Lady of Milkweed Manor Read Online Free PDF Page A

… gutting fish instead of tending people.”
    “Better cold eyes than warm, roamin’ hands,” Bess muttered.
    “Here he comes,” Mae whispered.
    “Which one is it?” Bess shifted in her seat to try to see past Sally.
    “Young,” Mae supplied.
    Charlotte turned her head with dread to look at the man entering. She took in a tall, thin man in coat and hat, with hard, pointed features and somber expression, neither much softened by the small round spectacles he wore. Even before she could get a good look at his face, something about his demeanor made her stomach clench. He removed his hat just as he pulled open a door partway down the passageway. When the sunlight from a nearby window shone on his rust-blond hair, a jolt of recognition stunned her. Mr. Taylor. It had to be. Mr. Taylor, here? Now? To examine her? It could not be! She pressed her fingers to her brow and groaned as he swept out of view.
     
    Sally leaned close. “Did I not tell you? Ice.”
    “At least it’s not Preston,” Mae said.
    “I cannot,” Charlotte whispered.
    “You ‘ave to, love,” Sally soothed.
    “But I … know him.”
    “Know him?” Bess asked sharply. “Biblically-speakin’, you mean?”
    “Of course not.”
    “I thought you said you hadn’t been here before,” Mae said.
    “I haven’t.”
    “Then how’d you know him?”
    An inner plea for caution rose up in Charlotte and she changed tack. “Perhaps I am mistaken. Perhaps I do not know him.” Perhaps her eyes had played tricks with her mind. After all, no one had actually mentioned the name Taylor.
    “Dr. Taylor will see you now, Charlotte.” The matron, Mrs. Moorling, appeared and her no-nonsense voice dampened Charlotte’s spirit yet pulled her to her feet. “Dr. Preston has yet to appear this morning I’ve sent Gibbs to find him. Come, come, we haven’t all day.” The woman should command armies rather than this sorry gaggle of expecting females. Hurrying to catch up, Charlotte followed the older woman down the passageway.
    “Mrs. Moorling. I am sorry,” Charlotte said, struggling to keep pace, “I don’t mean to be difficult, but I really cannot be examined by Mr. Taylor….”
    “And why not?”
    “Because I …” She hesitated. What would be gained by telling the matron that she knew Daniel Taylor? Would that somehow risk her anonymity? Would the matron ask more questions than Charlotte wanted to answer?
    “It does not seem, well, proper. He is so young, and I …”
     
    “Miss Smith. Dr. Taylor may look young, but I assure you he’s well educated-more than most. He is also a married man and completely respectable. Again, more than most.” Her voice carried a hard edge.
    But Charlotte was still striving to grasp what the matron had just said. Mr. Taylor was married. Somehow that both troubled her and eased her mind greatly, for the present predicament as well as the past.
    “If it were another physician, I might offer to stay in the room with you, but I have a long list of duties that require my attention and, I assure you, you are in perfectly good hands.”
    Terrifying choice of words, Charlotte thought.
    Mrs. Moorling opened the office door for her, and taking a deep breath, Charlotte stepped inside.
    He was sitting at a plain but large desk, reading some documents on its surface. She took a few steps forward, then stood silently before the desk, waiting for him to address her. He squinted at the paper before him and did not look up.
    “Miss Smith, is it?”
    “Ah…um…”
    “Miss Charlotte …” He glanced up at her then, and his lips parted slightly. “… Smith?” The question in his tone was obvious, and in that moment in which he sat there, unmoving, staring at her, she saw the ice of his expressionless blue-green eyes melt and then freeze over again.
    “Miss Smith. Do sit down.” His eyes fell back to the papers, and he picked up his pen and dipped it into the ink.
    She sat and primly folded her hands in her lap. Did