More Than a Dream by Martha Schroeder

Author:Martha Schroeder [Schroeder, Martha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Romance
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 2001-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

“You look as if you have not slept in a week. There were times even at Scutari when you did not look this tired. What have you been doing?”

Startled, Catherine turned and saw Michael approach her as she walked down a long corridor at St. Luke’s on her way to one of the wards. Michael’s gruff words were belied by the look of warm concern in his eyes.

“If those circles do not go away soon I shall order you a tonic.”

Catherine laughed a little, feeling better by the minute. “No, I do not need a tonic. I am just a bit overtired.”

“Davy Blankenship said he saw you at the theater a few nights past with some political gentleman, a friend of your father’s.” It was a question, though not phrased as such.

Catherine seized on the opportunity not to talk of Sir Ronald Bolton. “You have seen Davy? How is he faring?”

“He is doing very well, walking better each day.” Michael returned like a compass to the subject of her health. “He said you looked tired, and I can see he is right.”

Catherine pushed a wayward tendril of soft blond hair back from her forehead. “Yes, I confess I am. I promised my father I would try to keep up my social responsibilities to him while working here, and it is more difficult that I imagined. He has some affair that I simply must attend almost every evening.”

“And do you enjoy them?” Michael said as he fell into step with her.

“I think I would enjoy some of them if I were not so fatigued. But others are just tedious—dinners with political friends of his. I used to go to all these entertainments, and they chafed me terribly because I thought they were a waste of my life. It was all I did, run the household and assist my father. But now it is different. I have work that I love, so these affairs are merely recreation, and for me they are not particularly entertaining.”

Michael thought for a moment as they walked. “So most of these dinners and parties are really connected to your father’s work. For him it is part of his job. Perhaps you could make it part of yours.”

Catherine stopped at the door to the men’s ward. “You mean ask them for money?”

“Not just that, though God knows Miss Nightingale could always use more. The Army has plenty but won’t spend it for the men, and St. Luke’s is still run on a penny and a prayer. You could arouse interest in hospitals, in medical care, in the Army. These friends of your father’s are politicians, after all, and I know there is great concern about the conditions in the Crimea. It is why I have returned, to testify and try to talk to some of them privately, the way Miss Nightingale would do if she were here.” Michael touched her hand briefly and Catherine could feel the warmth of that touch spread all through her. “I cannot

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