The Nightingale Sisters Read online

  Dora stared down at her shoes. ‘Jennie has had a hysterectomy,’ she revealed reluctantly.

  ‘And what’s that when it’s at home?’

  Dora was suddenly acutely aware that she shouldn’t be having this conversation. There was a reason why this was best left to senior nurses. But now she’d blundered right in and it was too late to change her mind.

  ‘Perhaps it’s best you talk to Sister—’

  ‘I’m asking you.’

  ‘It’s really not for me to say—’ she began, but the young man cut her off.

  ‘Tell me, Nurse, or so help me, I’ll tear this place down brick by brick!’ He closed his eyes briefly, and Dora could see he was forcing himself to calm down. ‘She’s my little sister,’ he said, his voice shaking with the effort of controlling himself. ‘I was out working all night, and when I came home there was blood everywhere and she was gone. For Christ’s sake, nothing you tell me can be as bad as what’s been going through my head!’

  He looked so desperate, Dora couldn’t help herself. ‘It was – a miscarriage,’ she said.

  The blood drained from his face. ‘A miscarriage?’ He shook his head. ‘No, that can’t be right. There must be a mistake. Our Jennie wasn’t pregnant. For God’s sake, she’s never even had a boyfriend.’

  He ran his hand through his blond hair. He looked so pole-axed by the news, Dora’s heart went out to him.

  ‘You really should talk to Sister,’ she said, an edge of desperation in her voice. ‘If you stay here, I’m sure someone will be down soon.’

  She turned and hurried away before he could ask any more. She was painfully aware she’d already said too much.

  At the door she allowed herself a quick, guilty look back at him over her shoulder. He was still standing there, staring into space, trying to take in what she’d told him.

  Poor man, she thought. Why had she interfered and made matters worse? Sister or a doctor would have taken him to one side, explained everything gently and in a way he could understand. They certainly wouldn’t have blurted out the bad news in the middle of a busy emergency department and then abandoned him.

  She’d thought she might spare him pain, but instead she’d blundered in and made him feel even worse.

  Chapter Eight

  A PORTRAIT OF Charlotte, Countess of Rettingham, dominated the great hall of Billinghurst. She smiled down serenely, captured for ever in her youthful beauty, her gown draped off her shoulders, blonde hair upswept to show off her fine features and swan-like neck.

  It was the closest Millie had ever got to her mother; Charlotte Rettingham had died of puerperal fever two days after her daughter was born.

  ‘Do you think I look like her?’ Millie asked.

  ‘You have her blue eyes,’ Seb replied.

  She grinned. ‘How tactful! What you really mean is I’m not remotely beautiful or graceful.’

  ‘What I really mean is, you’re utterly enchanting and I adore you.’ Sebastian put his arm around her waist and kissed her neck tenderly. ‘Even if you aren’t remotely beautiful or graceful,’ he murmured against her skin.

  Millie pushed him away, her eyes still fixed on her mother’s portrait. ‘I wonder if she’d be proud of me, becoming a nurse?’ she mused.

  ‘Why wouldn’t she be proud? We’re all proud of you, Mil. Apart from your grandmother, of course, who thinks you’re an utter disgrace.’

  ‘Don’t!’ The dowager countess had done nothing but criticise Millie since they’d arrived the day before. Millie had been given a few days’ holiday, and they were spending some time at Billinghurst before going on to a weekend house party at Seb’s family home.

  Unfortunately, her father had been called away shortly before they arrived, and was not due back until after they left. Millie was bitterly disappointed not to see him, but her grandmother explained that he had been summoned to Sandringham to see the King.

  She didn’t have to say why; on the morning they’d left London the newspapers were full of warnings that His Majesty’s bronchial condition had weakened his heart. No one would say it, but everyone feared the worst.

  Millie understood why her father had had to go, but after just a few hours in her grandmother’s company, she was feeling utterly exhausted.

  ‘Really, Amelia, do you have to slouch so?’ were the dowager’s first words as they joined her for breakfast. She herself sat ramrod-straight at the head of the table, the picture of haughty composure as ever, with her spectacles perched on the end of her long nose as she studied The Times. ‘I can see all those classes at Madame Vacani’s were utterly wasted.’

  ‘Sorry, Granny.’ Millie smiled at Seb across the table as they sat down. ‘We don’t have much chance to practise deportment on the wards.’

  Lady Rettingham shuddered. It was an unspoken rule in the house that Millie didn’t talk of her work to her grandmother. The only way the dowager countess could cope with such an aberration was to pretend it wasn’t happening.

  ‘And how is your sister, Sebastian?’ Lady Rettingham changed the subject. ‘When is her baby due?’

  ‘Early April, Lady Rettingham.’

  ‘So soon? Goodness, hasn’t the time gone quickly? Such an exciting moment, the birth of one’s first child. It’s what every woman yearns for, isn’t it? To be a mother and mistress of her own home.’

  Millie felt her grandmother’s meaningful gaze on her as she sipped her tea. Lady Rettingham thoroughly approved of Seb’s sister Sophia. Not only had she been engaged by the end of the Season – and to the son of a duke, no less – but she had also managed to conceive an heir within weeks of her marriage. Her pregnancy put all Millie’s achievements in the shade.

  She tried to ignore her grandmother, and buttered her toast with a studied lack of concern. But the dowager was not to be put off.

  ‘I see from The Times that Isabelle Pollard is to be married on Saturday. Do you remember her, Amelia? Her mother is the Duke of Horsley’s sister. Rather a sullen girl . . . very thick ankles? No? Oh, well, it doesn’t matter.’ She made a show of consulting the newspaper, although Millie knew exactly what was coming next. ‘Didn’t she announce her engagement after yours?’

  ‘I don’t know, Granny.’ Millie stared down at her plate.

  ‘Yes, I think she did. Now I recall, it was in November.’ Lady Rettingham pretended to think, although her look of concentration fooled no one. She had a blade-sharp memory for other girls’ marital arrangements.

  ‘Only two months? That seems very hasty, if you ask me,’ Millie said, taking a bite of her toast. ‘Perhaps she had to get married?’

  ‘Don’t be vulgar, Amelia. And don’t speak with your mouth full.’

  Millie caught Seb’s eye across the table. He was trying not to smile.

  She counted slowly in her head. One . . . two . . . three . . .

  ‘I really think you should at least set a date,’ Lady Rettingham blurted out. Millie never got past three.

  ‘There’s no hurry, Granny.’ Millie licked butter off her fingers. ‘I told you, it won’t be for at least another two years.’

  ‘Two years!’ Her grandmother quivered with outrage. ‘That is quite ridiculous. Anything could happen in that time.’

  ‘I think what my grandmother means is that you might change your mind,’ Millie told Seb.

  ‘Amelia!’ Lady Rettingham turned to him. ‘But I’m sure Sebastian must want to be married as soon as possible. Isn’t that right, Sebastian?’

  ‘I’m happy to go along with whatever Millie decides, actually, Lady Rettingham.’

  The dowager countess looked down her nose at him, as if he’d bitterly disappointed her in some way.

  ‘Well, I suppose you both know what you’re doing,’ she said heavily. ‘I daresay you’ll get round to setting a date in your own time. I just hope I’ll still be here to see it.’ She drew in a deep breath, the picture of injured dignity.

  ‘Oh, Lord, I thought she was going to pull out her handkerchief and sta
rt dabbing at her eyes,’ Millie said to Seb, as they headed for the stableyard later. ‘I know she’s desperate to see me married off, but I never thought she’d stoop to suggesting she might die if I don’t hurry up!’

  If her grandmother had had her way, Millie would have been engaged by the end of her debutante Season. The dowager had done her best to prepare her granddaughter for her role as a society wife, training Millie like one of the thoroughbreds in her father’s stables.

  ‘She’s only trying to protect your inheritance,’ Seb pointed out.

  ‘I suppose so.’ Millie understood it was her duty to marry. As the only daughter of the Earl of Rettingham, she couldn’t inherit the estate in her own right. If she married and had a male heir, Billinghurst would stay in the family. If not, it would pass on her father’s death to an obscure cousin in Northumberland.

  Millie didn’t want that to happen. But nor did she want to spend her life as the chatelaine of a country estate, with nothing more demanding to do than order servants about and decide what to wear for dinner. She wanted to be independent, and to do something useful with her life.

  She was distracted as the groom led her favourite horse, Mischief, out of the stable. They greeted each other warmly, Mischief greedily nuzzling her pocket for the treat he knew she would have brought with her.

  Seb had chosen another of her father’s horses, a sleek dark bay called Emperor. It was a big, powerful beast, and even though Millie had been riding almost since the day she learnt to walk, she was still wary of him. But Seb mastered him easily, swinging himself up into the saddle.

  She smiled admiringly. ‘He knows who’s boss, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Shame I can’t say the same about you!’ Seb grinned. He turned Emperor’s head and clattered out of the stableyard as Millie hoisted herself into the saddle.

  She’d caught him up before they reached the gate. ‘I’ll show you who’s boss. Race you!’ she cried, breaking into a canter.

  They galloped up to the ridge overlooking the estate which gave the best view of Billinghurst, nestling comfortably amid a rolling patchwork of fields. The wintry sunshine glinted off the house’s mullioned windows and turned the thick stone walls to burnished gold.

  They dismounted and allowed the horses to rest while they sat on the frosty grass. This kind of crisp, clear January day seldom happened in London, which seemed perman-ently shrouded in a low, depressing, yellowish-grey fog.

  Millie sighed with pleasure. Much as she liked London, Billinghurst was where her heart lay.

  ‘You really love it here, don’t you?’ Seb glanced across at her.

  Millie nodded, her gaze still drifting across the fields. ‘It’s my home.’

  He was silent for a moment, brooding. Then he said, ‘You do want to get married, don’t you? Only you didn’t seem very enthusiastic about the idea when your grandmother was talking about it earlier on?’

  ‘Not you, too!’ Millie rolled her eyes at him. ‘We talked about this, Seb. We agreed we wouldn’t get married until I’d finished my training. Are you saying you want to do it sooner?’

  He shook his head. ‘As long as it’s just the training that’s stopping you?’

  ‘What else would it be?’

  He shifted his gaze to stare out over the fields. ‘I sometimes wonder if you only decided to marry me because of what happened to your father.’

  Millie was silent for a moment. She couldn’t blame him for wondering. Their engagement had been sudden, after years of being nothing more than friends.

  Perhaps they might have gone on being just that if her father hadn’t been badly injured in a riding accident. For weeks his life had hung in the balance, and the future of Billinghurst had hung with it. For the first time in her life, Millie had had to consider the consequences of her decision not to marry.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I did only decide to marry you because of what happened to Daddy. But not in the way you think,’ she went on quickly, seeing his face fall. ‘When he had his accident, I felt so horribly alone and afraid. And then you came along, and you made me feel safe.’

  He’d driven all the way down from Scotland to be with her. Just when she thought she’d reached the lowest point of despair, suddenly Seb was there, holding her up. He’d taken so much of the weight off her shoulders, looking after the estate while her father was too ill to manage it. And he’d sat with her at her father’s bedside, holding her hand through all those long, agonising days and nights.

  ‘That was when I realised I loved you,’ she said. ‘And that’s why I never want to be with anyone else.’

  ‘And you’re not just marrying me so you can inherit Billinghurst?’

  Millie laughed. ‘What a question!’

  ‘I’m serious.’ He turned his head to look at her. For once there was no glint of laughter in his blue eyes.

  ‘Seb, I’m marrying you because I love you.’ She frowned at him. ‘What on earth has brought all this on?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps it’s just that I can’t believe my luck.’ He gazed back across the horizon. ‘I’ve always loved you. Ever since the moment I met you at that first coming-out ball. But I never thought you’d look twice at me. And then, suddenly, a miracle happened, and you loved me. Now I keep looking over my shoulder, wondering if it’s all been a fluke, if one day you’ll wake up and come to your senses—’

  Millie put her finger to his lips, silencing him. ‘Don’t you see? I came to my senses the day I realised I did love you.’

  He took her in his arms and kissed her then. She had always thought it would feel strange kissing Sebastian, because she had known him for so long as a friend. But it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

  They lay back, the damp grass soaking through their clothes, and stared up at the cloudless blue sky. Millie rested her head on Seb’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek.

  ‘So you do want to marry me?’ he asked again. ‘Because if for any reason you want to call off this engagement, you know I’ll understand—’

  ‘Do shut up, Seb.’

  She lifted her head from his chest and kissed him again. He kissed her back fiercely, his tongue sliding between her lips.

  ‘Oh, God,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Is it wrong that I want to make love to you right here?’

  ‘You know we can’t. Granny would come after you with Daddy’s hunting rifle.’

  ‘It might be worth the risk.’ As Seb bent to kiss her again, a resounding gunshot rang out across the fields. It was only the gamekeeper shooting rabbits in the lower field, but it shocked them both to their senses.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Millie laughed, scrambling to her feet. ‘Come on, let’s get back before you do something you’ll regret.’

  ‘Who says I’d regret it?’

  ‘You would if my grandmother caught you!’

  Chapter Nine

  SEB’S FAMILY HOME, Lyford, was some thirty miles to the south-west of Billinghurst, over the county border. It was a breathtakingly beautiful Georgian house, with elegant symmetry and imposing frontage of Corinthian columns, sitting in the centre of beautifully manicured parkland. Millie always felt like a humble country cousin when she visited.

  They arrived in the middle of the morning, but only Seb’s sister Sophia was there to greet them. She was languishing sulkily on the chaise longue in the library.

  ‘Thank God you’ve come,’ she said, rousing herself with an effort, her pregnancy very evident under her loose dress. ‘They wouldn’t let me go shooting with them because of my condition. It’s not fair.’ She embraced them both. ‘Never get pregnant, Millie,’ she warned. ‘It’s unendurably tedious. I still have nearly three months to go and I’m already bored with this wretched baby.’

  ‘You look very well,’ Millie complimented her. Sophia’s creamy skin positively glowed, and her hair – as dark as her brother’s was fair – glinted in the wintry sunlight that streamed through the tall windo
ws.

  ‘I am well, that’s what’s so absolutely frustrating about it.’ Sophia pouted. ‘I’m blooming, as they say. And yet everyone insists on treating me like a piece of priceless Dresden. Every time I want to do something more taxing than getting out of bed, they shake their heads and talk in hushed tones about “my condition”. Mother has engaged the services of Sir Charles Ingham as my obstetrician, and I believe she would have him accompany me everywhere if she could. And David’s even worse!’ She rolled her eyes.

  ‘I’m not surprised. That’s his son and heir you’re carrying, remember?’ Seb said.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, not you too!’ Sophia turned to Millie. ‘Anyway, you’re here now. You can keep me company while the others go off riding and hiking and shooting, and everything else I’m not allowed to do.’

  The butler served them tea in the sunny drawing room as they discussed the rest of the house party.

  ‘Who else is here?’ Seb asked.

  ‘Well, there’s Mother and Father, of course, and Richard and David. And then there are the Carnforths and their daughter Lucinda. You know Lucinda, Mil – we did the Season together?’

  Millie nodded. ‘How could I forget Lulu?’ Lucinda, daughter of Lord and Lady Carnforth, had like many other debutantes arrived in Society with a steely determination to bag herself a suitable husband. Except Lucinda’s ambition bordered on the obsessive. She had already scared off one fiancé, and now she was on the hunt for a second.

  ‘She’s set her sights on our brother, would you believe?’ Sophia said to Seb. ‘She’s probably out there now, stalking poor Richard with her gun.’

  ‘He’s evaded capture so far, I’m sure he can do it again,’ said Seb. ‘Isn’t there another unsuspecting male she can hunt?’

  ‘Only Jumbo, and he’s here with Georgina Farsley.’ Sophia pulled an apologetic face. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘We had no idea he was bringing her until they arrived. It seems they’re an item now.’

  ‘Thank heavens for that,’ Seb said. ‘Perhaps now she’ll leave me alone. Her and Jumbo, eh? Who would have thought it?’