The Viscount Made Me Do It by Diana Quincy

“Meskeena.” Citi tsked as her fingers moved rapidly, stuffing boiled cabbage leaves and rolling them into neat piles. “Poor thing. To die alone with strangers.”

“We don’t know if she was alone.” They were in the kitchen making Hanna’s favorite Arabic dish, cabbage rolls stuffed with lamb and rice, flavored with lemon and garlic. “Mrs. Lockhart’s family took the body to her home village. It’s possible they came the moment they heard she was ill.”

Lucy, on her feet chopping garlic, tipped her bowl so Citi could see into it. “Is this enough garlic, Um Ali?”

“More. More.” Citi’s perpetual frown deepened as she switched to Arabic. “That girl is so lazy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lucy returned to her task.

Hanna lined up rice mixed with lamb on a cabbage leaf and carefully rolled it up. “Remind me why we need so much garlic?”

“So that the cabbage won’t make you bloated,” Citi answered. To Lucy, she said, “Cut more garlic,” even though the girl was already doing just that.

“Salam.” Hanna’s brother Rafi wandered in looking like he’d just tumbled out of bed.

“When did you arrive?” Hanna asked, surprised to see him.

“Last night.”

“Ahlan!”Their grandmother’s face lit up as she greeted her grandson. “Do you want something to eat, Citi?”

Lucy frowned. “Why is she calling him Citi?” she murmured to Hanna. “I though Citi means grandmother.”

“It does. But a grandmother will also address her grandchild as Citi.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “It’s an endearment. My father always called me Baba. It’s an affectionate way of defining the family relationship between the two people who are speaking.”

Lucy twisted her lips. “That’s confusing.”

“Eat something,” Citi urged Rafi.

“I’m not hungry,” Rafi said. “Is there any coffee?”

Lucy cast an admiring gaze at him. With his chocolate eyes and perfectly symmetrical bone structure, Hanna’s eldest brother had an effect on women. “I can make it for you, sir.”

“Thank you.” Rafi yawned. He stooped to brush a kiss on Citi’s cheek. “How’s the prettiest girl in the family?”

“Malaya minuk. Don’t be silly.” But Citi blushed. “Did you sleep well, habibi?”

“You arrived yesterday?” Hanna arranged a few more rolled cabbages in the pot. “I didn’t see you last evening.”

“Elias and I got here late yesterday morning. We made deliveries to some shops on Bond Street. And then”—he did a wavy little dance with his head—“we went to find some amusement.”

“Of course you did.” Frustration roiled through Hanna. Her brothers could do as they pleased, which included traipsing about town in the company of less-than-respectable women. Meanwhile, all sorts of restrictions were put on Hanna’s ability to do what Baba had trained her to do, which actually helped people. “What time did you come home last night?”

“It doesn’t matter. They’re boys. It makes no difference.” Citi beamed at her grandson. “We’re making malfouf for you.” Rafi was tall and much too thin, according to Citi and Mama, who constantly tried to make him eat.

“I will definitely be at home to eat.” Lucy brought Rafi’s coffee over. He strolled out of the kitchen, coffee in hand, pausing momentarily to wink at Citi. “I can’t miss my citi’s cooking.”

“Shottar.” Citi watched him go, adoration shining in her eyes. “He’s a good boy.”

There was a knock at the front door. Hanna tensed.

“Are you expecting someone, miss?” Lucy asked.

“No.”

Lucy left to see who was at the door. Citi eyed Hanna. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked in Arabic.

Arranging her malfouf rolls in the pot, Hanna avoided Citi’s probing bloodshot gaze. “Nothing is wrong.”

“Kezaba.”

Hanna’s face heated. “Why do you assume I’m lying?”

“You’ve been too quiet since yesterday, when you came back from the hospital.”

“Our neighbor died unexpectedly. Naturally I’m a little upset.”

“You are more than upset. You are worried. I hope this is not about Blue Eyes.”

“Who?” Hanna avoided looking at Citi.

“Your patient. You know which one. Blue Eyes. I don’t have to remind you that we stay with our own. You need to marry a nice Arabic boy.”

“There is no danger of my wedding Mr. Thomas or any other man. Arab or not.” She’d had offers of marriage from within the Arab community. She’d even briefly entertained one. Nabeel had kind eyes and a generous nature, but he hadn’t come close to tempting Hanna into giving up bonesetting. Which she would have to do. No husband would let her treat half-clothed men. “I’m too old. Besides, I’m wedded to my work.”

“That won’t keep you warm at night. Every woman needs a husband.”

“You always say that Cidi was a headache.”

“True. Your grandfather tired me out. Life with him was not easy. But a woman in this world is nothing without a man.” Citi’s probing gaze stayed on Hanna. “If it’s not the stranger with the blue eyes, then what is bothering you?”

Hanna debated telling her grandmother everything. Citi was right to be suspicious of Griff, while Hanna was busy obsessing about the man’s physique and warm gazes. “When I was at the hospital—” she began.

Lucy reappeared. “There’s someone to see you, miss.”

Hanna rose, relieved by the interruption. “Who is it?”

“A solicitor. He says it’s a matter of great importance.”

Hanna’s stomach lurched. Her thoughts immediately flew to Griff. Maybe he sent his solicitor to deliver some sort of warning. Had he already traced the package containing the gold ring back to her? Would he accuse Hanna of having stolen goods?

She removed her soiled apron. “Did you show him to the parlor?”

“Yes, miss. Shall I serve tea?”

“No tea.” Citi’s assessing gaze clung to Hanna like a heavy mantle. “What does he want? Does it have to do with why you are worried?”

“How would I know what he wants?” Hanna smoothed a nervous hand down her bodice. “I suppose I should go and find out.”

The solicitor stood by the bow window in the front parlor. Thin and rumpled, what little remained of his hair ran askew atop his head. He was not the type of solicitor Hanna expected the Quality to employ.

“Are you Miss Hanna Zaydan?”

Her heart pounded so loudly she could barely hear her own answer. “Yes, I am.”

“Good day. I am Mr. White. I am settling the estate of Mrs. Claudia Lockhart.”

“What?” Relief rolled through Hanna. This visit had nothing to do with Griff. “Oh. I see. But what does that have to do with me?”

“Mrs. Lockhart had no children.”

“Yes, I know.”

“She left something to you.”

“She did? I wasn’t aware that Mrs. Lockhart had anything to bequeath to anyone.”

“Mr. Lockhart, her late husband, purchased the building that houses the grocery.”

“I had no idea that Mrs. Lockhart owned the building.”

“She did. She left the building to her nephew. He will receive the rents from the two apartments located above the shop.”

“Forgive me, Mr. White, I fail to see what any of this has to do with me. Mrs. Lockhart was a neighbor and one-time patient, but we were not particularly well acquainted.”

“Well, you must have made an impression on her. Although the building belongs to the nephew now, Mrs. Lockhart stipulated that you should have use of the ground-floor shop space.”

“Me?” Hanna pressed a hand flat against her chest. “Whatever for? I am a bonesetter, Mr. White. I have no interest in operating a grocer’s shop.”

“She wanted you to have that space, free of rent, to set up your dispensary.”

“My dispensary?” Her mouth fell open. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely. I drew up the will quite recently.”

“She wanted me to use the space for free? For how long?”

“As long as you wish to operate a dispensary that sees to the medical needs of this community, including the less fortunate. If you wish to run a dispensary for the next twenty years, it is your prerogative to do so.”

Tears stung her eyes. What a generous gesture! And from a woman Hanna hadn’t spent a great deal of time with. “I can hardly believe it.”

He withdrew something from his pocket. “Here is the key.”

Still in disbelief, Hanna stared at the brass skeleton key.

“Of course, you do not have to accept the offer.” He began to withdraw his proffered hand.

“Oh no. I’ll take it.” Hanna reached for the key. “Thank you. I absolutely accept Mrs. Lockhart’s generous offer.”

She grinned as the reality set in. “I’m going to open my own dispensary.”

Two days after his encounter with Hanna at the hospital, Griff examined the green sign with black lettering above the bow window. Lockhart Grocers. He’d just called at Hanna’s residence. Her maid directed him down the street to this corner shop on the same block.

He waited to see her in hopes that her temper might have cooled a little. Filled with remorse, he was eager to talk to her, to explain that he’d never intended to harm her. He hadn’t slept well. Regret had gnawed at him since their last meeting.

Pushing the door open, he peered inside. It wasn’t much of a grocer. There was no food anywhere. Just some empty tables and shelves. And Hanna. And another man Griff didn’t recognize.

“It’s an excellent space.” The man turned in a circle staring upwards. Tall, with even features, he wore a neat brown suit tailored to his long, lanky form.

“How much of it should we leave open?” Hanna said to the man. She wore a lavender gown, her hair tied in its severe knot at the base of her neck. “We do have the office in the back for private consultations.”

“What do you think of partitions out here as well?”

She gestured with her hand. “Perhaps on this side.”

The back of Griff’s neck heated. He did not care for the obvious warmth between them. Nor for how easily their conversation flowed.

“The waiting room should be near the entrance.” She glanced toward the door and stopped short. She’d spotted him.

“Good afternoon.” He stepped inside. Closing the door behind him, he removed his hat.

“Keep it on,” she said coldly. “You’re not staying.”

“I need to speak with you.” He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. “I can explain everything.”

“I have no interest in hearing it. Our business is concluded. We’ve no reason to speak with each other.”

He would beg if he had to. “Hanna, please—”

“That’s Mrs. Zaydan to you.” She turned away, dismissing him. “What about examining tables?” She spoke to her male companion. “How many do you think we’ll need?”

The man looked from Hanna to Griff and back to Hanna. “Two? Three?”

“Perhaps we should start with two,” Hanna said.

Griff pleaded with Hanna’s back. “I am asking for just five minutes of your time. I want to explain why I initially came to you under false pretenses. Please hear me out.”

She rounded on him, temper flashing in her dark-rimmed eyes. “I am not one of your servants who must do your bidding, my lord.”

“Anyone who’s ever met you knows that Hanna Zaydan doesn’t do anyone’s bidding but her own.” He paused. “It’s one of the qualities I most admire about you.”

“Why are you still here? I asked you to leave.”

“I am asking, humbly, that you give me a few minutes to explain.”

“So”—she tilted her head—“you understand that I do not have to speak with you.”

“You don’t, but I wish you would.”

The man interjected. “No disrespect, sir, but Mrs. Zaydan has made it clear that she doesn’t wish to speak with you.”

Griff fixed a cold stare on the man. “And who are you?”

“That’s none of your business,” Hanna snapped. “Don’t let him intimidate you, Evan.”

The man kept his gaze even with Griff’s. “He doesn’t.”

Griff ignored him. “Hanna, if you would hear me out. I need to tell you everything.”

“I would have been very happy to hear you out before I discovered what a liar you are. The only reason you want to explain anything to me now is because I caught you in your deception.”

“I know I should have been honest with you earlier but—”

“I’ve had enough.” Hanna crossed over to a table and reached for her reticule. “If you won’t leave, I will.” She marched out toward the street, slamming the door behind her.

“Now, then,” said the man she’d called Evan. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Go to perdition.” Griff followed Hanna out the door, making certain to slam it even harder than she had. He watched her walk away, her shoulders set and proud. He couldn’t force her to talk to him.

He’d have to find another way to show Hanna just how remorseful he was.

Griff stared up at the gracious redbrick town house off Cavendish Square and tried to quash the emotions welling up inside him.

It had been more than a dozen years since he’d stepped foot inside of Haven House. A place that held happy memories of his parents and sisters. But his parents were not inside and never would be again. His throat swelled. He should meet Dr. Shaw at his club. But he couldn’t risk being seen by anyone who might report back to Norman before Griff had a chance to set things right with Hanna.

Two weeks had passed since he’d last seen her. Since then, he’d called twice at her home, and she’d refused to see him. The three notes he sent came back unopened. He couldn’t force Hanna to meet with him. But this was one thing he could do for her in order to begin to make amends.

Taking a deep breath, he refocused on the house and forced himself to approach the glossy black front door. It swung open immediately.

His parents’ butler—his butler now—appeared. “My lord. Welcome home.”

“Wright.” Griff swallowed. He felt a rush of gladness. Wright was the butler of his childhood. “You’re still here.”

“Indeed, my lord. Where else would I go?”

“To an employer where a family is actually in residence?”

“Why would I do that, my lord?” The corner of the man’s mouth turned up. His face was the same, only more weathered now. Gray hair framed his lined face like a lion’s mane. “It’s a great deal less work when one’s master remains absent for fourteen years.”

Griff stared at the man. “Is that humor I detect, Wright?” Throughout his childhood, he’d never seen Wright wear anything other than an inscrutable expression. “And the beginnings of an actual smile?”

“It might very well be, my lord. It isn’t every day one’s master leaves as a boy and returns a grown man.”

He handed his hat to the butler. “I might need a moment to recover from the shock of discovering that you have feelings.”

“I do my best to conceal that weakness, my lord.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” He paused for a moment to take in his surroundings. The marble floors he’d skidded across. The curved staircase with the banister he’d slid down when his mother wasn’t around and Wright pretended not to see. As the youngest of four and the only son, they’d all indulged him far more than they should have.

Griff’s solicitor oversaw all operations and expenses at Haven House. Griff signed off on the expenditures, but otherwise knew nothing about staffing and day-to-day operations. For his own survival, he’d steered clear of this place and its memories. Until now.

“The maids have prepared your bedchamber, my lord.” The butler paused. “The master’s chamber, of course.”

His father’s chamber.“I won’t be staying,” Griff said quickly. “I am just here for a meeting.”

“As you wish, my lord.” The words were mild, but Griff thought he detected disappointment. “Once I received your note, I had both the parlor and your study prepared for your arrival.”

His study. Wright meant his father’s study. The late viscount’s private domain. A room Griff hadn’t been allowed to enter unless his father was present. “Not the study. The parlor will do nicely.” He’d never spent any time with his parents in the parlor, a formal space reserved for guests and grown-ups. It was easier to meet Dr. Shaw in a room where memories of his family didn’t cling to the walls like English ivy.

“Very good, my lord.”

Griff made his way to the parlor. A footman stood by to open the door for him. “Welcome home, my lord.”

“Thank you.” Griff paused to study the tall, well-built man in his late thirties. There was something familiar about the footman. “Felix?”

“Aye, my lord.” The man beamed. “It is I.”

“You’re still here?”

“Yes, my lord. My father served your father. And I serve you. My family has served yours for at least three generations.”

“Is that right?” Griff hadn’t known that. He remembered Felix, who’d been in his early twenties when Griff was a teenager. He’d slipped Griff a cheroot more than once and had never revealed the evenings when he caught Griff stealing away to meet friends.

“I’m glad you’re still here, Felix.” His parents were gone, but Wright and Felix were part of his old life. Maybe home was more than just his parents and sisters.

“Thank you, my lord. It is a pleasure to have you back at last.”

Griff entered the parlor. It was as he remembered it. With too much furniture and an abundance of porcelain figurines and drawings of birds that his mother had so adored. He reached for one figurine on the nearest gleaming tabletop. A bluebird perched on a branch. It was cool in his hand. His father had often bought bird-themed gifts for Griff’s mother. If it’s got anything to do with birds, Caroline will love it, Papa would always say. And he was right. Mother had loved them all. Or, if she hadn’t, at least she’d pretended to.

Behind him, Wright cleared his throat.

“Dr. Shaw, my lord.”

Griff turned to find the editor of the medical journal standing beside his butler. “Dr. Shaw, come in. It was good of you to meet me here.”

“When a viscount beckons, few in my position would refuse.” He took the seat Griff indicated. “Curiosity alone would induce me to attend you.”

“Whatever the motivation, I do appreciate your coming.”

“What can I do for you, Lord Griffin?”

“I was wondering whether you’ve ever written about bonesetters.”