morning. Miss Gordon can be spared a few hours, if she wishes.” There was laughter in his voice.
Did Mr. Moore hear it? A hot wash of heat doused her. How very humiliating to have once been free to do as she pleased, to discuss the greatest medical advances in the world with minds of great scope, and now to be reduced to an employee who must have permission to take a walk.
Galling and unwelcome and all her uncle’s fault.
It was as if Dominic knew how she strained against this societal cage, and he laughed at her.
Sparing him a haughty glance, she turned to Mr. Moore. “I would love a turn about Hyde Park.” She swooped her skirts in a flouncing statement and exited the door he held open for her.
She peeked behind her once, just a quick look to see if Dominic still laughed at her. A shudder rippled through her when she saw him in the doorway, his smile gone, his eyes a dark, impenetrable mask.
A fanciful thought.
But the image invaded her conversations with Mr. Moore. Even as he expounded upon an herb discovered in the Outback, or Down Under, as he said many called it.
“That is a land of convicts, is it not?” She tried forcing interest. Her bonnet kept the sun off her face, but it was a hot London summer day. Close to noon and the street was filled with people of various sorts, of varying incomes and classes.
“There is violence. I’ve letters describing angry aboriginals and former British convicts seizing control of the colony. Our military has been working on restoring order.” Mr. Moore paused. “But enough of that. How is it that you are a governess? You should be with your uncle. You are one of the best herbalists I’ve ever met.”
She explained the entire thing, then, ending on how she’d decided to join her uncle without his permission, asked him to not divulge her current employment status.
“I will not say a word, my dear. Are you sure it is wise?”
She began to blurt out that practicing medicine was all she wanted, but stopped. A memory of tea with Dominic and Louise bombarded her. The cool breeze, the warm laughter. That feeling of belonging that had been absent since her uncle left her. And something more. An intangible spice that could not be identified, something that had been missing in her life.
Drawing a deep breath, she said, “I cannot stay a governess. Practicing medicine is all I know.”
Mr. Moore grazed her arm, enough to stop her, but not enough to cause notice from passerby. His kindly eyes roved her face, concerned. “I saw Mr. Gordon only a fortnight ago in Wales. He confided in me, and it is time for me to confess to you, that he asked me to call on you. To ascertain your happiness.”
Unexpectedly, her eyes watered. She blinked rapidly, willing her tear ducts under control. She would not be in this position if he had not abandoned her.
“He told me,” continued Mr. Moore, “that he has hopes you’ll marry.”
“Marriage is not conducive to the study and practice of medicine.”
“It could be.”
“Are you married, Mr. Moore?”
His face crinkled for a second, and perhaps she may not have seen that brief ripple of pain if she had not been studying him so intently.
“There was someone. Years ago.” He looked down the street in front of them as though peering at the past. “The youngest daughter of a vicar.”
They continued walking, the sounds of their shoes lost in the clatter of passing carriages.
“I did not marry. I chose medicine and learning over creating a family.”
“A difficult choice,” murmured Henrietta. She never wished to face the wrenching tug between mind and heart. What a terrible, terrible situation to find oneself in. “You are happy, though, are you not? Why, if you’d stayed with her, think of all the education you might have missed. The medical community would have suffered greatly by your absence.”
He chuckled. “You flatter, my dear.”
“I read your paper on leeches. It is why I refuse to use them.”
He made a commiserating sound, but there was a frown upon his face. “I cannot help but wonder what became of her.”
The longing in his voice, perhaps unbeknownst to him, carved holes in Henrietta’s certainty that a man of his caliber would not regret leaving a lowly and possibly uneducated vicar’s daughter for a far greater calling. She blinked against the sunlight.
“It is fortuitous that you chose to see me today. Even though Uncle William put you up to it. I am researching epilepsy, but there is very little information to be found. What can you tell me of it?”
“There have been studies published in France. I shall find them and send them to you. I do have a friend studying the pathology of the disease. What is your interest in it? I do not think herbs can bring relief.” He studied her.
She ignored the question for another. “If one was discovered to have epilepsy, would there be a danger of incarceration?”
“I should think so, depending on the family and rank of the individual.”
“A member of the peerage?”
“Ah, one who can afford the costs of a hospital. I daresay that if a peer was found to be suffering seizures, there are many who would wish to consign that person to an asylum. But a title can get one out of all sorts of predicaments.”
Dominic would be happy to hear that, she thought. He needn’t worry about being locked up after all, and he could have Old John arrested or, at the very least, run out of the village.
A great relief trembled within. She would tell him as soon as possible.
Chapter Eighteen
Dominic grabbed the edge of his seat as the carriage rocked to a stop. Opposite him,
