Marrying Miss Hemingford by Nadia Nichols Page B

pleased. And though Aunt Bartrum would not approve, Aunt Bartrum need never know.
    Mrs Armistead brought in the tea tray and withdrew, saying she had some cleaning up to do in the waiting room, if they were to be ready for the second onslaught in the evening. When she had gone, Anne offered to pour the tea and he nodded agreement.
    â€˜How did you come into this work, Dr Tremayne?’ she asked as she handed him a cup of tea and sat down again with one for herself.
    â€˜Believe it or not, I was a naval surgeon until two years ago when I sustained a wound that forced me to leave the service. I needed something to make me feel wanted and useful and set up practice here in Brighton.’
    So that was the reason for the limp, though it did not seem to incapacitate him unduly. ‘Why Brighton?’
    He shrugged, unwilling to explain he had simply been wandering up and down the south coast, wanting to be near the sea, but unsure where to settle. He could not go home to Devon; home was where his brother was. And Sophie. He did not want to see them and he was equally sure they did not want to see him.
    â€˜I was visiting the town and saw the need,’ he told Anne. ‘A child, very like little Tildy, had been attacked by a dog on the beach and was badly mauled. Luckily it wasn’t rabid. I did what I could for her and took her to hospital. Her injured face haunted me and when I discovered she had been sent out begging by her parents, I was incensed. I stormed off to visit them, but as soon as I met them, I realised they were not entirely to blame. They were both in the last stages of famine. The father had consumption and could not work and the mother had recently been delivered of another baby, which had not survived, and she had the fever. There were two other children, both younger than the one I had treated. Two older ones were working in service, but they earned little more than their keep and were unable to send home more than coppers. That little girl was the breadwinner for the family.’
    â€˜And so you began a one-man crusade?’
    â€˜You could say that. I did what I could for them and that led to others seeking my help and so I started this practice and, before I had time to blink, I was overwhelmed with patients.’ His smile was no more than a twitch of his lips, as if smiling was something he did notpractise very often, but it was an attempt at one and she felt encouraged.
    â€˜Mrs Smith told me you never turned anyone away.’
    â€˜How can I, Miss Hemingford? I am a healer.’
    â€˜And do you rely totally on donations?’
    â€˜I have a naval pension and a small private income, but it is not enough. I beg, Miss Hemingford, that is what I do. I write letters to wealthy people, I write to the newspapers, I ask charitable organisations for donations and, on the few occasions I am called to treat someone who can well afford my services, I charge them an exorbitant fee. So far we have survived, but…’ He shrugged expressively.
    She put her teacup on the tray and opened her reticule to withdraw the bag of money she had brought with her. ‘I thought you would prefer cash to a bill,’ she said, laying it on the table.
    â€˜Thank you,’ he said, making no move to pick it up and see how much it contained. It was acceptable, whatever the amount. ‘You are very kind.’
    â€˜I wish I could do more. In fact, I intend to do more.’
    â€˜Miss Hemingford,’ he said, looking perplexed, ‘why?’
    â€˜For the same reason you have given me for what you do, because the need is there…’
    â€˜I wish others felt as you do. Most people think that if they pay their poor rates, they have done all that can be expected of them.’
    â€˜I am not most people, Dr Tremayne.’
    â€˜No.’ She was most definitely not ‘most people’; she had the face of an angel, the figure of a goddess, soft expressive eyes and a pink