The Heart's Appeal Page 4

  “I enjoy reading the society pages, that’s all,” Colleen replied defensively. “I see no harm in that.”

  “How can we find out their address in Kensington?” Julia said. If there was a way to find Michael Stephenson, she was not going to pass up the opportunity to see him.

  CHAPTER

  4

  MICHAEL SAT LOOKING OUT his bedroom window. The day was cold; he could tell by the scraps of snow lying along the edges of the buildings and by the way pedestrians tugged up their coat collars as they hurried along the street. But the sun was out, providing a measure of warmth that radiated through the windowpanes.

  After four days in bed, Michael was glad to be up for a while. He still felt bruised and battered, and his neck hurt like the devil, but he felt a growing sense of restlessness.

  Dr. Hartman seemed pleased with his recovery so far. Having just given Michael a thorough examination, he was now packing his stethoscope and other implements into his bag. “You’ve come through this amazingly well,” he pronounced. “I think we can rule out the possibility of lingering effects.”

  “Good. I am anxious to return home.” Like many London barristers, Michael’s work and living quarters were at one of the four Inns of Court—in his case, Gray’s Inn.

  “I think you ought to stay here for at least another few days,” Dr. Hartman advised. “There is no evidence of concussion, but your neck should be given time to heal properly. You don’t want to put any undue strain on the sutures and risk opening the wound.”

  Michael opened his mouth to protest, but he paused when he saw a carriage with Laura’s family crest pulling up to the townhouse. He’d asked Corinna to send a message to Laura, requesting that she not visit him while he was still recovering. And yet she’d come anyway.

  Corinna had told him how frantic Laura had been after the accident. He supposed her response showed how much she was growing to care for him. Still, he did not want her to see him looking like a bedraggled invalid. If that was manly pride, then so be it. Until they were engaged, he wanted to show himself in the best light possible.

  Turning back to Dr. Hartman, he said, “I think I am feeling a bit weak after all. Perhaps I ought to return to bed.”

  The doctor nodded in agreement. “Very wise. Mustn’t overdo it.”

  Michael slowly rose from his chair. His valet, who had been standing nearby, took his arm and helped him settle back into bed.

  “Will you just let my sister know that I am resting and should not be disturbed?” Michael said, as the doctor picked up his bag and headed for the door.

  “Certainly. I’ll be back to check on you again tomorrow.”

  Even though Michael’s restlessness had not abated, for the moment he was content to lie here. There was no reason why seeing Laura couldn’t wait a few more days.

  Julia paused on the sidewalk as a young woman came out of the Barkers’ townhouse. Although still half a block away, Julia recognized the blonde who’d been on the train. She had learned from Colleen Branaugh that this was Miss Laura Maynard. Her brother was a viscount, and Colleen had assured Julia she was either Mr. Stephenson’s fiancée or on the verge of being so.

  Miss Maynard did not see Julia. She appeared wrapped in her thoughts as she strode purposefully to the carriage waiting at the curb. They must not have been pleasant thoughts, as she was frowning. Was this a sign that Michael Stephenson was not doing well? Had he perhaps taken a turn for the worse? Julia had been worried about so many possible complications—infection or damage from loss of blood among them, not to mention a possible concussion.

  When the carriage had pulled away, Julia hastened to the door and rang the bell. The butler answered immediately, looking surprised to see another visitor at the house so soon.

  She got straight to the point. “Good afternoon. I’m here to inquire after Mr. Michael Stephenson.”

  The man’s eyebrow went up. “I beg your pardon, miss. This is the home of Mr. and Mrs. Barker.”

  “Yes, I know that. But I’m here to see—”

  She paused. It said quite a lot, that lifted brow. Mostly, it displayed an overblown sense of propriety. Julia smiled sweetly and pulled one of her calling cards from her reticule. Thank heavens her benefactor, Mrs. Staunton, had insisted on getting these for her, saying no proper lady should be without them. Julia had no great wish to qualify as a “proper lady”—she had more important things to do—but if it meant being able to see Michael Stephenson, she would act the part.

  She extended the card toward the butler and said in the most polished, polite manner she could muster, “I’m here to see Mrs. Barker. Is she at home?”

  Looking mollified, the butler accepted the card. The fine card stock on which it was printed might even have been the reason he invited Julia to wait in the front hall while he went to see if Mrs. Barker was “at home.”

  “Tell her we met a few days ago on the train,” Julia called after him. She saw him pause, but as she was now safely inside, she thought it better to share this information rather than risk Mrs. Barker sending her away sight unseen because she didn’t recognize the name.

  Julia took in her surroundings while she waited. Everything she could see, from the elegant chandelier to the massive ornate mirror, spoke of wealth. Nearly every square inch of wall was covered with photographs and paintings.

  After a few minutes, the butler returned, this time with Mrs. Barker leading the way. Julia half expected the tall brunette to look pleased to see her, if only out of gratitude, but it seemed that surprise had overrun any other feelings. Her demeanor seemed wary as she greeted Julia.

  It wasn’t the reception Julia had planned on. Nevertheless, she gave Mrs. Barker a broad smile. “As you saw from my card, my name is Julia Bernay. I don’t think we were properly introduced on the train.” She decided against holding out her hand, as this woman did not appear to be the sort who would appreciate such a bold gesture. “I’ve come to inquire after Mr. Stephenson. I believe he is staying here with you. Naturally I am curious and most anxious to hear how he is getting on. May I see him?”

  Mrs. Barker’s eyes widened in surprise. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. My brother is not well enough to see anyone at present.”

  Julia remembered the way Miss Maynard had frowned as she left the house. Perhaps she’d been turned away from seeing her beloved. But Julia wasn’t paying a social call. “I certainly would not act in any way to worsen his condition. I merely wish—from professional interest, if you will—to see how he is progressing.”

  Using the word professional might not have been the best idea. Mrs. Barker was likely aware of the lawsuit against the school and Michael’s involvement in it. Julia understood how that could cause conflicting feelings. On one hand would be gratitude for what Julia had done, and on the other, embarrassment that the person who had saved her brother’s life wished to attend the very school her brother was helping to prosecute.

  Mrs. Barker did indeed look uncomfortable. “That really is unnecessary. My brother is under a doctor’s care now. Dr. Hartman has been practicing for over thirty years. I can assure you, he has the situation well in hand.”

  “I’m sure he does,” Julia replied, although she had a suspicion that if the doctor was old enough to have been in practice that long, he could well be subjecting his patient to all sorts of outdated and unwise procedures. “I would love to speak to Dr. Hartman. Is he here at the moment? He does not by any chance prescribe bloodletting as a form of treatment?”

  Mrs. Barker opened her mouth but then closed it again without speaking, looking too shocked to come up with a reply.

  “I’d like to see him try,” said a man’s voice.

  Julia looked up to see Michael Stephenson standing at the top of the stairs. Even from this distance, she could see the glint in his eyes as he looked down at her.

  “You underestimate our good doctor, madam,” he said. “He’s very forward thinking, despite his age.”

  “Michael, you oug
ht not to be out of bed,” his sister chided. “You know what Dr. Hartman said—”

  “He said it because I told him to.” He began to walk down the staircase, holding tightly to the railing and clearly favoring his injured knee.

  It was obvious he’d just gotten out of bed. He wore a dressing gown that looked as though it had been hastily tossed on. A few locks of his hair stood up at odd angles, which was not surprising given that a generous portion of his head was covered in bandages. Julia thought the effect bordered on comical. It was also unnecessary. The bleeding had come primarily from his neck, not his head.

  His sister hurried to meet him, trying to take hold of his arm, but he waved her away. Approaching Julia, he said, “Thank you so much for coming to inquire after me, Miss, er—?”

  “Bernay. Julia Bernay.”

  “Miss Bernay.” He repeated her name with a little sigh of satisfaction. “I’m so very glad to make your acquaintance.”

  He thrust out his right hand, then immediately looked both surprised and mortified to remember it was bandaged and splinted. He began to pull it back, but Julia captured it in her hands before he could do so.

  She lifted his hand to inspect the splint. “At the time of the accident, I suspected you had fractured one or more of the bones in your fingers. I see Dr. Hartman located the issue.” Gently pressing his fingertips, which were all that were visible of his three middle fingers, Julia was pleased to see the skin changing color, which was a sign of adequate circulation. “The blood is flowing freely. The doctor has done an acceptable job with this splint. In a matter of weeks this hand should be good as new. In the meantime, you may need an amanuensis to do your writing for you.”

  “I shall be sure to pass along your assessment to Dr. Hartman.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

  They were standing quite close, as she still had hold of his hand, but Julia found herself leaning even closer, anxious to get a good look at his neck. She wanted very much to examine the wound, to study how the doctors had repaired it. But it was fully covered by bandages.

  “Is something wrong? Please don’t tell me I’m bleeding again.”

  He sounded genuinely worried, but when Julia looked up to meet his gaze, she saw a gleam of laughter in his blue-gray eyes, and his lips quirked.

  She was surprised that he didn’t seem to be taking her seriously—unlike Mrs. Barker, who was staring daggers at her. Both attitudes, different as they were, annoyed her. She found it hard to suppress her indignation when faced with people who thought women were unable to be competent physicians. How could these two feel that way, after all that had happened?

  She released his hand, giving him a stern look. “I suppose Dr. Hartman has also been watching for signs of concussion?”

  “Oh yes. He agrees, as does my sister, that I ought to have my head examined on a regular basis. Isn’t that right, Corinna?”

  Corinna’s mouth pursed, and Michael appeared to be suppressing another grin. It was then that Julia understood that he was not laughing at her, but rather that he enjoyed teasing his sister.

  “Shall we go into the parlor?” Michael suggested. “There is so much I want to talk to you about.”

  “Michael, I don’t think that’s wise,” Corinna protested. “You don’t want to overexert yourself.”

  “Precisely why we should go into the parlor and sit down.” Without waiting for a reply, he started toward the parlor door, pausing only briefly to motion for Corinna and Julia to precede him. Corinna obeyed, although Julia could see it took effort.

  Now it was Julia who found herself amused. She suspected there was a lot of push and pull between these two siblings with such strong personalities. The brother seemed to have won this round. Not for the first time, she wondered what it might have been like to have a brother of any kind, let alone a man such as this.

  Julia had never seen a parlor quite like this one. It was so stuffed with chairs, furniture, and bric-a-brac that it was a marvel anyone could move in it. Potted plants competed for floor space with bookcases, small tables, and curio cabinets. The walls were covered with paintings and photographs, just as in the front hallway. It was a splendid display of affluence, but Julia was not impressed. She would never feel at ease living in such a fussy place.

  Before any of them could be seated, a robust man with thick black hair and generous side-whiskers breezed in, looking vaguely harried. “Ah, Corinna, there you are. Can you get down to the kitchen right away? The footman tells me Mrs. Teague is having a row with the butcher’s delivery boy again, and they need you to intervene.”

  “Oh, not today, of all days,” she answered crossly.

  Only then did the man become aware of Julia. “Hullo, we’ve got company.” He gave her a friendly smile. “I’m David Barker. How do you do?”

  How he could be so affable when he was married to a woman who seemed to be his total opposite was a mystery to Julia.

  Michael said, “David, this is Miss Julia Bernay, the woman who saved my life on the Underground.”

  Mr. Barker’s smile broadened. “Are you really? Well, I’m very glad to meet you. What a good thing you found us. We’ve been trying unsuccessfully to track you down.”

  “Have you?” After Mrs. Barker’s attitude toward her, Julia was amazed to hear this.

  “Yes indeed.” Glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner, Mr. Barker added, “I do wish I could stay and chat, but the truth is, I must be off.” Turning to Michael Stephenson, he explained, “I’ve a meeting with an important client at the Royal Exchange, and you know how beastly the traffic is. It will take forever in a cab—but then, one cannot risk going on the Underground, eh?”

  Chuckling at his own joke, he gave his wife a swift peck on the cheek and a gentle tug on the hand, indicating she should come with him. “Do go see about Mrs. Teague, won’t you?”

  “Oh, all right.” Corinna threw a stern look at her brother, as though daring him to misbehave in some way while she was gone. “I won’t be long.”

  Putting on his top hat, Mr. Barker nodded to Julia. “Good-bye, Miss Bernay. I hope you will call again.”

  Seeing the sour look on Mrs. Barker’s face, Julia couldn’t resist. “Thank you, I would like that very much.”

  The Barkers left the room, and Julia could hear the front door opening and closing. Presumably Mr. Barker was on his way out, while his wife headed downstairs. She asked, “Does this Mrs. Teague often get into rows with the butcher’s boy?”

  “Only when there is an important dinner party at stake. I’ve no doubt Corinna will get them sorted out.”

  “Mr. Barker seems a genial fellow.”

  “Yes. He keeps my sister on an even keel.”

  As he spoke, he reached out and braced himself against one of the high-backed chairs. Julia saw him wince a little, and his face turned ashen.

  “You should sit down,” she directed.

  He did not give her any resistance as she took his elbow and urged him onto the chair. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Perhaps I have exerted myself a bit too much.”

  Julia extended a hand toward the bandage on his neck. “Might I take a closer look? I’m very interested to see how the surgeons repaired the wound.”

  She could see that an objection was on the tip of his tongue, but instead he said, “I was incredibly fortunate you were in that railway carriage. Dr. Hartman says your quick thinking saved me from losing a lot of blood.”

  Taking this remark as tacit permission, Julia leaned down to begin her inspection. “I’m gratified to hear the doctor has a good opinion of my work.”

  She carefully pulled aside the dressing to look at his neck wound. The area was swollen and red, but not from infection. It was normal for sutured skin to look like this so soon after surgery. As Julia studied the stitches closely, she could see the doctor had used great skill and care. “This is impressive,” she murmured.

  “Are you really studying to be a doctor?” Michael sounded more wary than disb
elieving.

  She began to replace the bandages. “I will be soon. At present, I am enrolled at Queen’s College, taking courses to fill in where my basic education was left lacking. I will sit for the matriculation exam to begin my medical studies at the end of June.”

  “I suppose your father is supporting you in this endeavor?”

  Julia gave a little start at this, and Michael grunted as the sticking plaster pulled at his skin. “I beg your pardon,” she said, removing her hands from the bandages. “I have a benefactor. It is not my father.”

  “He must be quite generous.”

  Arrested by this comment, Julia did not bother to correct him that her benefactor was a woman. “Why do you say that?”

  “I just thought it was a bit odd . . . that is . . . do you typically ride in first-class carriages?”

  “I was in a hurry. The other carriages were full.” Julia had long ago learned the art of bluster and bravado. It was often the only way to get the doctors in the hospital to listen to her suggestions. She did not hesitate to employ it now. That was all he needed to know. “And yes, my benefactor is very generous,” she added for good measure. It was also true. Mrs. Staunton had been more than kind in that regard—while she’d had the wherewithal to be so.

  “Can you lean more toward the light?” she asked. “Although Dr. Hartman has been observing you for signs of concussion, one can never be too careful.” She leaned forward, her face mere inches from his as she tried to get a good look at his pupils. “Even small bumps on the head can have serious consequences—”

  She was interrupted by the sound of the parlor door opening. Irritated, she glanced up, expecting to see Mrs. Barker. Instead, it was the butler.

  The smirk on his face irked her even more. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said dryly.

  Julia realized that to the untrained eye, this appeared to be a compromising situation. She straightened with unhurried casualness to signal that what she’d been doing was entirely proper and she had not a shred of guilt about it.