A Holiday in Bath by Julie Daines & Caroline Warfield & Jaima Fixsen

Author:Julie Daines & Caroline Warfield & Jaima Fixsen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency Romance, Victorian Romance, Clean & Wholesome Romance, Historical romance, christian romance
Publisher: Mirror Press, LLC
Published: 2017-05-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

The Circle began to linger longer every morning after they had taken the waters. Edmund had a way of spreading joy, and Lucy suspected they had all fallen in love with him. They teased her mercilessly about her Lord Edmund, but she thought they had each taken him as one of their own. Mary Wellbridge openly flirted, Anna Moffat simpered, and even Aunt Imogene played coy. Lady Brookfield sat up straighter and acted more vivacious than she had in all the time Lucy had known her. She topped many of Edmund’s amusing anecdotes about the haut ton with ones of her own. Only Lady Hardy held back.

The morning after Edmund’s dinner with Barry, he leaned over Lucy’s chair to whisper in her ear that he had something to tell her later. Then he put the Circle in stitches with a story involving the archbishop’s terrier and the Countess of Ambler’s drawing room. Mrs. Moffat laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. Lady Brookfield made a ribald remark about the countess’s butler. Aunt Imogene and Mrs. Wellbridge giggled. The ladies’ laughter warmed Lucy’s heart until Lady Hardy slumped back in her chair.

Edmund’s cheerful manner disappeared, and he leaned toward the stricken lady. “Are you well?” he asked.

Lucy, alerted, reached for the lady’s hand. It felt cold as ice. The woman’s unfocused eyes frightened Lucy, and the incoherent sounds she made alarmed her more.

“Loosen her clothing, Lucy,” Edmund ordered. He laid two fingers on Lady Hardy’s wrist and pulled his watch from its pocket.

The familiarity hardly registered. Lucy hurried to do as he bade, unbuttoning the top of the stricken woman’s gown and pulling it away from her neck. The worn fabric tore slightly when she did.

“Her pulse is faint,” Edmund said. “We need to get her to a more private place,” he said looking frantically around the Pump Room. “Oh, hell! Let’s take her to Barry.” He scooped the elderly lady up without apologizing for his language and strode toward the door.

Lucy took leave of the rest of the ladies, who stared after her with stunned expressions.

“Hurry, Lucy dear. Bring us word as soon as you can,” Aunt Imogene called after her.

She ran after Edmund with Lady Hardy’s reticule and cloak. When they arrived at Barry’s premises, the doctor realized the gravity of the situation immediately. Edmund, still carrying his burden, followed him into his examining room, and the door shut firmly behind them, leaving Lucy to fret in the reception room.

The reception room boasted a modicum more comfort than the free clinic with its wooden benches. Patients could choose from the threadbare couch, a settee that listed unevenly, and several wooden chairs, not one of which matched another. Lucy stood against the wall.

Barry’s regulars, who did not seem to be in crisis, gradually drifted away as time passed, some grumbling that they would come back later. Finally, Lucy shared the room with only a young mother whose feverish son slept in her lap and a fern drooping in a pot by the window.

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