He was a bit younger than her father, but the two of them had talked for hours, mostly ignoring her presence. And now she had no idea what to expect, but she suspected working with him could be no worse than continuing the charade of appearing to be a man while tolerating the new Scottish surgeon.
She’d had an epiphany of sorts when she began to wonder what her life would look like in two years, or five. She doubted she could fake her way into medical studies at Edinburgh, but did not have the heart to go on with the half life of assistant to a high-in-the-instep Scotsman who looked down on her lack of official education. Her experiences at sea were at least equal to what he’d seen, and she’d had to deal with injuries and illnesses on a much larger ship than those of the African Squadron.
Although her father had doted on her and protected her ever since the death of her mother, he’d assumed she would always stay by his side and be his silent, obedient assistant, invisible to the rest of the world. During his final days, he’d even suggested she go to Dr. Partlow for help in the event of his own demise.
And now, she had the invitation. He’d initiated the contact. She opened her reticule again and fingered the single page of the letter. He knew her worth. She could not practice as a physician on her own, but she could become a valuable partner for his practice. They could help each other. She was not coming to him as a poor orphan. She could earn her keep.
Just then, the driver guided the pair of grays into a long drive lined with sturdy oaks. The branches swelled and met in a heavy green arch above them, with a bit of light filtering through from the cloudy skies. In a small corner of her heart, Willa wished for a little more from life. If only the sun would burn through the clouds. She took a deep breath and accepted the driver’s offer of assistance to help her to the ground. He left her chest next to the gate and headed back toward town.
The front door of the house exploded open and a mass of children raced toward her. She tried a quick count and stopped at six. Her heart sank, and she had a moment of dizziness when she realized two of the girls in her original count each had a smaller child clinging to her.
One small boy pushed forward and tilted his chin belligerently. He narrowed his eyes and accused, “You’re our new governess. You’ll be gone in a few weeks just like all the rest.” He turned and stomped back toward the house.
One of the rosy-cheeked, older girls in an apron came close and gave a clumsy bow after placing a toddler on the ground. “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t like anyone. I’m Annalise. I’ll show you your room.”
“I’m here to see Dr. Partlow. There must be some mistake. I am not a governess. I’m a physician’s assistant. Is the doctor at home?”
The young woman gave her a pitying glance and scooped up the wayward toddler. Willa could not discern the gender of the small child because of the trailing, outsized dress.
“Papa is gone. He’s always gone. You can wait in the parlor. I’ll send in some tea, because you will wait a very long time.”
“Where is your mother?”
“She’s dead,” Annalise said, and headed back toward the house, balancing the child on her hip. “She died when he was born.” The girl pointed at the little one she carried.
“I’m so sorry. Was she ill?”
“No. She was exhausted. She just gave up.”
The girl looked back one last time toward Willa’s sea chest sitting unceremoniously by the front gate where the hired driver had deposited it. “My brother, James, will be out in a bit to get your chest and take it up to your room in the attic.”
Chapter Four
After a bit of hot, honied tea, a hearty bowl of stew, and a thick, crusty chunk of bread, Cullen faced his fellow traveler, Heracles, and the road ahead with a bit more of a philosophical attitude.
Yes, it was a helluva ride yet ahead of him to the clan’s townhouse in Mayfair where his aunt awaited him. But he owed the woman at least the favor of his presence and perhaps he could take a look at what ailed her before he headed back along the same tedious journey home to the Arethusa.
Home? Yes, the huge, creaking, forty-gun frigate would be his home for a number of years, he realized with a sinking heart. The tour of duty to the St. Helena station was a long one, considering the time required just to arrive there and return. The island serving as gaol for Napoleon was more than five thousand nautical miles away, in the middle of the Atlantic, between the coasts of Africa and South America.
Action was unlikely, considering how many times the Royal Navy had quashed the many attempts to seize the captive French madman and re-take control of France.
On his way to the inn’s stables to rejoin Heracles, he passed a young woman in mourning clothes, her face pinched and pale. A flash of memory of the other crow-like young woman he’d seen earlier alighting from the coach scorched through his brain. And then, erratically, the vision of young Morton in innocent sleep, his dark hair splayed across his pillow also shot across Cullen’s mind’s eye. Cullen shook his head hard and took Heracles’ reins from the groom leading the beast toward him. Only a few hours on the road and already he was hallucinating. While he still had control of most of his faculties, he’d best move on toward the Three Pigeons Inn at Guildford for the night before heading on to London in the morning.
Willa surveyed her tiny quarters
