The Viscount Made Me Do It by Diana Quincy

The following morning after a sleepless night, Hanna grabbed the blue-and-white shawl Citi had embroidered for her and stepped out the front door.

She needed fresh air. Thoughts of Mr. Thomas, both her interest in him and his interest in the necklace, had consumed her all night. Not to mention the revelation that he was courting a lady who he gifted with expensive jewels. Mostly, though, she couldn’t get what Citi had revealed about the necklace out of her mind.

It was probably stolen.

Last evening at supper, she’d asked Citi about the jewelry and learned that Baba never turned any patients away. Not even criminals who sometimes insisted on paying with stolen goods. Whenever possible, Baba returned the goods to their owners, the way he’d intended with the gold ring that belonged to a toff called Lord Griffin.

Hanna had discovered the signet ring with a lovely carved band in the same drawer as the necklace. But unlike the necklace, it was packaged and addressed to this Lord Griffin. She’d opened the package to find the band inscribed with the words Lady Griffin. Then she’d rewrapped the package and sent it back to its rightful owner, a viscount in Richmond, just as her father had intended.

“Escaping your grandmother?” an amused male voice called out from behind her.

She turned to greet her friend Evan, a lanky man with a friendly face. “As if anyone could outrun her.”

“You’re out early.”

“I needed some air.”

“May I join you?”

“Of course.”

He fell in step beside Hanna. “I understand that patient I referred last week is doing much better.”

Hanna nodded. “It was a broken leg, a relatively simple case.” She’d first met Evan two years ago when he dislocated his knee. Hanna had put it back in, and they became fast friends. Evan was young and possessed a sharp and curious mind. Before long, they’d hatched a plan to one day open their own dispensary—a doctor and bonesetter working side by side to give patients the best medical care possible.

“Have you heard that Mrs. Lockhart is at the hospital?” he asked.

“No. What ails her?”

“Her malady of the lungs has worsened considerably. Dr. Pratt, the lead physician, is keeping her there for a few nights.”

Hanna was not an admirer of Dr. Pratt, who had tried his best to steer patients away from Baba, but she hoped for Mrs. Lockhart’s sake that he was a capable doctor. “I must get over to visit her.”

As much as she wanted to avoid Dr. Pratt, Hanna felt obligated to check in on the older woman. A hospital stay must be lonely for a widow with no children.

“I was given to understand that you prefer to stay away from Margate Hospital,” Evan remarked.

“Normally, I do.” She tightened her wrap around her. “But what choice do I have?”

“Now,” the bonesetter commanded after massaging Griff’s arm for the better part of an hour, “move your arm.”

Griff struggled to keep his body calm as Mrs. Zaydan’s warm hands slid over his bare skin. Whenever she touched him his blood temperature soared. He did as she asked, straightening his elbow and then bending his arm in toward his chest.

The bonesetter behaved in a businesslike manner two weeks after their last encounter when he’d asked her about the necklace. Her manner was completely professional and somewhat removed. Not unlike their very first visit.

Not that Griff blamed her. She probably thought him a cad. After all, he’d told her outright of his intention to buy an expensive bauble for some imaginary lady. She’d caught him off guard, so he’d spouted the very first lie that slipped into his head. The truth remained that the only woman to occupy his thoughts these days was the very unapproachable healer before him.

“Move your wrist,” she said.

Under her watchful gaze, he did as she asked.

“Very nice.” She crossed her arms.

Extending his arm high over his head, Griff did windmills with it. He was still stiff. His range of motion limited. But the pain that had become as much a part of him as his skin was blissfully absent. “I cannot believe what you’ve managed to do with my arm.”

“I am pleased with the result,” she said briskly. “Your arm was quite mangled, but you are young and healthy. Your overall youth and physical fitness assisted in your recovery.”

He stared at her. “You are a miracle worker.”

She dropped her gaze. Her thick long lashes fanning over her cheeks. “Hardly. Bonesetting is not only an art, but also a science. We study the joints and how to manipulate them.”

He wanted to continue talking to her. To know her better. “How did you come to learn the art from your father?”

“I was fascinated by it. He let me watch, and I assisted him when he needed a second pair of hands.”

“And not your brothers? Do you have brothers?”

“I have three brothers who weren’t interested in my father’s work. They immersed themselves in the family business of cotton exports.”

He tried to imagine her as a little girl. The image of her bossing her brothers around came into his head. “But not you.”

She relented. Her passion for her work loosened her tongue. “As my father’s apprentice, the functions of the human body captivated me from the very first.” Her face brightened when she talked about her work. She was incandescent. “Being able to help people struck me as the most worthwhile profession in the world.”

He swallowed. Hard. Unnerved by his intense attraction to her. “Clearly, your father taught you well. What you’ve done for me is a miracle.”

“It is the human body itself that is the miracle. The way we’re put together, the bones, tendons and tissues.” Her dark-rimmed eyes shone. “The fact that our heart continues to beat day in and day out.”

She seemed to catch herself and retreated, reminding him of a crab going back into its shell. Only in this case, the bonesetter’s carapace was her desk. She returned to sit behind it and picked up her pencil, as a soldier might wield his armor, signaling her dismissal.

Griff’s heart sank. He rose, pulling down his shirtsleeves. He was running out of time. This was their last scheduled appointment. He needed a reason to keep seeing Mrs. Zaydan. Short of dislocating his other shoulder, he couldn’t immediately think of one.

He reached for his tailcoat. “And our next appointment?”

She kept her focus on her writing. “As you know, we are finished. If you continue with your exercises, you should recover complete range of motion.”

“Will you at least let me escort you to a tea shop as a way of showing my appreciation?”

“That is very kind.” She spared him a quick glance before going back to her notes. “But payment in full is all the thanks I require.”

She’d asked for two guineas. He set five times that amount on her desk.

She examined the sum. “That is not the fee we agreed to.”

“What you’ve done for me is worth ten times that amount. Twenty times.” He meant every word. “You’ve given me my life back.”

“All the same. Two guineas will suffice.”

He wanted badly to repay her. To do something that would convey the full extent of his appreciation. But the stubborn set of her jaw suggested that she wouldn’t allow it. “Then, please accept the money to cover future patients who might not be able to afford your fee.”

“I see you intend to be very mulish about this.” She finally looked up from her writing.

“I am hardly the stubborn one here. Your skills are worth more than two guineas.”

She relented. “I will accept the extra funds for patients in need.”

“Very good.” He paused. She waited expectantly. This was when he should make his exit. In her mind, any business between them was over. In his mind, it had just begun.

“About the necklace,” he said.

“The necklace?” She made a show of appearing uninterested, but he noted how her fingers tightened around the pencil.

“Yes, the one with the blue gemstone that you wore the other day. Did you learn where it came from so that I might buy one that is similar?”

“No.” Her voice was resolute. “There is absolutely nothing more I can tell you about the necklace.”

That evening, Griff had supper with Hunt at the duke’s home on St. James Place in Mayfair.

“By God, it’s a miracle,” Hunt pronounced after Griff demonstrated the newfound mobility in his left arm. “How did you manage it?”

“Remember the bonesetter who had my mother’s necklace?”

“Are you jesting?”

“I am as serious as an apoplexy. She’s remarkable. She knows everything about joints. The bonesetter not only fixed my arm, wrist and shoulder, but I also saw her repair Mansfield’s wrist.”

“Mansfield? The pup from the coffeehouse? Payton is up in arms over what happened.”

“Payton?” It took Griff a moment to place the name.

“Viscount Payton. Mansfield’s father. He is demanding the bonesetter be held to account.”

Griff bristled. “That whelp got exactly what he deserved.”

“I agree.” The duke paused, studying him. “You seem different.”

Griff sipped his drink. He felt different. “Do I?”

“Most definitely.”

“Maybe you’re not used to seeing me rested. I am finally sleeping through the night. It’s been two years since I slept more than two or three hours at a time.”

“It’s more than that. You seem less . . . burdened.”

He considered that for a moment. “I suppose living in pain adjusted my perspective. Before my accident, I was so caught up in what happened to my parents that I barely paid attention to actually living a full life.”

Hunt nodded. “It always seemed to me that you felt you didn’t deserve to enjoy your life while your parents were not present to enjoy theirs. I feared you joined the army because you had a death wish.”

“Maybe I did,” Griff admitted. “But my injury changed my outlook. Now that I am free of pain, I can’t believe how much of my life I’ve squandered.”

“And now what? Do you have a grand plan for the future?”

“I have no idea. I just feel compelled not to waste it as I did before the accident.”

The butler appeared to summon them in to dinner. The men took their drinks into the dining room with them.

Griff was surprised to see two place settings. “Is Her Grace not joining us?”

“My wife is off visiting her relatives again. There are innumerable aunts and uncles and cousins and second cousins—that every time I turn around, there seems to be another family wedding or other function to attend.”

Griff wasn’t well acquainted with his friend’s wife, the daughter of a marquess and a merchant’s daughter. Their marriage had caused a mild scandal in London. But Hunt, who once placed propriety and decorum above all else, seemed happy. The duke had conveniently missed most of the scandal by accompanying his new wife, a travel writer, to Morocco.

“Now you must catch me up on the necklace,” the duke said. “Did the bonesetter tell you where she got it?”

“No, I made a hash of things when I tried to learn more about it.” Griff swallowed a spoonful of white soup, creamy chicken and veal augmented by toasted almonds. “The problem I face now is that my treatment is concluded, and I’ve learned nothing about the necklace except that she supposedly found it among her father’s things after his death.”

“The old man must have been aware the necklace was ill-gotten. Otherwise, why hide something so expensive?”

“I need to see the woman again. But she refused my offer to escort her to a tea shop as a way of expressing my gratitude.”

Hunt chuckled. “From what you’ve told me of her, your bonesetter is not the tea-shop sort.”

“I’m not sure of what to do now.”

“Be resourceful.” Hunt finished the last of his soup. “Do your homework. See what interests her. Extend an invitation that would be hard for her to refuse.”

“What kind of invitation would that be?”

“Ah,” the duke said, “but that is for you to decide. I am ready for my soused lamb.” He signaled the footman. “Bring in the next course.”