"How indeed, Miss Wilcox? Please come from the shadows." The duke's invitation sounded humorous. "I thought you were studying in the library."
The pretty girl, with her light olive complexion and dark, dark eyes, stuck her head into the room. Her lithe body followed, and she centered herself under the curved entry of the threshold. A high chignon with tendrils falling sculpted her face. She was soft but bold.
And I prepared for her to say something outrageous.
"I was studying, Your Grace. But as I suspected, the gentleman's argument for more care lacks a proper defense."
The earl snickered. "That's our Carew. Always garnering support from the ladies. And planning grand gestures to win them." Never tell a fool you read for relaxation. And if said fool was told about the powerful women in my life, the aunties, of course he'd get everything twisted. Sigh. Being considered a man of the world wasn't awful.
As if he were conducting an orchestra, the duke put one finger up to silence any potential response from me, then curled the others requesting Scarlett to enter. "The physician cannot help but be charming. I think a Caribbean accent does better than Russian. But Livingston, you could learn much from him. And Miss Wilcox is learning not to hide her opinions. I hope, in some small way, I'm encouraging her."
Yes, but to what end? Scarlett possessed a sharp intellect. She was learned, a gentleman's daughter. Mr. Wilcox, by owning property, was one of the first Blackamoors to vote for parliament. Nonetheless, she, like all women, would have to conform to the way life was. I merely prayed she found a tolerant husband, one who could recognize her brilliance and had the patience to withstand her tongue.
Donning men's boots as some sort of conceited sign of independence, she glided into the room, then curtsied. Head up, poised and balanced, she said, "Your Grace, I didn't mean to in- terrupt..."
"Sure," I said in a cough.
"But I was merely walking by, and I felt Mr. Carew's reservedness. The need for more hospitals is great."
Though she omitted eavesdropping, her excuse sounded innocent. Make no mistake on that one. Scarlett Wilcox was a minx, a vexing viper in training.
Attempting to take back control of the discussion, I cleared my throat. "Miss Wilcox is correct about the need. The requirement of a reference reduces access for sick people, particularly among immigrant populations. A new hospital such as what I propose would provide care for those communities."
"Immigrants?" Livingston hiccupped. "You mean the Jamaicans? Or is it Trinidad... Trini..."
"Trinidadians." My annoyance rose. "Livingston—"
"And the Dominicans, even Russians." Scarlett folded her arms and glanced at the buffoonish earl as if he were refuse—old, spilled milk, or God forbid, cassava pone cake that spoiled. "London is a port city, known to trade with all regions of the world. Who else do you expect to come when British appetites are global?"
It would be rude to clap, so I sat still, admiring her fury while it was turned on someone other than me.
Older and wiser, this one would be stunning, setting the world on fire. Well, that would be if she could learn to navigate the world as a proper young woman, not a tomboy or an easily excitable miss.
"Mr. Carew is right, Your Grace." Her tone sounded so arched, her chin lifted. "People need a place to feel secure when they seek medical attention."
The gaze she offered the duke made me think the two had secrets. That was an unsettling notion. I wouldn't want to imply that the young woman was sneaky or conniving but she possessed the same fearlessness that made her father, the late Cesar P. Wilcox, a coal millionaire. In a woman, that streak was admirable and frightening.
Though Miss Wilcox advocated for me now, in the next breath, she'd cut me direct. Her words will be sharp, slashing through my innards better than a scalpel. Heaven help the man who loved her. And please, let him be worthy of the Wilcox family and their duke.
"There's a great deal to consider," Torrance said. "When do you need an answer about investing and championing the project, Mr. Carew?"
His Grace hadn't refused. His answer wasn't a no or a yes. "I'm still gathering investors," I said.
