The Brynthwaite Boys - Season One - Part Three Page 16

  What wouldn’t Marshall give to be able to say his life bore the evidence of Alexandra Dyson’s mastery?

  But there was no use in hoping over what would never be.

  “What this means at the end of the day,” St. Germaine went on after all three of them had taken their seats, Jason leaning over his desk facing them, elbows on his blotter, “is that there will be another custody hearing.”

  Marshall sucked in a breath, hope springing through him. “Truly? I will be able to argue to win the girls back? When? How soon?”

  Jason too looked ready to burst with encouragement, but St. Germaine shook his head. “The new hearing has been set for the new year, January 12th.”

  Marshall’s hopes crashed. “But that’s over four months from now. What about until then?”

  “Four months is lightning quick for the High Court to move,” St. Germaine explained. “In many cases of this sort, it could be years before you would receive a new hearing. And until the hearing takes place, the former ruling stands.”

  “Meaning that Danforth and that lot will continue to hold my girls hostage?” Marshall could hardly stand the thought. The sharp ache of that day when they’d been allowed to visit stayed with him. He would have cut off his arms if he could spare them from that torment.

  “For the time being.” St. Germaine steepled his fingers as he rested his elbows on the arm of his chair. “Danforth will retain custody of the girls until the hearing and will have ultimate say in who they can and can’t see, as per the first ruling. But what this means is that you have a chance to present evidence in your favor proving that you are the best guardian for the children,” he said.

  “Best guardian?” Marshall balked. “What kind of nonsense is that? I’m the girls’ father. Who on this earth could possibly be a better guardian?”

  “Percival Danforth argues that he could,” St. Germaine said.

  “Surely the courts won’t agree,” Jason said.

  “As I have said all along,” St. Germaine sighed, “the Danforth family is powerful in the circles of the law. They have a great many allies, and they are more than willing to play dirty.”

  “Then what does a new hearing mean?” Jason asked.

  St. Germaine shrugged. “It means that we have a chance to play dirty as well. Whatever case you make to win your girls back, it will have to be ironclad and backed up by money and influence.”

  “I’ve got money,” Jason said. “I’d gladly give you my entire fortune.”

  “That will help.” St. Germaine nodded.

  There was a slight disturbance outside of Jason’s open office door, but Marshall ignored it.

  “What else?” Marshall asked. “What does it take to convince a corrupt court that a father is the best guardian for his own children?”

  “Influence,” St. Germaine answered without hesitation. “Clout. The Danforth clan has that in spades.”

  “What do you mean by influence?” Jason asked. “I have connections, a fortune at my disposal”

  St. Germaine shook his head. “It’s not enough. What is needed in cases like this is, well, a peer preferably. Like it or not, the upper classes have their own secret rules, their own inner workings. The Danforths may be influential in the law, but when it comes down to brass tacks, they are commoners.”

  “So am I,” Marshall grumbled. The situation was looking bleaker by the moment.

  “Do you have any friends amongst the peerage at all? Any patients you have treated who might be willing to do you a favor and have a word with one of the judges on the case?”

  Marshall sighed. “No.”

  St. Germaine turned to Jason, brow raised. Marshall expected his friend to grumble and shake his head or come up with some brilliant connection he had never mentioned before. It was a surprise to see Jason straighten in his chair, eyes locked on the door to his office.

  “Lady Elizabeth,” he said, not so much as an inspiration of thought, but more as a greeting, standing behind his desk.

  “Jason,” Lady E.’s lilting voice cut through the tension in the room.

  Marshall twisted toward the door, swallowing at the sight of the woman standing in the doorway, a shining smile on her face, dressed to the nines. He jumped to his feet, as did St. Germaine.

  Lady E. turned to Marshall. “I’m so sorry to hear about your troubles, Dr. Pycroft,” she said, her smile as bright as ever. “What an awful situation to find yourself in. But I’m quite certain that your friend Jason will be able to swoop in, like a knight in shining armor, to save the day. Isn’t that right, Jason?”

  “I plan to do the best I can,” Jason answered. His face was a mask, betraying nothing but a pinch of tension at the woman’s arrival.

  “And have you had any word of your other friend, Mr. Smith, and his situation with the mystery woman, Matty?” Lady E. went on.

  Marshall narrowed his eyes and studied the woman. She knew quite a bit for a woman who seemed more at home hosting garden parties and picking out dresses. Either she had been paying more attention to Jason and his concerns than Marshall had given her credit for or she was just as sharp as her cousin Alexandra after all.

  Alexandra. She was never far from his thoughts, but in a flash, a wealth of inspiration bubbled up in his mind. She was, in fact, a member of the aristocracy, something he routinely forgot. He wracked his brain to recall what position her late father, James Dyson, Lord Thornhill’s brother, had held. Lord Thornhill, Lady Elizabeth’s father, was an earl. Perhaps he did know a member of the peerage after all.

  But Lord Thornhill was ill. Lady Elizabeth was his mouthpiece in the county, but she had no influence in London. It was still possible there was a male family member in a position to be able to assist him.

  His entire string of thoughts took up no more than a split second. By the time he blinked, Jason was answering Lady E.’s question with, “Not yet. Matty has been taken into custody in Kendal, but her accusers have managed to have her trial date moved up to just a fortnight from now.”

  “Isn’t it better to get it over with sooner than later?” Lady E. asked.

  Better indeed.

  “Will you excuse me?” Marshall asked, nodding to Lady E., then to Jason and St. Germaine. “I need to return to the hospital, to have a word with my staff.”

  Jason’s brown furrowed to a frown for a moment, then lifted to a mischievous grin. “Inspired by my example?” he teased.

  “Something like that.” Marshall gave him a quick grin in return, then bowed to Lady E. and headed out of the room.

  Perhaps Mother Grace had been on to something all along. She likely knew more about Alexandra’s connections in London and in the world of the court than he did. Why she didn’t simply tell him right out was something he’d have to discuss with her later. As he marched out of the walled garden of the hotel and along the street toward the hotel, his mind was too busy racing and his heart too occupied beating with furious hope to hold any grudge against an old woman in the forest.

  “Has Dr. Dyson arrived yet?” he asked Mrs. Garforth as he burst through the hospital’s front door and into the waiting room.

  The room was far less crowded than it’d been since he returned from London. The last of the influenza had finally petered out, and all they were left with was the usual array of injuries and maladies. It felt almost lazy.

  “She has,” Mrs. Garforth answered, wariness in her eyes, “But I should warn you, Dr. Pycroft, she doesn’t look well.”

  Marshall frowned as he continued to walk through the waiting room and down the hall to the office. He was tired of Alexandra not looking well. Her natural state was strength, confidence. She needed to rest, perhaps to take a holiday. He needed to think more of her than himself. She’d done far more than her share of work at the hospital this summer, and under the most trying personal conditions.

  And yet, here he was, about to pounce on her to ask yet another favor.

  His steps slowed as he reached the office. He hesitated, runni
ng a hand through his hair. Was it truly fair of him to demand so much of her? To ask that she reach up into her family tree to pick a fruit that could help him?

  Where his girls were involved, he answered himself, yes.

  He squared his shoulders and attempted to put on as pleasant an expression as he could before turning the corner and marching into the office.

  “Good morning, Dr. Dyson,” he greeted her with as much sweetness as he could.

  The moment Alexandra glanced up from the clipboard she held as she leaned her backside against the desk, Marshall knew they were all in trouble. Her beautiful, luminous eyes were red-rimmed. Bloody hell. What had that blackguard Fretwell done now?

  Marshall blew out a breath and let his shoulders relax as he approached the desk. Alexandra met his eyes with guilt, lowering her head and gulping a breath. Shaking his head, Marshall turned to lean against the desk by her side, crossing his arms.

  “Tell me,” he said, not unkindly. His heart beat a furious tattoo against his ribs.

  “I’m very sorry to inform you that you may need to search for another physician to assist you at the hospital,” she said. Marshall could tell by the stiffness in her body, so close to his, that she was doing her best to bolster her courage and face whatever was behind the statement bravely.

  “I am not interested in searching for another physician, Dr. Dyson,” he told her in no uncertain terms.

  She huffed an ironic laugh. “And I am not interested in putting you in the position where you would have to, but I’m afraid it cannot be helped this time.”

  “What if I say it can be helped?” He spoke with far more confidence than he felt. Perhaps Jason’s display toward his staff had inspired him after all.

  Alexandra shook her head, rubbing at her eyes as if she was in danger of weeping. “I told you the other day that my mother and Anthony Fretwell had become engaged.”

  “You did,” he replied, foreboding tightening his gut.

  “Well,” Alexandra went on. “This morning I was informed not only that they will be moving back to Hampshire to spend their married life, but that I will be required to join them.”

  Marshall froze, letting the information sink in. Losing Alexandra to Hampshire would be nearly as painful as losing the girls to London. The whole bloody world was dead set against him.

  “Will a certain other man with the name of Fretwell be taking up residence in Hampshire as well?” he asked.

  “Ugh,” Alexandra growled in a sudden fit of frustration. “Do not even suggest that man’s name to me. I want nothing more than to wipe him from my memory, once and for all.”

  Marshall’s brow shot up, and his heart hammered with hope. “I see. But will he be there?”

  Alex swallowed, then nodded and lowered her head.

  Marshall sucked in a breath. “Well, you’re a grown woman with a job and an income of your own. No one can force you to go anywhere or do anything you do not want to do.”

  “Oh, but they can,” she answered him with a mournful shake of her head. “I do not have as much means as you must think I do, in spite of my family connections. And as it turns out, my family is more than willing to throw me to the wolves of Hampshire without a thought for my wishes. They’ve all but abandoned me.”

  Her family. Abandoning her. The very family that Marshall had been so ready to prevail upon her for just minutes before. Now he had the sinking suspicion that he would be the worst kind of cad to call in that sort of a favor when she was suffering so.

  “We could figure some way to have the hospital pay you more of a salary,” he suggested, but even as he did, he knew that there were precious little funds to pay his own salary and to keep a roof over his head, let alone a roof over Alexandra’s head as well. And if he had any hope of rescuing his girls, he would have to prove to the blasted London courts that he could afford to keep them.

  “I attempted to convince my uncle to allow me to stay on at Huntingdon Hall as his nurse and caretaker, since Elizabeth has it in her head that she will come to some arrangement with Mr. Throckmorton and that she will be spending more time in London as a result.”

  Marshall’s brow raised and he blinked rapidly. Did Jason know about that? For that matter, did Flossie? Heaven help the battle that could come out of that sort of meddling on Lady E.’s part. Then again, Lady E. always had had some sort of hold of Jason.

  He shook himself to bring his thoughts back to the important matters at hand. “How did your uncle react to your suggestion?”

  Alexandra made a decidedly unladylike sound of defeat. “He informed me that he does not approve of my practice of medicine, that he wishes me to go to Hampshire with my mother, and to marry and bear children, and that if I refuse to do so, he will not see me or have me in his house.”

  “Oh dear.” Marshall frowned. He uncrossed his arms, resting his hands on the edge of the desk. One hand strayed close to Alexandra’s side. “So it is not simply a matter of employment and housing, it is a potential family breach?”

  She nodded. “I have never seen eye to eye with my family over the proper behavior of a woman, but I’m…I’m not entirely certain I’m ready to give up all connection with them and to forge ahead in life completely on my own.”

  But you wouldn’t be completely on your own, Marshall wanted to tell her. He would always be there for her.

  In fact, he was in a position to do more than just be there for her. The hospital did not have the funds to provide two doctors with enough of a salary to pay rent on two houses in town, but it did have enough for two of them to live under the same roof. And while he didn’t have the clout or the daring that Jason had or the disregard for the rules of society that Lawrence had when it came to living with a woman he was not married to, he was, in fact, in a position to make an offer of marriage to a woman.

  Marry Alexandra. His chest squeezed so tight that he could barely breathe. If they married, then her family would have no further sway over where she lived or how she conducted her life. That would be his responsibility, and he would encourage her to be who she longed to be. She would have a place to live and to work, a name to be proud of, and a family around her. A family that she could help to secure, for marrying her would mean that he would marry a noblewoman, no matter what her circumstances were. As his wife, it was conceivable that Alexandra would lend her family’s name and their contacts to the custody battle. He would not be a lowly, single father, struggling to support them, he would be a married man, offering them a new mother who was strong, beautiful, and connected.

  His hand slid closer to hers along the desk. Do it, man, he urged himself. Ask her one simple question and change both of your lives forever.

  “You would not be on your own,” he began, voice low and tremulous.

  “No?” She twisted to face him, trying her best to smile. “You are such a magnificent friend, Marshall. I know that you would support me in whatever I decide, but I cannot see how it would be enough.”

  He swallowed, pressed his lips together, reminded himself to breathe. “You know I would do anything for you.” His head spun. Form the words, man, he argued with himself. Just ask one question.

  “I know you would.” Alexandra smiled. She looped her arm through his and hugged it, resting her head on his shoulder. “What would we do in this world without our friends? You are a pearl beyond price, better than a husband or a lover, because I know you would never treat me false.”

  Marshall’s heart stopped. Better than a husband or lover? Friend?

  He fought to keep from shaking. Only a bloody fool would propose marriage to a woman who had just called him a “friend.”

  He cleared his throat. “When does your mother expect you to make this move?”

  Alexandra sighed and sat straighter. “Sometime after her honeymoon, I suppose. She hasn’t set a date for me to move as of yet, but the wedding will be in a fortnight, and they plan to spend a month on the continent as a honeymoon tour.”

  “So six weeks?�
�� His voice cracked in spite of all his efforts to hold himself together. It would be at least four months before he could even think of seeing the girls again. To lose Alexandra halfway through that time would kill the last good thing he had in his life.

  Ask her to marry you anyhow, a voice urged inside of him.

  He ignored it.

  “We’ll think of something before then,” he said.

  “Will we?” Alexandra asked with a tired laugh. “I don’t know. This time, Marshall, I think I am well and truly beaten. I might as well accept that my life is not my own and allow myself to be buffeted by the hand of fate.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the Alexandra Dyson that I know,” he said.

  She hugged his arm one last time before standing. “I rather like the Alexandra Dyson you know. I’m just not certain whether I am truly her anymore.”

  But you are, he thought to himself as he watched her pull herself together and march out of the room, on her way to treat the patients at the hospital who relied on her. You are that and so much more.

  And he was a fool and an idiot for letting the opportunity of a lifetime pass him by.

  Jason

  “Lady Elizabeth, is there something you needed?” Jason asked, stepping forward to meet Lady E. at the door to his office as Marshall rushed out. Why the woman thought it was acceptable to interrupt an important business meeting was beyond him. He shot a scowl to Samuel—who hovered behind the open doorway—but Samuel only shrugged as though he’d been helpless to prevent the force that was Lady E.

  “Jason, I told you to call me Elizabeth,” Lady E. scolded him with a warm smile. She tilted her head down so that she could look up at him through her lashes.

  That look, combined with her honeyed tones and the overall picture of loveliness that she presented left Jason baffled and on edge. What did the woman want?

  St. Germaine cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me.” He inched toward the door.

  “Forgive me, where are my manners?” Jason shook himself back to the moment. He extended a hand to Lady E. “La—that is, Elizabeth, this is Nigel St. Germaine, my man of business from London. Nigel, this is a good friend of mine, Lady Elizabeth Dyson.”