“Yes,” she said. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Mayhew. Would you like some tea?”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“It’s none at all,” she said. The doctor seemed like an Earl Grey man, and she hastily set water to boil.
“How is the patient?” Mayhew asked.
“He is resting at the moment, but his fever is quite high.”
“Did you place him in ice as I instructed?”
Belle spooned tea into the warm pot. “No, sir. I’m not sure who your usual patients are, but we have no ice nor means to obtain it.” She poured the boiling water into the pot.
“I see. Too bad he couldn’t stay with Randall.”
Belle nodded. It was indeed too bad as that would have been best for everyone. “Did Mrs. Randall deliver her baby?”
“She did,” the doctor said, giving Belle a faint smile. “A healthy boy, though a bit on the small side. He has a healthy set of lungs on him, though.”
“That’s very good news.” She wasn’t sure what else to say, and the tea had not yet steeped long enough to pour it.
“Was it smallpox?” Mayhew asked, indicating the left side of her face. She hadn’t had time to curl the hair she usually styled to cover most of her scars, and the stringy tresses she’d left down were not adequate. Surprisingly, with all that had happened last night and this morning, she’d actually forgotten about her face. Mrs. Tipps and Mrs. Price were used to her and everyone who had stopped in had been far too concerned about the rain to look at her.
Belle resisted the urge to touch the ruined side of her face. “Yes, when I was four, it swept through our house. My father said I almost died.”
“Looks to have been a severe case. Curious that only one side of your face bears the marks.”
Belle might have pointed out one or two pockmarks on her right side. As it was, she wished he would stop staring at her. Finally, the doctor remarked, “Your scars are quite desirable as they indicate you won’t infect anyone else with the disease. You cannot contract it twice.” The doctor nodded his head in approval.
Belle had heard every platitude about her scars a dozen or more times before and didn’t bother to retort that she would have rather people worry she would give them the disease than suffer the unsightly scars. Instead, she poured the tea and handed the doctor a cup. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to see Mr. Arundel. I was just trying to persuade him to drink a bit of water.”
Mayhew seemed surprised that she’d started away so abruptly, but he gathered his teacup and followed her up the stairs and into her bed chamber. “And where is your father?”
“He’s gone to pay the rent,” she said.
“You’ve left the patient alone?” the doctor said.
“I had no choice if I was to answer the door.”
“And why is he all wet?”
Belle sighed. “He wouldn’t swallow the water.”
The doctor shook his head in disappointment. He made no move to do anything to help, however. “Take a cloth and dip it in the water,” he directed. “Then you can squeeze small amounts of water onto his lips and in his mouth.” He sipped the tea, looked at the cup, and sipped again. “This is very good,” he said, sounding surprised.
“I know,” Belle said. “Any other suggestions?” She indicated Arundel in case the doctor had forgotten the reason he was here.
“Keep giving him the laudanum and keep him quiet and still. To be honest, Miss Howard, I do not expect that he will live. But I have seen God work miracles before.” He sipped the tea again. “Really, very excellent tea. I must purchase some before I go.”
As the doctor seemed to have no other advice, save to rely on God, Belle sold him the Earl Grey then showed him out. She looked out the window again, hoping to spot her father, and when she didn’t see him, she locked the door. She turned to go upstairs when she heard a loud thump and a crash.
Belle lifted her skirts and raced up the stairs, burst into the flat, and stared at the man swaying in her bed chamber doorway. How could he possibly be up and out of bed? He’d been lying still and half-dead to the world a moment ago. “Mr. Arundel!” Belle closed the door behind her and cautiously crossed the floor toward him. “You should not be out of bed, sir.”
“I’m fine,” he said, grabbing hold of the door jamb to steady himself. “I only need to find my bearings.”
“You are not fine.” She approached him slowly, holding her hands out. “You have a fever and a knife wound.” She put her hands on his arms and patted him awkwardly. “You need to go back to bed.”
“I will live,” he said, his blue eyes fixing on hers with a clarity she didn’t expect. “I’m not going to die.”
“Oh, no.” He’d heard Doctor Mayhew’s dire predictions. They’d both thought Arundel was asleep, but they should never have assumed. Except she hadn’t assumed. That had all been the doctor.
“I agree,” she said, holding his gaze, though it made her uncomfortable. “You will not die. I have no intention of allowing that to happen. That doctor is an idiot.”
“They usually are.” To her surprise, Arundel grinned. It was a rather roguish grin that made her belly feel fluttery inside. That and the fact that she was still touching his arms. His hard, sinewy, muscled arms...
“He was more interested in the tea I gave him than tending to you.”
“What sort of tea was it?”
An off question, all things considered, but she would humor him. “Earl Grey.”
“Now I’m even more offended.” His tone was light, but it was edged with pain.
“To be fair, it was a very good Earl Grey.” Belle had a sudden inspiration. “Would you like a cup?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’d like to see what the doctor found more interesting than keeping me alive.”
“Get back in bed, and I’ll bring it.”
He turned his head and swayed again. Belle caught him, this time putting her arms about his waist. If she’d been uncomfortable touching his arms, this was even more unnerving and enjoyable. But she couldn’t exactly allow him to fall.
His body was still burning with fever. She could feel the heat through the layer of linen covering his chest. She could also feel his slim waist and the broadening of his chest as it expanded to his shoulders. But she would try not to think about the image of him shirtless. She was supposed to be nursing him. Lusting after her patient was another reason she made a poor nurse.
They moved slowly back toward her bed, her hip brushing against his in an intimacy she hadn’t sought and was enjoying far too much.
“Have I been having fever dreams, or were there two women here earlier?”
“That was Mrs. Price and Mrs. Tipps. They were sitting with you while we tended the shop.”
They reached the bed, and he sat down hard, making the bed creak. “We’re above a shop?”
“Yes, Howard’s Teas & Treats. My father owns it.”
He looked up at her suddenly, and she had to jerk back to prevent their noses from colliding. “Mrs. Randall served your tea at dinner.”