“Actually, my greatest progress has been with a former soldier in the War, who has suffered intermittent mania and long periods of catalepsy and melancholy. Let me tell you a bit about him, instead.”
Feodor listened, but she could have sworn that a flash of displeasure darkened his ice-blue eyes. That, she decided, must be the work of her overly sensitized imagination.
Soon enough dinner arrived to rescue her, and they ate in relative silence. The food was delicious, exquisitely prepared, and nothing like Mrs. Daugherty’s plain but nutritious cooking. Johanna enjoyed it less than she’d expected. She deliberately avoided finishing her wine, even when Feodor offered more.
But after-dinner conversation returned to easier channels. She rose to leave, several hours later, in good charity with Feodor Bolkonsky and somewhat bemused by her earlier disquiet.
“Thank you so much for the dinner, and the excellent company,” she said.
“You will come back tomorrow?” Feodor asked as he escorted her to the stable, where they waited for the stable boy to harness Daisy. “I realize that you have your own business to attend to, but I should very much like to continue our discussion of this intriguing patient of yours.”
“Harper?”
“Quentin Forster. A lycanthrope is something I’ve never encountered before. And it’s precisely the kind of case I feel is best suited to my particular skills.”
How could she continue to demur, when Bolkonsky was so eager to help? She couldn’t have been given a more advantageous opportunity.
“I look forward to it.” She gave the well-fed horse a pat on the withers and accepted Feodor’s help into the buggy. “Is two o’clock satisfactory?”
He took her hand and kissed the air above it. “More than satisfactory.”
“Until tomorrow, then. Auf Wiedersehen.”
“Auf Wedersehen, my dear doctor.”
Johanna hurried Daisy into a trot, following the path by the last light of day. Something like elation hummed through her body and filled her mind with a hundred new ideas. How much she’d missed, living here in the country! But surely there were few like Dr. Bolkonsky, who could understand and match the flow of her thoughts so perfectly.
Mrs. Daugherty was waiting up for her, concern evident in the set of her mouth. “Thought you’d never get back,” she said. “My girl’s gone home.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.” She had a powerful urge to hug Mrs. Daugherty, which would doubtless startle the old woman into believing she had run mad herself.
“I take it yer meetin’ went well?”
“Very well, thank you.” She caught the smells of leftover dinner in the kitchen. “Everyone has retired?”
“Far as I know. Since you weren’t here, they all went to bed early. I checked up on your pa, but young Quentin has been takin’ right good care of him.”
“Yes.” Her heart did a somersault at the thought of seeing him again. She felt so much hope.
And a very strong need for a long, hot soak. “I know it’s late, Bridget, but could you help me prepare a bath?”
“I always keep water heatin’ on the stove.” The older woman squinted at Johanna and slowly smiled. “Well, well. You’re in the mood for luxuriatin’, I can see that. He is a handsome sort, your doctor.”
Johanna pretended not to hear the innuendo. “If you’re sure you don’t mind—”
“Not at all. You just go to your room and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Tripping lightly down the hall, Johanna paused to listen, hearing only the quiet of a settled household. Papa was asleep. She went to her room and threw open the windows to the evening breeze.
Her bathtub, separate from the hip bath used by the others in the pantry off the kitchen, was set in a corner of her room behind a screen. It was a small, personal indulgence she wasn’t able to use nearly often enough.
She hummed under her breath as she undressed. Mrs. Daugherty came in with a bucket of steaming water and emptied it into the tub, then brought in two more buckets of cool water to mix in. It made for a very shallow and lukewarm bath, but Johanna wasn’t about to complain. She stepped behind the screen and shed the rest of her clothing.