Chapter 47

"Here, drink this."
The warm sound of a man's voice woke Marietta from her doze. She was too tightly wrapped in her blanket to move, but she opened her eyes and looked up at the big, handsome face of Dr. Adam Hamilton.
He was tall and fit with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Thick shocks of golden-brown hair waved back from a strong, chiseled face. Darker gold brows arched over vividly blue eyes and a day's growth of whiskers softened the sharp lines of his jaw. Looking at him made her feel warmer than the rock at her feet.
"The tea will help warm you from the inside," he told her. "You need to drink it."
"All right." She maneuvered her hands around and found an opening in her cocoon. Though she'd stopped shivering outright, her hands weren't quite steady as he handed her the fragile china cup, so he wrapped his fingers around hers and guided the cup to her lips. The flavors of strong tea and honey filled her mouth and she wrinkled her nose. "Sweet."
"Prefer it plain, do you?" His lips twitched with amusement. "So do I, but the honey is good for you right now. Finish this and your next cup can be plain. Have you eaten tonight?"
She swallowed another sip. "No. I was on my way home to do so."
"Well, finish your tea while I go pull my supper out of the oven. Knowing my housekeeper, she left me more than enough to share."
Marietta thought about calling him back and telling him not to bother, but it really felt so nice to be warm, or at least almost warm, that she couldn't seem to find the energy to argue. Besides, she couldn't walk home in a man's dressing gown and the thought of putting her wet clothing back on had her shivering all over again.
For the last two years she'd done her best to ignore the handsome doctor living just a few houses down from her little cottage. She knew he came from wealth and privilege, which frightened her more than she liked to admit. Her experiences with the scions of nobility had all been negative. Never again would she put herself in the power of a man who thought he was entitled to whatever or whomever he desired.
And yet here she was, virtually naked in his parlor. He hadn't attempted to take the slightest advantage. Marietta knew she wasn't all that attractive - she was short and plump with unfashionable straight dark hair and brown eyes. He'd also called her an idiot, so it was clear he wasn't interested. Either way, it appeared that having a meal before she went back out in the cold would be safe. As her own housekeeper only came twice a week, there was no one waiting for her who would worry.
Maybe she should get herself a dog. A cat would be easier, but a dog was better company. She wouldn't feel so alone in the house at night with a dog, either. Living alone was something she'd never really gotten used to, not even after eight years of widowhood.
"Supper is served," Dr. Hamilton said, returning to the room. He pulled a small table in front of Marietta after sliding poor Monty off to the side. The lamp and ashtray from the table were set on the desk in the corner then he strode back into the kitchen. He returned with a tray piled high with two bowls of steaming stew, a loaf of bread and a pot of tea.
"Ha. It looks strangely like the supper I'd planned at my house," she told him as she sat up and rearranged her blanket so her arms were freed but her lap was modestly covered. "Our housekeepers must follow the same guidelines."
"Well, mine is off visiting her daughter." Dr. Hamilton pulled up a straight chair on the other side of the table. "Along with her son Thomas, my assistant." He set one bowl of soup in front of Marietta, took one for himself then handed her silver and a bread plate.
"Convenient having both of them in your employ." She took a sip of the hearty beef broth, full of meat and vegetables. "And I must say, yours is the superior cook. This is divine."
"Or you're simply starving so that anything tastes like manna," he offered. "Though she is good."
They sat in awkward silence for a while. The only sounds were the clink of spoon on china and the crackle of the logs in the hearth.
"After dinner, I'd like to examine your hands and your hip," he said about halfway through the meal. "What you did, carrying him all that way, after you'd been hurt yourself - it was a truly generous thing to do."
Marietta paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. "Thank you, Doctor. But it was nothing any charitable person wouldn't have done. And my injuries are nothing to worry about. Scrapes and bruises, nothing more."
"No thanks to the Honorable Mr. Winstead," he grumbled. "Lord Wingate needs to take that young hellion in hand before he kills someone."
"I won't argue with you on that score," Marietta acknowledged with a shiver. "I've no use for spoiled rich boys who believe the world belongs to them."
"Nor do I," he replied with a strange, speculative gaze. "But what about well-to-do young men who use their good fortune to help others?"
He was talking about himself. If Marietta could have untangled her foot from her wrappings, she was sure she'd have found it in her mouth. "Well," she said, scrambling for the right words. She was still slightly muzzy so it was difficult. "I think if one has the resources to do so, then assisting others is an admirable way to use them."
His smile then was brilliant, warm and open, and shocking her to her mostly warm toes. "Exactly, Mrs. James. Which is why I stay here, I suppose. I could afford a more affluent practice, but I wouldn't be needed there, not the way I am here. While I might make more than quilts or chicken pies in fees, it wouldn't be nearly as rewarding."
Marietta's view of the man was changing rapidly. She'd assumed that he charged more than her neighbors could afford to pay for his fine clothing and fashionable carriage. Had she been wrong? For the first time she looked at the blanket wrapped about her and realized it was a quilt - and a very familiar one. "Did Ella Denslow make this?"
He nodded. "She insisted on paying me something after Lara's recovery last winter."
"I thought so. I have one just like it at home."