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  “Goodness, you two, have some dignity!” Polly Brandon said, then ducked when Nana grabbed her by the neck and started to laugh.

  They dropped off Polly in Bath, but Laura felt less than inclined to go inside. “Miss Pym can wait,” she said to Nana. “Where is it written I must forgive everyone? Let us go to Taunton.”

  They did, Nana’s eyes wide with the grandeur of the place, even though Laura knew Oliver had made enough money from prize taking to buy it without a blink.

  “There are no heirs. I think I will sell it,” she said, as they walked arm in arm through the rooms. “Or perhaps I will turn it into a naval convalescent hospital. Philemon will guide me in this.”

  She dropped Nana and Rachel in Torquay with the promise to visit soon, barely containing her impatience to be home again, when the horses seemed to be poking along.

  Philemon was not at home, even though it was late, but that was no surprise. When he came dragging upstairs hours later, she didn’t mind being wakened. There was much to tell him. When she finally finished, he held her close, careful not to press against her tender breasts.

  “I have some news of my own,” he said. “There is a document downstairs in our favorite dining room with all kinds of stickers and seals on it.”

  She thought a moment, then sucked in her breath and pounced on him. “The satellite hospital?”

  He didn’t try to contain his own excitement. “The very one. It’s to be in Oporto. I have been promoted to senior surgeon and charged with relocating me and my mates there as soon as possible. Last week would be better, according to the Sick and Hurt Board. You know how they are.”

  “I am coming, too.”

  “Certainly. I am to find a hospital matron if I can, but that will not be you. Your task will be to keep my records shipshape and birth our baby. My chances of being there for that event are far greater than Oliver Worthy’s, poor man. When will Boney cease his meddling?”

  “When Wellington thrashes him soundly, I suppose.”

  They composed themselves for sleep.

  “You’re the only surgeon I trust,” she told him, her eyes closing.

  “What a relief,” he replied, equally drowsy.

  He tensed then, and groaned.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I hear someone running along the walk. Wait a minute. Here comes the knock. No, a pounding.” He sat up, and patted her hip. “Laura, I could have been a pig farmer. It was good enough for Grandda.”

  She blew him a kiss and snuggled into his warm spot, then listened as he whistled down the stairs.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-3461-5

  THE SURGEON’S LADY

  Copyright © 2009 by Carla Kelly

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