Merely a Woman Read online

  Table of Contents

  Merely a Woman

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Merely a Woman

  by

  Jo Barrett

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Merely a Woman

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Jo Barrett

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by RJ Morris

  Model: Anna Kate Chambers

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First English Tea Rose Edition, 2012

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-598-0

  Published in the United States of America

  Chapter One

  England 1895

  Selena stood in the doorway puzzling over the man. He wasn’t what she expected at all. Tall and lean and...young. Her father usually patronized older scientists and doctors, all of whom had treated her like an extra daughter. She would introduce herself, listen to their fascinating ideas, then generally would leave them to their work, and to that they were most likely grateful. Yet this one was different, not only in age and looks, which were quite appealing, but in what he was researching. This doctor had a very important task at hand. He was to find a cure for her father’s illness.

  So many doctors had paraded through the house over the last year, so many different theories, but this one had finally given it a name. And yet her father had not mentioned any of this in his letter. Not that he should, but some information would have been helpful other than a summons to return home to Primrose House.

  She’d been searching, as quietly as possible, all through London for a physician who could help her father. A fact he was not pleased about in the least. She clearly recalled his words in his last letter.

  Dearest Daughter,

  Your aunt writes me to say that you have been willfully disregarding my wishes and I will not tolerate such duplicitous behavior from my own child. You were to enjoy your stay in London and not concern yourself with my health. You must look to your future, not mine. However, since I have no doubt that these words will fall upon deaf ears, you are to return home at once. And to be certain you do as you are told, you will be happy to hear that I have obtained a new physician who has discovered the nature of my illness. So your endeavors, although not unappreciated, are no longer required.

  Your father

  P.S. I rather like this man and I believe you shall as well.

  She wondered what it was about this doctor that he liked so much as to put it in his letter. The statement was meant to make sure she would obey him and put an end to her search, but there was more to it than that. He’d listened to her opinion on prior doctors and their abilities, but why would he care if she liked the man or not? He could be as rude and unpleasant as some had been in the past, for all that she cared, as long as he helped her father.

  Clearing her throat, she hoped to draw attention to herself without making too much of a fuss. However, she was determined to discover an answer to the riddle her father had unknowingly planted in her mind, and would not leave until she had an answer. She waited patiently for the doctor to notice he was not alone, but his attention remained on whatever it was he was examining through his microscope. There was no recourse, she would have to brave his temper—if he was of the same disposition as so many in his profession.

  “I do beg your pardon, but I would very much like to speak with you, Dr. Kensington,” she said.

  “Just another moment, Mrs. Cox.”

  Selena grinned at his mistake. She in no way resembled the housekeeper, who was thirty years her senior at least. She moved slowly about the room, reading the various titles of the books he’d brought with him lying about, looked on with some interest at the desk covered with piles of correspondence and notes, and all in a haphazard fashion, before she came to stand opposite the table where he worked. He jotted down a few more notes then glanced at her clasped hands before her then back to his notes, then abruptly snapped straight to gaze at her in shock.

  “I—I do apologize, I’d not realized—that is, you are not Mrs. Cox,” he said.

  She smiled at his befuddled expression, noting his very handsome face now that she could see it clearly. “No, I am not.”

  He blinked, his mouth working to form words, or so she assumed, but nothing came out. She’d seen similar reactions before when meeting men. Her looks, apparently, surprised and pleased them. She’d always thought it rather silly, it was just a face, just a form, like everyone else, but for some reason men thought her beautiful. She’d once been told she was more beautiful than Praxiteles’ sculpture of Aphrodite. All of which was nonsense of course, she was merely a woman like any other. She did, however, rather like her appearance. It suited her well, but all the fuss seemed a ridiculous waste of time when one considered all the unpleasant things in the world. Things that truly needed attention, like her father’s illness. Empty flattery would not save his life or anyone else’s.

  “I am Selena Wilton, Mr. Wilton is my father,” she said.

  “Of course you are. Yes.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting loose a single, dark and unruly lock to caress his brow. “I am happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Wilton.”

  She held out her hand, but as he clasped her fingers and started to bow he bumped the table, sending books to the floor. With a giggle she couldn’t suppress, she bent to retrieve them.

  “No, please. I can manage,” he said.

  “I don’t mind. My presence has disturbed your work. I insist I lend a hand.”

  “No, you didn’t disturb me, not at all. Well, perhaps—but nothing too important. That is, I mean—”

  Selena smiled as she neatly stacked the books she could reach before he grabbed them, and carefully placed them atop the table. He was rather handsome, and although she should feel quite ashamed of herself, she enjoyed his nervousness in her presence. It was an off-handed sort of compliment, one she preferred to the outrageous verbal and often physical accolades to her beauty.

  “It’s quite all right, Doctor. I understand. I just wanted to introduce myself and to thank you for coming. I realize that moving all of your research, your very office,” she said, looking about the room, “has been difficult for you, but it is greatly appreciated.”

  “Well, Mr. Wilton was quite adamant,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

  She grinned. “Yes, Father does tend to get his way when he wants it.” She frowned, just then realizing. “Oh, I do hope he didn’t force you to leave your patients stranded without a physician, Dr. Kensington.”

  “No, no. Not at all.”

  He blushed, something she’d not seen a man do before. Of course, she was rarely presented to the less outspoken men of the ton. The other, more eager sort, never allowed the opportunity, always buzzing about her like flies to honey. Her looks drew them in as well as her father’s wealth, although he was not a member of the peerage.

  Dr. Kensington straightened the already straight
stack of books. “I’d not yet established a clientele. It would, um, seem that my age is a bit of a problem for people.”

  “Why so? I would think you would have many clients. You know all the latest techniques and remedies. One would think that a positive inducement.”

  “A very logical way of looking at it, Miss Wilton, however, most people feel that experience is the better teacher. At least where I was attempting to practice, at any rate.” He smiled wide, and she liked his honesty.

  “I can understand that, I suppose. But I’ve seen enough experience come through this house in the last few months with nothing more than some poor guessing as to my father’s condition. You used new tests to determine what is wrong with him, and for that, I am extremely grateful. Although I have not yet been told what it is.”

  “I am glad to be of service,” he said, with a small bow. “I’m afraid, however, that I cannot be the one to enlighten you. Your father’s direction was most clear.”

  “Yes, wasn’t it though? But I understand there is no cure,” she said, turning away, not wanting him to see the tears building in her eyes. It was only a guess, really, thanks to her father’s edict that no one say a word to her. But the look on Mrs. Cox’s face when she’d asked about his condition spoke volumes, although the woman would neither confirm nor deny her suspicions.

  Horace was mesmerized by the way Miss Wilton glided across the room before her words registered in his brain.

  “So you’ve been told some of the details,” he said.

  She remained silent, however, so he offered no more information. Wilton had said she was as determined as he when she decided on things.

  She turned around and granted him a small smile, her crystal blue eyes somewhat watery. “I require a favor, Doctor.”

  “If I can,” he said, moving toward her, wanting to comfort her, but was very much afraid he would not be able to do anything.

  “You must be completely honest with me, regardless of what my father has told you. I must know it all, I will not be spared any information regarding his health, nor his chances at overcoming this illness.”

  He admired her grit and determination. Although she was the loveliest woman he had ever seen, with hair the color of sunlight twisted into fanciful ringlets atop her head, and rosy lips that would torment any man, there was so much more beneath her fair exterior. She quite frankly, amazed him, but just as he feared, he could not accommodate her.

  “You must understand that your father wishes to—”

  “My father has demanded that I be kept in the dark, Dr. Kensington, but I will not have it.” She approached him, her chin titled high, her face flushing with her sudden rush of emotions. “If I have to steal in here in the middle of the night to read your journals, I will, make no mistake about it. I will know it all, Doctor. Every last shred of information.”

  He ran his hand through his hair and clasped the back of his neck, still stiff from peering through the microscope for far too many hours, and sighed. “I see we are going to have a problem, then. Your father is not only my patron, but my patient. I cannot betray his confidence.”

  Her lovely lips pursed, and although he knew it was due to her anger, she looked as though she were begging for a kiss. He blinked away the thought and did his best to return her unwavering regard. She could search his journals, but his scrawl was barely legible to himself, so he had no doubt she wouldn’t be able to decipher any of his notes, and he kept his complete journal under lock and key.

  “We’ll see about that,” she said. With a huff and a swirl of skirts, she marched from the room leaving the scent of gardenias in the air. He sank into the chair beside his work table and let the perfume wrap around him. She was beautiful, spirited, intelligent, and all that was feminine. And Horace was never more certain that he would fall quite hopelessly in love with her.

  Chapter Two

  “Father, I refuse to be treated like a child,” she said, marching into his study.

  “And who is doing such a thing,” he muttered, not lifting his head from his book.

  “You are, and well you know it.” She sat opposite him, attempting to calm her raging emotions from the altercation she’d had with Dr. Kensington.

  He chuckled, his gray brows lifting as he peered over his glasses. “I’ve brought your face to such a shade of pink? Why, I’ve been sitting here quite happily reading since you arrived this morning.”

  “Oh, don’t attempt to play the innocent with me. You know very well of what I speak.”

  “So Kensington wouldn’t budge, eh? Good for him. I knew he was a man of high principals when I met him,” he said with a decisive nod, his balding head catching the afternoon light.

  She took a steadying breath and reached across the space between the chairs and clasped his arm. “Please, Father. Tell me what illness you have, what is the prognosis, what can I do to help you get well?”

  He patted her hand with a wink. “Your being here is all I need. Now, why don’t you go outside and cut some flowers. It’s much too nice a day for you to stay inside with an ornery old man.”

  She shook her head with a faint grin. “You are the most stubborn man.”

  “And so is Dr. Kensington. Therefore, I suggest you leave the man to his work, or else you might stay that unusual shade of pink,” he teased.

  With a smile and a shake of her head, she rose and left him to his reading. At least he seemed in better spirits since the doctor arrived. Any improvement was a good sign, even if it meant she had to endure that infuriating close-mouthed scientist.

  She pulled the study door closed then turned toward the kitchen to speak with Mrs. Cox about dinner, when she bumped into Dr. Kensington. He dropped his book and reached out to steady her.

  “I’m terribly sorry. Are you all right? I’m afraid I was paying more attention to my book than to where I was going,” he said, holding her against his chest.

  “I’m quite fine, thank you,” she said curtly, and pulled from the awkward embrace. She didn’t dare contemplate why her skin felt prickly all over. It wasn’t from his touch. That would be ridiculous. She’d been held by men before and never felt anything at all except fatigued from all the empty compliments.

  “Um, yes. Well, that’s good then,” he muttered.

  Miss Wilton’s delicate brows lifted, as she attempted to glare down her nose at him, but the affect was completely ruined. She was nearly a foot shorter than he, for one, and far too lovely. Or he was a besotted fool already, which was more than likely the case considering that he’d already memorized every feature of her face, the slope of her neck, the color of her eyes, even her scent. Why couldn’t she have been a priggish spinster instead of young and beautiful?

  Horace shook his head at himself to try and clear it, and bent to retrieve his book from the floor. The feel of her against him for those meager seconds had flooded his mind with farfetched ideas, but she would never want him. Even if she did, his financial situation would never meet her or her father’s expectations. And at the present time, she was more than a bit put out by him.

  “If you were looking for your partner in crime, he is in his study,” she said with a nod toward the door beside him.

  “Your father, yes. I was looking for him.” He held up the book with an awkward chuckle. “I have a reference he might like to see.”

  Her stance relaxed, as her eyes went from heated glare to soft and pleading. The image had him imaging other ways she might look at him.

  “Is it about his illness? Have you found something that might help him?” Her head tilted to the side as she tried to read the spine of the book he held, breaking the trance she’d put him under.

  “Um, no, not exactly. It’s more about diet and how to properly maintain one’s inner organs.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said with a disappointed sigh.

  “I take it he did not disclose any other information to you, then.”

  She shook her head, the soft look gone from her eyes. “No. But m
ake no mistake, Doctor, and I intend to win this battle of wills.”

  With that she spun away and disappeared down the hall, leaving him staring after her wondering if the truth would destroy her as her father said it would.

  He entered Mr. Wilton’s study and presented him with the book. They talked for some time on the topic of his digestion before he broached the subject of Miss Wilton.

  “Mr. Wilton, I am still not sure that withholding the status of your condition from your daughter is wise,” Horace said.

  “Giving you fits, is she?” he asked with a chuckle. “Just hold your ground, young man. I know my daughter can be quite stubborn as well as strong, but in this instance it would do her harm to know the truth of it.”

  “Very well,” he conceded. It was his health—his life, after all.

  The old man gave him an odd look. “What do you think of Selena? Other than her stubbornness in this matter?”

  “Well, I—uh.”

  “Out with it, boy. What do you think of her?”

  “She’s beautiful, of course, but I think she is also quite intelligent. Which is why I feel she would do well to know the facts in your case, sir.”

  He waved his hand at the added remark and gazed out the window to the late afternoon sun shining through the trees. “Most men put her on a pedestal, worship her, dote over her like some fragile bit of crystal.” He turned his keen gaze to Horace. “But you don’t see her that way,” he said matter-of-factly. “That is very wise of you, Kensington. There is quite a bit more to her than what is on the surface. Quite a bit more.”

  The old man turned back to the window, lost in his own thoughts.

  “Yes, sir,” Horace replied softly, and slipped from the room. Miss Wilton was not the only trial for him in this household. Her father would be a difficult case, he hadn’t cared for the change in his diet, thus the reason for the book regarding digestion to prove his point, but it was necessary. Horace could only extend his life for a time as there was no cure for the disease.

  He rubbed his pained brow as he made his way back to the library and his work. If only he could discuss his condition with his daughter, there he was certain to have an ally in maintaining his diet, much to the man’s dislike.