Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews ... from my faithful '5 percenters' (you guys rock), and from the more timid readers who popped up to say 'Hi!' this chapter. It was a real treat. :)

Another treat for me, and the reason I'm posting later than usual, is that my lovely hubby surprised me with an impromptu 'date night' tonight. We watched the movie, Wonder, and I had all the feels. Such a lovely, heart-warming movie!

xxx Elise

~D&D~

Chapter 9

Awareness

Alice swaddled the freshly cleaned newborn and placed her in her mother's arms. "She seems fine, Mrs Finlay, but I am worried about your colour. You must promise me you'll rest and eat well. I shall bring you a tonic, but you need to eat red meat to build up your blood."

The mother looked away, too weary to focus on the babe in her arms. With a sigh, Alice turned to the Finlays' eldest daughter, but she, too, averted her gaze. The father and older brother worked in the mines. As breadwinners, they took priority, the mother, daughters, and younger sons lucky to taste the juices of what little meat the family could afford. Their diet likely consisted of bread and drippings, and maybe potatoes if they were lucky. Alice doubted they saw many vegetables, as the small garden she had spied outside the tiny cottage was in need of attention. One would have thought Mrs Finlay would have made it a priority, but poverty and misfortune had a way of wearying the hardiest of souls.

Things had improved a great deal in the Masen district since Edward's return and Mr Whitlock's takeover as estate manager. Ensuring safety in the mines was proving difficult, with rarely a month passing without some sort of mishap or another. But land that had lain fallow for years was now being farmed, wages had risen, and local businesses were flourishing as a result. Regardless, there were still families like the Finlays who struggled to get by. Alice suspected Mr Finlay's taste for hard liquor was to blame—that and his refusal to grant his exhausted wife a reprieve from childbearing. With seven children to care for from ten live births and fourteen confinements, the poor woman was worn out. At thirty-four, she was old before her time and, if things didn't change, Alice doubted she would see forty.

After promising to visit again the next day, Alice made her way to the emporium to make sure everything was under control. She and her assistants had spent several days moving the drying herbs, bottles of tinctures, and Alice's decocting equipment from her garden shed and were starting to see customers, as well as the occasional patient in the treating room. Mrs Albert, the eldest and most experienced of the three assistants, agreed to check in on Mrs Finlay later in the day and deliver a bottle of tonic, along with a care package for the new baby. A word to Isabella would see a sizeable food parcel delivered, which should help out in the short term, but the family would require ongoing support.

Even with three assistants, Alice felt she was only scratching the surface of the community's needs. She wanted to discuss her concerns with Isabella and Edward, but they had their hands full with the babes and the running of the district. Perhaps Mr Whitlock would be interested in her ideas for seeing to the general welfare of the locals, and not just their physical health?

A month earlier, Alice never would have considered him a suitable collaborator, but she had been wrong in her assessment of the man. She had thought him aloof and arrogant, but since he had put aside his prejudice of her profession, she had discovered a whole different side to him, one that was quite appealing. Not personally, of course. She looked forward to working with the man for the betterment of the community, nothing more.

Being godparents to Isabella and Edward's twins was a somewhat intimate relationship, she supposed, and she couldn't deny being a little eager to see him again at the christening that afternoon. But that was a good thing. A welcome improvement to their previous antipathy and only because she was keen to hear how Peter was faring.

"Aunt Edith? Are you awake?"

Her aunt's already tiny body seemed to be shrivelling by the day, and Alice tried to swallow around the lump that formed in her throat.

Forcing weary lids open, Edith reached a shaking hand for the glass of water sitting on the bedside table.

"Here, I'll get it." Supporting her aunt's insubstantial weight with one arm, Alice guided the glass to her lips before settling Edith back against the pillow.

"Is it time for the christening?"

"Yes, I am about to head off." Alice stroked a wispy strand of silver hair from her aunt's brow. "I am sorry you're not up to attending. I shall get Isabella to visit with the babies later this week."

Edith waved a bony hand in the air. "Our little cottage is no place for entertaining a viscountess."

Alice huffed, her tone wry but gentle. "This is Isabella we're talking about. She must have dined with us a hundred times and, I can assure you, is no different for her change in station. She keeps asking after you and is eager to show you her babes."

"Truly?" Edith's watery blue eyes brightened. "She's not been puffed up with an abundance of airs and graces?"

"Not in the least." Alice smiled when she thought of the changes the previous year had wrought in her friend. "She is more confident, I'll grant you, but it's a good thing. She is not so deferential, and she has lost that 'put upon' air."

Edith chuckled, her raspy voice making it more of a cackle. "I am glad to 'ear it. That girl turned into a right martyr after her mother became ill. Old before her time, she was."

Not anymore, Alice mused.

Edward's loving attention had rid Isabella of her dull and somewhat defeated air. Alice thought her own line of work had rendered her unshockable, but the stories Isabella insisted on recounting could bring colour to the dourest old midwife's cheeks, let alone one who was unwed and relatively young. There wasn't much Alice didn't know about the mechanics of procreation, but Isabella's breathless, giggling disclosures about the unexpected joys of marital relations had left her feeling unsettled on occasion.

She was happy for her friend, not envious. Not really. Maybe a little.

Not that she coveted her best friend's husband in any way.

Edward had turned out to be far more handsome than she had first suspected when he had arrived in the village, close to death and looking less than reputable. But his excessive height and dark demeanour weren't to Alice's tastes. She preferred a leaner look and lighter colouring.

Mr Whitlock's blond locks and red-gold beard sprang to mind, not for the first time of late, and she dismissed them with an internal rebuke.

What was the matter with her?

Just because she had discovered the man wasn't a complete boor was no reason to set him up as the epitome of gentlemanly appeal. He wasn't. Nor was any other gentleman, or country farmer, or soldier, or tradesman, or male of any sort. She had eschewed matrimony and had no need for a man. Certainly not Mr Whitlock, other than as a fellow worker in the rehabilitation of the district.

With that reminder fixed to the forefront of her thinking, Alice gave her aunt's hand one last pat. "The service will be starting soon, so I had best be off." She stood and smoothed the skirt of the new dress Isabella had insisted on buying her for the occasion. "Do I look all right?" The light green fabric of the Empire-line gown was the exact shade of Alice's eyes. She looked up from fiddling with the bow that tied just below her breasts to find her aunt eyeing her curiously.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." Her aunt smiled. "I've just never seen ye fuss over yer appearance before. It wouldn't have anything to do with a particular patient ye insist on checking on twice as often as usual? Or should I say 'is father?"

"I have no idea what you mean." Flustered, Alice crossed to the small mirror above the dresser and checked to make sure none of her freshly curled locks were out of place. She wasn't primping. Certainly not for Mr Whitlock's benefit. She just wanted to look nice for the christening. It was an important event, and as godmother to the highest ranked babies in the district, it behoved her to look her best. Mr Whitlock's opinion of her appearance was irrelevant. Just because she had found herself enjoying his company didn't mean anything, nor did her visiting to check on Peter more often than was strictly required.

The poor boy was motherless, not that Alice had any aspirations in that direction. Her interest was purely professional and had nothing to do with the warmth that enveloped her heart whenever the lad's little arms wrapped around her middle. And it certainly didn't have anything to do with the flutterings that unfurled in her stomach at the slightest touch of Mr Whitlock's fingers. Nor had she been affected by the knowledge he was an exemplary father, loving and devoted to the point where he placed his son's needs above his own. The man didn't seem to care what others thought of him, an unheard-of attitude for one of his class.

And to think she had thought him stuffy!

In reality he was quite the opposite and, yes, she had found herself warming to him. Thinking about him at odd times of the day . . . and night. Dreaming of him. Imagining she could feel his fingers stroking her hand . . . or cheek . . . or lips.

Her shoulders drooping, Alice faced her aunt.

"How did you know?"

"That ye've taken a liking to Peter's father?"

Disconsolate but unable to deny her feelings any longer, Alice gave a reluctant nod.

"Well, other than the extra visits, I'd say it was ye mentioning 'im at least five times a day and singing the man's praises like 'e was newly sainted. Coming on the 'eels of ye assuring me 'e was the devil incarnate for 'is abuse of 'is son, it wasn't all that hard to figure out. Love and 'ate are two sides of the same coin, ye know."

Alice stared, appalled. "I'm not in love with the man!"

"I'd say yer well on the way." Edith's expression was sympathetic but unwavering. "I've caught ye sitting and staring into space a few times lately, not to mention peering out the window whenever a 'orse or chaise passes by."

Alice sat down with a thump on the old wooden chair by the bed, her lower lip quivering. She couldn't fall in love. Tumbling head over heels into an abyss of cloying sentiment and impossible expectations was not on her agenda. Although if her aunt was correct, she had already tumbled, limbs flailing and with nothing but a painful landing to look forward to. It explained the disorientation she had been experiencing, the feeling that her senses had somehow been rendered obsolete. She had seen the results of unrequited love and unfulfilled desire in others, and it wasn't pretty. Wallowing in the misery of heartbreak was not an option for one in her position, and she would have to find a way to wrest back control of her wayward emotions before it was too late . . . if it wasn't already.

"How awful." A pained whimper escaped her lips, and Edith patted her hand.

"It doesn't 'ave to be." Edith struggled to pull herself up in the bed, and Alice leaned over to help her, plumping an extra pillow to place behind her head. "I think it's good yer taking an interest in a man."

"You do?"

"Aye. It's about time, if ye ask me. Ye've been 'iding from life for long enough."

"I have not!" Alice crossed her arms. "I have been studying, working, serving the community."

"And not giving a thought to yerself or yer own needs." Edith shook her head, her wrinkled lips pursed together.

"What needs?" Alice stood and began to pace, which wasn't easy considering the limited space available. "You can't be talking marriage, as there's no place in a healer's life for a husband or a family. Have you changed your mind?"

"Maybe." The sadness in Edith's declaration brought Alice to a halt. She had modelled her life upon her aunt's without ever considering if Edith might have regretted her choices.

"You wish you had taken a different path?"

"No, not at all." Edith beckoned Alice to sit beside her on the double bed they shared. "I've 'ad a wonderful life, and 'elped countless people, but it 'as been lonely at times. 'aving yer mother come stay when ye were little, and you yerself these past years, 'as brought me such joy. But a family of my own would 'ave been nice."

"But healers can't marry. The roles of wife and mother are too demanding, too disparate from those of midwife or herbalist."

"Difficult, yes, but not impossible . . . if ye find the right man."

Alice scoffed. She didn't want to hurt her aunt's feelings, but it appeared the old dear had succumbed to an odd, romantic delusion. What gentleman would allow his wife to practise such a demanding profession? She'd had this conversation with Mr Whitlock, and he had made it clear he wouldn't be open to such a radical departure from convention. Not that she blamed him. A man in his situation needed a wife who would be content to stay at home, supervising his household, caring for his son, and bearing him more children. She also suspected he might need one with a dowry, since his financial situation didn't appear to be overly sound.

With surprising strength, Edith grasped Alice's wrist. "Just promise me ye'll think about it, that ye'll be open to the possibility."

"Of marriage?"

"If it's offered, though there are alternative arrangements—more temporary ones."

Edith gave her a knowing look, and Alice's mouth dropped open.

"But that's . . . that's . . ."

"I know it's not proper, but it's my only regret. I 'ad the chance once with a lovely fellow over in Thornton, a merchant. I turned 'im down, but I've often wondered where it might 'ave led. 'e was a good man, kindhearted, and I did care for 'im. I was very set in my ways at the time, but I sometimes wonder if we couldn't 'ave made it work."

"Oh, Auntie, I am sorry." Alice turned her hand to entwine their fingers.

While there was a slim chance a common merchant might have allowed her aunt to continue her profession, there was no way a gentleman would compromise to that degree. As to the other "arrangement," Alice must have misunderstood. Her aunt would never suggest she engage in dalliance.

Feeling as flustered as she had when Isabella had described some of her husband's more adventurous endeavours, Alice made her way down the garden path to the road. She had left Edith in the capable hands of Marjory, as she wouldn't be returning until late.

It wasn't a long walk to the church, and she was surprised to see Mr Whitlock's new carriage coming down the road. When it pulled up in front of her, she was pleased to discover on the tip of her tongue a pithy comment about his lack of stamina combining with an air of pretension—anything to reestablish her equilibrium where he was concerned. She was about to deliver it when Peter popped his head out the window, the reason Mr Whitlock had chosen to use the carriage instantly clear.

"Miss Brandon! Miss Brandon! I'm coming to the chrisuming in Papa's new carriage. Will you come with us? Please?"

"How can I refuse such a lovely offer?" Her smile faded when the carriage door opened, and Mr Whitlock stepped down, no doubt to assist her. Their gazes met, his self-conscious and hers appalled.

He had shaved off his beard.

"What have you done?" She stepped back, her hand rising to clutch at her chest. "Your lovely beard . . . it is gone!"

His eyes widened, and Alice's dismay turned to mortification.

"I mean . . . it is a nice change. You look perfectly acceptable." If anything, with his chiselled jawline on display, he was even more handsome, but Alice had grown rather attached to his facial hair.

"I thought you would approve." A crease appeared between his lowered brows, and he waved a hand in front of his lips. "Get rid of the 'muffling effect.' "

"Oh, that." Alice shook her head at the memory. She hadn't realised he had taken her seriously. "I was just teasing you, well, goading really, which wasn't very nice of me. I am sorry you took it to heart."

Rubbing his jaw, he studied her for a moment. "I could grow it back . . . if you like."

Stunned by his offer, a laugh burst from her lips, overly loud and somewhat hysterical. "Don't be silly. It is not as if my opinion counts for anything. I am just not a fan of change." Unwelcome tears stung her eyes, and she spun to face the cottage.

"Miss Brandon?"

Mr Whitlock's hand came to rest on her arm—a barely there, featherlight caress. There were very few instances when it was appropriate for a gentleman to touch a lady, and this probably wasn't one of them. Alice couldn't bring herself to brush him off, though she feared his touch would be her undoing. Stifling a sob, she only just managed to speak past the lump in her throat.

"I am sorry. I have got a lot going on at the moment, and I'm . . . I'm a tad emotional."

"Your aunt?" he asked, his voice gentle with compassion.

She nodded and turned to face him, wondering what he would think if she requested a hug. Allowing him to wrap his arms around her would be the height of foolishness, but a part of her wanted the comfort so badly she was tempted to throw caution to the wind.

Peter, who had been watching them wide-eyed from the open door of the carriage, climbed down and placed his hand on her other arm. "Are you all right, Miss Brandon?" he asked, and she blinked away the tears that blurred her vision.

"Yes, thank you, Peter. I am just worried about my aunt." It wasn't a lie, and she couldn't very well admit to what had triggered her distress—the realisation that she had, indeed, fallen for his father.

What else could explain her visceral reaction to his changing his appearance or, more significantly, the elation that had coursed through her when he had virtually admitted he had done it for her? If there were the slightest possibility that anything good could come from this attraction, these intense and heartfelt emotions that threatened to overwhelm her whenever he was near, she would have rejoiced in his potential reciprocation. But nothing could come of it. Nothing good. The only thing in store for her was a painful and cushionless landing.

"Is someone staying with her in your absence?" Mr Whitlock asked, and it took Alice a moment to comprehend his meaning.

"My aunt? Oh, certainly. My neighbour's daughter is watching her."

"Then why are you sad?" Peter asked, his face drawn in a solemn frown. "Papa said your aunt is very old. Is she going to die?"

"Peter!"

Mr Whitlock sent her an apologetic glance, but she waved him off. Crouching down, she addressed Peter directly. "Yes, I am afraid she is, but I hope not for a while."

"Papa was sad 'cos the doctor said I was going to die. But I am better now. Maybe you could give your aunt some medicine like you gave me so that she won't die. It doesn't taste very nice, but you could give her a lolly afterwards."

Tears from a different source welled in Alice's eyes, and she hid them by pulling Peter into her arms. Holding him tight, she relished the feel of his little body pressed to hers while trying not to be affected by Mr Whitlock's hand patting her shoulder.

~D&D~

Oh gosh, it seems like it is a night (or morning) for 'feels'.

Thank you so much for your continued support. I'm working on the second half of the outtake of Isabella's and Edward's first night 'together' after their babies were born. Hopefully, I'll have it up tomorrow.

Come join me at Elise de Sallier's Stories on Facebook. I've a lot going on!

xx Elise