Roses and Flames

Chapter 29

It was very possible that this was the case. It was not Patrick’s place to question the practice of other doctors. He would have come to the defense of his profession had it been any other evening. Tonight, he did not wish to cross Ambrose by disagreeing. The High Road was diplomatic silence.

But the Duke was not aware of that. “What can you possibly know of such things, Ambrosia? You are but a maid after all.”

 It was an honest question, but it sounded almost like he was questioning her virtue. It was like watching a man dig his own grave please stop Patrick so the increasingly mutinous glint in her eyes as she readied her argument.

“I have been present at any number of deliveries when we are in the country,” she announced. “I have also read the texts that they use at university. In comparison, I studied the techniques of the village midwives and age of them in their work.”

“They now deem me so proficient that I can manage all but the most difficult deliveries before calling for a doctor.”

Around the table there were giggles and gasps. The good lady Caroline blushed while the Bishop on her other side blanched white. Just as he remembered her, Ambrose was unaffected by approval or disapproval. When she was truly setting a course, she would not be moved. Her animosity forgotten, she looked to Patrick as the conferring with a colleague.

“I would not attempt a Caesarean section, of course. But neither would you, I wager, unless you were sure that there was little to no hope that their mother would be alive to see the birth.”

They seldom survived operation, he agreed. “But perhaps that table is not the best place….”

 “From what I understand, the physician in the residence played Princess Charlotte for months and starved her instead of feeding her up stout. Then he left her to labor for days without so much as an ergot to hurry things along.”

As a physician, he could not contradict what she said. She did not argue from ignorance on the subject. She had explored the techniques on boot of the physician and the midwife. He had been trained in only one and taught to ignore the other as inferior.

“And the baby was breech. If the ladies hips are small it is like trying to force a melon through a keyhole.”

There was a gently squeezed shocked groan from one of the more impressionable ladies and a soft moan from Lord Thorne.

“He did not use the forceps when he had the chance,” she finished.

“I thought you did not believe in such things,” Patrick supplied helpfully and waited for the fun to continue.

“She should not even know what they are,” the Duke announced, trying to regain control of the conversation.

Ambrose ignored him. “I said they were used to often. Not that they are totally useless,” she said. “Although if you are skilled, it is possible to turn the child without them.”

“Is she in the habit of discussing such things with you?” The Duke demanded of Patrick, going a bit white around the mouth. Patrick wondered if he was still so eager to have a doctor in the family. He suspected that, when they had a chance to speak in private, he would be called to task for leading Ambrosia astray.

He took a sip of his wine. “I have been not in the country for years, your grace. But Lady Ambrosia has questioned me at length on the subject of medicine, and since I have been home.”

 Let the man think what he would think of that. If he did not understand the risk of another man spending so much time with his future wife, then he deserved to lose her.

“Is that what you talk about?” The Duke seemed honestly surprised at this. And he expected the worst? And if so, why did he do nothing to prevent it?

“We talk of other things as well, Samuel,” Ambrosia said dismissively, totally ignorant of the duke’s jealousy.

“You should not be talking of this under any circumstances,” the Bishop announced, no longer able to control himself. “Nor should you doubt the superiority of men in all things, or worry overlong about alleviating the suffering of childbed. It is woman slot, since the fall of eve.”

“But the men are not superior in all things at all times,” Ambrosia’s said with a smile. “And my sympathies to Duchess’s biblical namesake, but do you seriously believe that the Lord made women to suffer and then invented opiates to taunt us with the possibility of relief? I believe the Bible also says something about beings towards to the land. I assume that means that we are to use or make use of such natural palliatives when we find them.”

 Now her father was holding his head, as though he were experiencing a migraine. The lady at his side gave a little shriek of outrage. But the matron opposite Lord Thorne responded with a solemn nod of approval.

“Ambrosia.” There was a faint test That held warning in the Duke’s tone, as though he thought he could manage this sort of unspoken communication that one sometimes so in the couples whose hearts were beating in time.

“Yes, Samuel?” Ambrosia responded with a sweetness I think that would have a smart man diving under the table for protection.

“Do you think it is proper to disagree with the gentleman who is our guest?” Ambrosia blinked at him, all innocence again.

“Only on subjects where I’m sure he is wrong.”

The Bishop threw his napkin aside and pushed away from the table. “You must excuse me, your grace. But this is simply too much.” He stood and stormed from the room.

The Duke’s ability to maintain decorum was dependent on certain level of respect and the polite cooperation of all present. But Patrick could have warned him that, with Ambrose involved, he would never see it again. Now that normally composed Duke was trapped in the horns of dilemma. Did he discipline his betrothed at the table? Mollify his guests? Pronounce her opinions charming and pretend that nothing had happened?

After a moments cogitation, he muttered, “bloody hell,” and threw his napkin aside as well closed up then he rules with a smile, added, “ladies and gentlemen, if you will excuse me for a moment,” and then disappeared after the clergyman. At his rising, the people around the table dutifully came to their feet and settled back into their chairs when it was clear that he would not stay long enough to notice. A nervous silence fell over the remaining guests, who began to eat quickly as though hoping for an excuse to end the evening early. Patrick savoured the remaining courses in his own good time. He could not remember a better meal.

“Ambrosia, may I speak to you in the library for a moment?”

“Of course, Samuel.”

The other guests had already departed and her father paused nervously in the doorway, his hat in his hand. The deal gave him a reassuring smile. You didn’t wait, Lord Thorne. If you wish, you might return home and send the carriage back for ambrosia. She will be perfectly safe here for an hour are so.

Her father gave a relieved nod and abandoned her to her feet. Although Ambrose could not imagine that it was anything too grim. She watched Samuel closely as he led her to the library and saw no reason to fear. He was clearly annoyed, but not so angry as to frown. A few kisses and a small amount of contribution on her part, and life would continue as normal or perhaps more than a few kisses. Now that they were engaged, there was no reason that she could not employ most drastic methods to distract him, should he prove difficult. They would be alone for at least an hour and some of that time might be spent in the first real intimacy that she had shared with Samuel.

 As he closed the door behind him, he looked at her in surprise. “You needn’t be afraid, Ambrosia, I am not happy with what occured at dinner, but I’m not going to be such an ogre as to deserve the look you’re giving me.” He sat on the sofa by the fire and gestured to the cushion at his side.

What look? She glanced at herself in the mirror above the mantle. Oh, dear. It one thing to appear penitent and another quite to look like the Joan of Arc on the way to the stake. And she had not even been thinking about her behavior. She had been thinking about being alone with Samuel. She turned back to him, quickly composed her expression to something more pleasant, and took her seat.

“I am sorry, Samuel. For the Friday face and for my behavior earlier.”

“I am pleased to hear you say so,” he said. Probably that was all that was expected of her.

“Of course, the conversation at dinner could not be helped,” she added, so that he might understand her better.

“On the contrary,” he said softly, “I think it can.”

“I fail to see how,” she replied. It is not as I can sit silent through the meal. But judging by the look that Samuel was giving her, that was precisely what he expected her to do.

“There will be situations in future that will require you to exercise restraint.”

“Even when the opinions are as wrong headed as some of those words which were expressed this evening during the meal?”

“Especially then,” he said with a nod.

“I fear that will be impossible,” she said, again. “I have many strong opinions of my own.”

“But when we are married,” I expect you to have fewer of them. He said. “And at dinner, it would be better to limit to yourself to discuss off the food, or the weather, or perhaps fashion.” He smiled as though the matter was now quite settled. And then he kissed her.

The interlude that followed was frustrating. She did not particularly want to be kissed until the discussion between them had been settled in her favor. She understood full well what he was doing, since she had considered using just such a technique to win him over. Her mouth was occupied. Therefore she could not argue with him. It was manipulation, pure and simple. And it did not seem to be working. His lips were on her shoulder and his hands on her ribs. While she no longer felt like talking, she was far too clear headed for this to be going as he had hoped. If it had been Patrick, she would have been near to losing her senses by now. And she would have been kissing him back.

The half hearted attempt she was making to show affection to Samuel would be attributed to innocence, for awhile at least. But what happened if her aunt interest continued to the wedding night and after?

After half an hour or so, Samuel released her. It appeared that he was not really bothered by her lack of enthusiasm. His breathing was fast, his skin was flushed and his eyes more black than blue.

“For the sake of your reputation, I must stop now,” he said, brushing up back a lock of her hair. “But I will see you again, tomorrow. Your father wishes me to stay to dinner. And after…” he kissed her again, more ardently.

Or so she suspected. It felt no different to her. Then he escorted her out into the hall and helped her with a wrap, seeing her safely to the waiting carriage.

The door was completely shut before she realized that she was not alone. She peered into the darkness on the opposite bench. “Patrick?”