How to Heal the Marquess by Sally Forbes
Chapter Eleven
Daisy rose early the following morning. None to her surprise, Lord Penwell was the first thing on her mind when she opened her eyes. She had spent a great deal of time of late thinking about him, and clearly, that day would be no exception.
She chose her prettiest dress, which was still rather plain compared to the new dress she would be picking up in a few days’ time. She tried to tell herself that it was simply to appear as neat and professional as possible. She would not let her mind consciously entertain the idea that she was dressing as nicely as possible in order to capture the marquess’s attention.
As she quickly finished dressing, she marveled at the effect Lord Penwell seemed to be having on her. She had always been able to handle herself exceptionally well when dealing with patients from the ton.
One would think if they could read her mind, that she had never encountered a handsome gentleman before in her entire life. That, of course, was rubbish, as she had met plenty of them throughout the course of acting as her father’s assistant.
Moreover, she had never been affected by them in the slightest, no matter how attractive they were. If she ever spared them more than a glance, it was because they directly addressed her, which was quite seldom. The families usually preferred to speak to her father about their loved ones’ health. There was never any consideration of her being a possible match for marriage for any gentlemen of the ton. She knew as well as those in high society did that no nobleman would ever consider marrying a mere doctor’s daughter.
With a sigh, she made her way to the kitchen of their small townhouse. Alone with just her thoughts, she could admit to herself that Lord Penwell was, indeed, the most handsome of all the aristocratic men she had ever met.
He was also one of the coldest, at least toward her, but there was something in his eyes that prevented her from disliking him. She could see that his sternness in the presence of herself and her father was born only of concern for the duke’s health, not because he was a cruel or angry man.
In fact, if she was not mistaken, she thought she had caught him looking at her with more warmth than his voice conveyed when he spoke of his distaste for her assisting with anything to do with medicine.
She shook her head firmly as she began to rummage through the kitchen for the ingredients she needed to prepare a new herbal tea she had perfected using various recipes her uncle Ambrose had taught her.
She instantly found her lovage, wintergreen, and black tea, and she set to work brewing a concoction to help give her father and herself a little more energy for the day, as well as prevent stomach problems from eating hurried meals.
As she did so, she reminded herself that, however attractive the marquess was, he was no different than any other nobleman of the ton. And so long as he disapproved of her passion, she disapproved of him.
She was just finishing the tea and preparing to pour it into a serving pot when she heard a sound in the kitchen doorway. She quickly donned a bright smile and turned to face her father.
“Good morning, Father,” she said. But her smile wilted as she noticed how terribly bloodshot his eyes were that morning and how much darker the circles beneath them appeared. His cheeks were swollen with the evidence of many a restless night, and her heart ached. When his mumbled, incoherent greeting confirmed her concerns, she frowned. “Father, you look positively miserable.”
The physician stumbled forward, his vision obstructed by his hands, which were rubbing fiercely at his eyes. But when he had finished, he tried vainly to open his red eyes wide and gave his daughter a sleepy smile.
“I am only just waking, Daughter,” he said gently, his voice overflowing with exhaustion. “I am afraid I do not wake with the sun, as you do, these days.”
Daisy set down the tea and turned back to her father, barely resisting the urge to put her hands on her hips. She loved her father, but his repeated efforts to lie to her about his condition were as insulting as they were painful to her.
“Father,” she said again, more firmly this time, “I love you dearly, but I can see how little sleep you are getting as of late. I am terribly afraid that you will end up collapsing from exhaustion if you do not take better care of yourself.”
Dr. Gibson looked at his daughter, his eyes beginning to adjust to wakefulness. He gave her a sheepish smile and shrugged his shoulders, which appeared to lead to a big stretch of the muscles in his upper body.
“I am a bit tired, yes,” he said, trying to make his voice as light and cheery as possible. “But it is no reason for concern. I shall be fine, dear Daughter.”
Daisy stepped toward her father with pleading in her eyes.
“I know your work is important to you,” she said, “but what will you do if you put so much on yourself that you can do nothing at all to help your patients? I really think you should consider allowing me to take over more of your responsibilities. You know I would be happy to begin doing so at any time. Especially knowing that it would help you to take better care of yourself.”
The doctor sighed. With a final rub of his face, he shuffled over to the kitchen table and pulled out a seat. He fell into it, clearly struggling to awaken fully. Daisy chewed her lip as she fetched the tea. Though it was a new brew she had just perfected, she felt sure it would do something to ease her father’s struggle with shedding his sleepy state. However, tea alone would not cure her father’s exhaustion. But she dutifully handed him a cup, giving him a small smile as she did so.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said, carefully sipping the steaming brew. “And please, do not think I do not appreciate your concerns. But you know as well as I do that I cannot simply take time off from the patients. It is my duty to see to the needs of the sick.” He paused, admiring the cup. “Is this a new brew you have been working on?”
Daisy took a seat beside her father with her own cup of tea in hand.
“Yes,” she said. “This one should give us an extra boost of energy for the day. I do hope you like it.”
The doctor took another sip, then nodded.
“I do, indeed,” he said. “You are very clever and skilled, darling.”
Daisy nodded, but she was not yet ready to drop the previous subject. Even if she had to pester her father until he gave in because he was tired of the discussion, she planned to somehow get through to him.
“Father, I know you take your job seriously,” she said. “And I know that you do so for a good reason. It is, after all, why you are one of the most highly sought-after physicians in London. But I fear that your stubbornness is going to be the death of you. You are no good to anyone if you can barely focus your bleary eyes.”
Her father sighed again, putting his teacup down onto the table and staring into it. Daisy dared to hope she had at last said something to make him sincerely consider what she was saying. She held her breath, watching the doctor trace the top of the cup with his finger.
At last, he looked up at her, giving her a smile that was very clearly forced and very tired.
“I will be fine, dear,” he said before picking up his cup and taking another drink.
Daisy’s heart sank. Her love for her father made her want to keep trying to convince him to take some time off. But he was her father, after all, and the look in his eyes told her that, as far as he was concerned, the discussion was concluded. She decided it was not the time to continue arguing with him. So, despite her instincts, she simply put on her own false, bright smile and rose from the table.
“How about I make us a nice, hearty breakfast?” she asked.
Her father’s smile became more genuine as relief at the subject change filled him. He nodded eagerly, sipping the last of his tea and pushing his cup toward his daughter.
“That sounds lovely, darling,” he said fondly. “Might I have some more of your delicious tea, as well? I do believe I feel invigorated already.”
Daisy giggled, despite her weighted heart. She walked over to where her father sat, kissing him gently on the cheek.
“Of course, Father,” she said.
She poured her father another cup of tea, allowing herself to take a small amount of joy in the way he enjoyed it. Then, she left her father to enjoy the brew while she rummaged for the things she needed to make their meal.
She decided on eggs, both poached and scrambled, juicy chops, and some fresh biscuits. She forced herself to hum as she worked, rolling some recently risen dough into the proper shapes for the biscuits while the oven warmed. But in truth, she was still thinking about her father’s stubbornness about giving her more responsibilities with the patients.
She wanted to believe it was merely his pride that was preventing him from allowing her to take over. But something in his discomfort when he tried to avoid the subject told her that was not the only thing on his mind. She doubted he would keep anything important from her, but it still made her worry even more.
Did he doubt her abilities, despite the praise he so often gave her?
With a clearing of her throat, she decided not to allow herself think of such things. She focused instead on putting the biscuits in the warm oven and starting on the chops. Her father loved and trusted her, as she did him. He would come around. She was almost sure of it.
