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WHITNEY MY LOVE
Trying in his compassionate way to distract his patient
from her terrified preoccupation with his instrument case,
Dr. Whitticomb put it down beside her bed and said
soothingly, ‘His grace, the Duke of Claymore, is most
deeply concerned about you.’
Two bright spots of color appeared on her high cheekbones.
In a strangled voice, she whispered, ‘He is the embodiment
of kindness and solicitude.’
‘Quite so,’ Dr. Whitticomb agreed, not able to believe the
sarcasm he thought he heard. ‘As I understand it, Miss
Stone, ‘ he began briskly, ‘you took a nasty fall down the
staircase.’ Reaching for the bedcovers, he said, ‘Let’s
just have a look at the knee, shall we?’
‘Don’t!’ she yelped, clutching the bedcovers to her pretty
chin and eyeing him mutinously.
For a moment he stared at her in amazement, but then he
realized what was distressing her and his expression
gentled. Drawing up a chair beside the bed, he sat down.
‘My dear girl,’ he said kindly, ‘we are no longer in the
dark ages when a female denied herself the ministrations
of a competent physician merely because he was a man and
she was a woman. I applaud your modesty - God knows we see
it all to seldom in young ladies these days – but this is
not the proper time for it, as I am sure your aunt would
tell you. Now then…’ Reaching out, he tried to draw the
sheets back , but his patient’s tightly clenched fists
exerted equal pressure to draw them in the opposite
direction.
Dr. Whitticomb reared back and frowned with frustrated
annoyance. I am a competence physician with a score of
female patients, including Her Majesty, if that will
reassure you, Miss Stone.’
‘Well, it doesn’t reassure me in the least!’ his patient
fired back in a voice remarkably strong for one supposedly
in excruciating pain.
‘Young woman,’ he warned, ‘I am under specific orders from
his grace to examine your knee and prescribe the proper
care. And,’ he added ominously, ‘he instructed me to have
you restrained if necessary, in order to do so.’
‘Restrained!’ Whitney burst out. ‘Of all the unmitigated,
unbelievable gall! Just who does he think would dare to do
such a . . .’ She choked back her outburst, already
visualizing Clayton striding into her bedchamber in
defiance of every law of decency and propriety, and
forcibly pinning her to the bed, so that Dr. Whitticomb
could examine her knee.
Frantically, she groped for some way to deter the
physician from examining her. Excessive modesty was her
only hope. Her lids fluttered closed, then opened to
regard the man in charming embarrassment. Shyly, she
plucked at the sheets. ‘I know how silly and foolish I
must seem to you, Dr, Whitticomb, but I would simply die
of mortification to be so . . . exposed. . . to a perfect
stranger, no matter how fine a doctor you are.’
‘My dear girl, we are only talking about ‘exposing’ your
knee, after all.’
‘But I can’t help the way I feel,’ Whitney protested
virtuously. ‘You don’t know me, but surely his grace, who
does know me, should have considered my tenderest feelings
in this. I’m quite shocked by his callous disregard of my.
. . my . . .?’
“Maidenly sensibilities?’ the doctor offered
automatically, thinking to himself that Claymore was going
to have his work cut out for himself on his wedding night
with his young woman, and that it was a very good thing
that the duke was no novice where females were concerned.
‘Exactly! I knew you would understand.’
Reluctantly Dr. Whitticomb capitulated, ‘Very well, Miss
Stone, I will not examine you knee on one condition: You
must permit a local physician to examine it.’
‘Immediately!” Whitney agreed, beaming a bright smile on
him.
Leaning over, he snapped his bag shut and picked it up.
‘Do you know of someone who has experience with sprains
and breaks – someone with whom you could feel comfortable?
‘Someone with experience with sprains and breaks?’ Whitney
repeated, searching madly for some name to give him. ‘Why
yes. Yes, I do,’ she announced triumphantly.
‘Who?’ Dr. Whitticomb persisted, standing up. ‘What is his
name?’
‘Thomas,’ Whitney provided promptly, smiling widely at her
own inspiration. ‘I trust him implicitly, as does everyone
for miles around – whenever there’s sprain or a break, it
is always brought to Thomas for treatment.’ With a
gracious smile, she added, ‘Goodbye, Dr. Whitticomb. I do
thank you for coming, and I’m most dreadfully sorry for
the inconvenience you’ve been caused. Clarissa will show
you out.’
‘No need to bid me farewell just yet,’ Dr. Whitticomb
assured. ‘I’ll be up to see you after I’ve spoken with Dr.
Thomas.’
‘Oh dear God!’ Clarissa gasped, blindly clutching the
bedpost for support.
Dr. Whitticomb ignored her outburst. Reaching into his
waistcoat pocket, he withdrew a heavy gold timepiece,
glanced at the time, then snapped it shut. ‘His grace’s
driver and coach are waiting, so if someone will be so
kind as to direct me to Dr. Thomas, I’ll meet with him and
assure myself of his credential, then bring him back with
me.’
Whitney levered herself up on both elbows. ‘Whatever for?
I mean, I’ve just assured you that he’s qualified. You can
take my word for it.’
‘No, I’m sorry, but I can’t. even if I were willing to
entrust your health to some unknown colleague, which I’m
not, I can assure you that the duke would never permit it.
Actually, we discussed calling in Grundheim from Germany;
he’s a good man with injuries to the joints. And there’s
Johannsen in Sweden –’
‘He wouldn’t dare!’ Whitney retorted.
‘Actually,’ Dr. Whitticome admitted ruefully, ‘it was my
idea to have them come to examine your knee. Claymore
thought it best if I saw you first. He had certain –ah
–doubts about the severity of your injury. Lady Gilbert,’
he said, ‘would you be so kind as to give me directions to
Dr. Thomas?’ He started for the door, but stopped in his
tracks when, from the occupant of the bed, there came a
stifled moan, followed by a series of blistering remarks
about someone’s character and integrity, liberally salted
with words such as ‘scoundrel, wretch, blackguard, and
hypocrite.’
Dr. Whitticomb turned in surprise. Gone was the shy,
demure young lady who’d sighed and languished in her bed
but a moment before. His lips twitched with laughter and
admiration as he beheld the tempestuous beauty who was now
sitting bold upright against the pillow, positively
emanating stormy wrath.
‘Dr. Whitticomb,’ the beauty snapped at him, ‘I really
cannot endure another moment of this. For the love of God,
look at my knee before that man has every leech in Europe
at my bedside!’
‘I personally do not condone leeching,’ Dr. Whitticomb
remarked as he walked back to the bed and put his
instrument case down. This time there was no resistance
when he drew back the bedcovers. He parted her dressing
robe well below the thigh, exposing a pair of long,
shapely limbs, one of which was propped upon a pile of
pillows.
‘That’s odd,’ he said, suppressing a smile as he glanced
at his rebellious patient. ‘Yes indeed – I wondered about
the lump created by this pile of pillows.’
Whitney frowned at him. ‘I can’t see anything the least
bit ‘odd’ about two pillows propping up an injured knee.’
‘I quite agree with you there.’ Dr. Whitticomb’s eyes
twinkled. ‘But unless I misread your note to his grace, it
was you left knew which was injured. Yet it is your right
knee which we see here upon these pillows.’
His finger pointed accusingly to the wrong leg and Whitney
pinkened. ‘Oh that,’ she said hastily. ‘We propped the
right leg up to keep it from bumping the left.’
‘Very quick thinking, my dear,’ Dr. Whitticomb said with a
chuckle.
Whitney closed her eyes with chagrin. She wasn’t fooling
him at all.
‘There doesn’t appear to be any swelling.’ His fingers
gently felt first her right knee, then her left, then the
right again. ‘Do you feel any pain here?’
‘Dr. Whitticomb.’ Whitney said with a resigned smile
trembling on her lips, ‘would you believe, even for one
second, that I am in any pain?’
‘No. I’m afraid not, actually,’ he admitted with equal
candor. “But I must say I admire your knack for knowing
when the time has come to throw in your cards and call the
game lost.’ He replaced the bedcovers and leaned back in
his chair, gazing at her in thoughtful silence.
He couldn’t help admiring her spirit. She’d concocted a
scheme and she’d done her level best to see it through.
And now, when she was defeated she conceded the victory to
him without rancor, no missish sulks and sullens, no tears
or begging. Damned if he didn’t like her for it! After a
moment, he straightened and said briskly, ‘I expect we
should discuss what I am going to do next.’
Whitney shook her head. ‘There’s no need to explain. I
know what you’re obligated to do.’
Dr. Whitticomb gave her an amused look. ‘First of all, I'm
going to prescribe absolute, undisturbed bedrest for the
next twenty-four hours. Not for you’ – he laughed at
Whitney’s joyous expression – ‘but for your poor,
beleaguered maid behind me, who’s been torn between
grabbing the nearest heavy object and bludgeoning me
unconscious or swooning dead away.’ Plucking the hartshorn
bottle from the bedside table, he passed it to Clarissa.
‘if you will take some free advise from an extremely
expensive physician,’ he told her severely, ‘you will not
involve yourself in any more of this lovely hoyden’s
intrigues. You haven’t the constitution for it. Besides,
your face quite gave your mistress away.
When Clarissa closed the door behind her, Dr. Whittcomb
turned his gaze upon Lady Gilbert, who’d gone round the
bed and was standing beside Whitney, waiting like a
condemned man in the box to share her niece’s sentence.
‘You, Lady Gilbert, are not in much better condition than
that maid. Sit down.’
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