Two women approached, surprise evident in their expressions. “Dr. Galloway?” one asked. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here! If I’d known you were willing, I’d have invited you to one of my balls ages ago.”

  Alec froze, unable to recall either of their names. The women edged closer, their wide skirts brushing against his leg. It required effort not to take a step back. Instead, he forced a smile and dipped his head in a weak bow. It seemed his ability to endure social niceties was as dusty as his evening wear.

  The brunette woman leaned toward her companion. “This is just wonderful, isn’t it, Mrs. Munch? To see the good doctor out and about again? What a pleasure.”

  Mrs. Munch, yes. The one with tight curls about her face. And the other was Mrs. Kelly. The two chattered on as he trailed along, feeling nothing but relief when they didn’t seem to expect him to answer.

  Alec knew he’d made a mistake the moment he crossed the threshold of the glittering receiving room. Knew it when he heard the din of boisterous voices that nearly drowned out the soft harmonies of string instruments, smelled the cloying mixture of too many expensive perfumes and colognes. And he hadn’t even been forced into immediate formal introductions, having come late enough to avoid such trappings.

  He was half-tempted to turn around and make the walk down the hill, to the outskirts of town where his quaint home sat, well away from the noise and light and people that so often left him feeling suffocated.

  Instead, he pulled at the stock banding his neck, that in this moment seemed more a noose than a statement in fashion, found a server offering various drinks, and helped himself to a long swallow of port.

  Somewhat bolstered, he took a good look around. Though the room was vast, Martin had overseen its design to feature lower ceilings and smaller chandeliers to give the space a more intimate feel. Tonight, one side of the room boasted an impressive buffet with an assortment of sweet and savory dishes. The doors along the back balcony had been left open to cool the room, though on a summer night in Pittsburgh, the moisture that hung in the air made that all but impossible. Small clusters of chairs had been artfully arranged, allowing for cozy groups to form.

  And there, standing beside the Maganns, was the woman this fuss was all about. Tall and regal-looking, she wore a dress that even Alec could see was cut from the latest fashions in Paris. The sky-blue silk nipped in to show off a slender waist, gathered in a way that flattered her curves, and rose to slope off milky shoulders. She surveyed the room, brows furrowed over cool eyes, as if everything and everyone in sight displeased her.

  And then, raising a languid hand to cover her mouth, she yawned.

  Frustration shot through him. Could she not even pretend to hide her boredom after the painstaking efforts the Maganns had taken to welcome her? She likely thought herself above Pittsburgh society. Much as he wished to eschew an introduction, it would be beyond rude of him to avoid the Maganns’ guest altogether. And he was anxious to see Liam again.

  Alec threw back the last of his port and headed toward them. If he’d learned anything as a doctor, it was that it was best to get the worst over with.

  Martin smiled as he approached, a bit of a gleam in his eye—as if he knew exactly how much Alec hated being here and was enjoying his discomfort.

  “Martin, Alice.” Alec nodded warmly at his friends, their smiles lifting a little of the dread that had pulled at him since his arrival.

  “I didn’t believe Martin when he said you’d agreed to come,” Alice said, her brows raised. “Yet here you are. It is good to see you without your black bag in hand.”

  Alec clenched his fingers against his palm. “I never plan to again, if I can help it,” he said, quite serious.

  She only laughed. “Liam will be thrilled. He’s kept an eye out for you all evening.”

  Upon hearing his name, Liam turned. “Ah, Alec! The most popular man in Pittsburgh.”

  “Only amongst the invalids,” Alec granted. “It is good to see you again, Liam. I half-feared Britain had swallowed you whole.”

  Liam chuckled. “Not quite, though there is much to be learned from the British. The steelworks in Methyr are unparalleled. But it wasn’t all work—I’ve convinced my father to purchase some property in northern Scotland. It’s unlike any other place I’ve ever been, a true balm for the soul. And the people, well—” He angled toward the man standing at his right. “Allow me to introduce my good friend Mr. Tavish Stewart. He’s come to explore some investment opportunities with me.”

  Mr. Stewart could not have looked more different from the woman standing next to him had he tried. He had a narrow, bookish face, with a pair of glasses perched upon his nose. He kept his hands in his pockets, as if they were an accessory he wasn’t quite sure what to do with.

  Alec liked him at once.

  “Tavish, may I introduce you to a close friend of our family, Dr. Alec Galloway.”

  Alec held out his hand, pulling back when Mr. Stewart gave a slight bow. Trying to minimize the man’s discomfort, he quickly bowed as well, only to find Mr. Stewart had extended his hand. “Ye must excuse me,” Mr. Stewart said in a deep Scottish brogue as they finally shook hands. “I’m still adjusting tae the American way.”

  The rich brogue swept Alec back to long evenings by the fire as a lad, his grandfather telling stories in his heavy Scots speech. “We Americans take a bit of getting used to,” Alec said, almost tempted to smile.

  “What little I’ve seen so far, I like very much,” Mr. Stewart returned.

  Liam drew Mr. Stewart’s cousin into their small circle once she finished her conversation with another guest. “And finally, it is my pleasure to introduce Lady Charlotte Darrington, Marchioness of Rowand. Lady Rowand, this is—”

  “Dr. Alec Galloway, I believe.” She looked up at Alec, flashing him a disarming smile. Her wide gray eyes held a spark of interest. “Your name has been bandied about by every guest I’ve met this evening.” Unlike her cousin’s, her accent was decidedly English. “I understand we are fortunate to be the recipient of one of your rare appearances.”

  It was just the sort of thing Nellie might have said.

  Alec faltered. Donations or not, tonight had been a mistake.

  From somewhere long buried came the recollection of what the moment required. Alec forced himself to take her extended hand and bow over it. “A pleasure, Lady Rowand. The journey from Scotland is a long one. I hope your travels have not been too wearying.”

  “Not at all.” Her eyes glittered with amusement. “I imagine after a week abed I will be quite recovered.”

  Given the kind of life she was accustomed to, she probably wasn’t exaggerating. He gritted his teeth to avoid scowling. “Yes, I’m sure. Now, do excuse me, as I am certain there are a great many guests still waiting to meet you.”

  She stiffened at his abrupt dismissal, her eyes narrowing. But her ruffled feathers were no concern of his. Alec turned, setting his sights on a group of gentlemen in the far corner. He was acquainted with at least three of them—all wealthy, all patients of his at one time or another.

  If it was donors he wanted, he need look no further.

  * * *

  It was all Charlotte could do to keep a smile on her face as Dr. Galloway cut across the room. Her heart was beating erratically, her palms sweating in her gloves, memories of those days in London too close for comfort.

  She attempted to calm herself, reminding herself it didn’t matter. After all, what was one man’s dislike in a sea of admirers?

  If only Dr. Galloway hadn’t been the one her gaze had been drawn to from the moment he’d entered the room. And no wonder. He was built more like a blacksmith than a doctor—nearly a head taller than every man present, with broad, muscled shoulders that looked more accustomed to striking an anvil than making house calls.

  Despite his impeccable dress and good manners, there was something restless in him. By the time he’d crossed the room to make introductions, he’d already raked his hands through his hair three times, disheveling his dark-blond curls.

  And then there was his voice. Deep and rolling with the trace—she didn’t think she’d imagined it—of a softened Scottish brogue. His name was Scottish, to be sure.

  “Lady Rowand?”

  Charlotte blinked at the sound of Mrs. Magann’s voice.

  “Charlotte?” Tavish placed a hand on her arm, concern drawing down the corners of his mouth. “You look tired. Shall I fetch you a drink?”

  “No, thank you, Tavish.” She summoned her good breeding and turned to Mrs. Magann. “Though, I am feeling a bit flushed. I need but a moment to myself.”

  “We’re finished with introductions, dear,” Mrs. Magann said, her face kind. “Take your time.”

  Charlotte nodded. Ignoring Tavish’s worried look, she made her way across the room to where Harriet sat in a corner by herself, her color high, her eyes drooping. Charlotte tapped her on the shoulder. “May I get you something to eat or drink?”

  Harriet frowned at her. “You are not a mother hen, and I am not your chick. I don’t need you pecking at me all night.” She made a shooing motion. “Away with you.”

  Charlotte laughed as she obeyed, her nerves settling. No matter her concerns for Harriet, there was no arguing with her. Taking a flute of champagne from one of the footmen, Charlotte positioned herself in the shadows of some potted plants on the far side of the room. A group of gentlemen sat in a small alcove to her left, content with their pipes and cigars, as happy to ignore her as she was them.

  Her feet ached. Her head throbbed. She’d made all the polite conversation she could for one evening. How could she have forgotten how exhausting it was to have her title oohed and aahed over? For Americans, she was an anomaly. A novelty. As intriguing as any of the human oddities found in circus displays.

  Tonight there’d been only one guest who hadn’t fawned.

  Despite Dr. Galloway’s curt dismissal, she found herself skimming the room, looking for the man with the distinguished beard and guarded hazel eyes. Did they hold regret? Sorrow? He’d excused himself before she’d reached a conclusion.

  As if her thoughts had imagined him into being, she caught the low tones of his voice, with its subtle brogue, from somewhere behind her. He must have joined the group of gentlemen in the corner. She went still, straining to catch the thread of conversation.

  “I’ve explained why I’m here tonight, and Martin can attest that it has nothing to do with that woman.”

  She frowned.

  “Whether you are willing to make contributions or not,” he went on, “I’ve nothing to add to your observations.”

  Her brow wrinkled in confusion. How terribly tempting it was to turn and get a glimpse of him!

  “Come now, Doctor, we are happy to donate to your cause,” another, whose voice carried an Irish lilt, replied. “All we ask in return is for your opinion of Lady Rowand. At least admit she’s more polished than the ladies of Pittsburgh.”

  “More polished?” the doctor replied. A pause. “Perhaps.”

  It was that pause that immobilized her. She needed to move. Now. Before she heard the echoes of London all over again. Instead, Charlotte shifted sideways, catching the doctor’s profile in her peripheral vision.

  “Now, now. Speak freely. I sense a ‘but,’” another man said. This brought on a round of chuckles.

  “It’s best to stay away from a woman like that is all.” The doctor pulled out a pipe, his fingers tracing its stem. “She’s an overindulged peeress. The very thing, I might remind you, we crossed an ocean to escape. Our fathers fought a war to break free of that kind of tyranny. At great cost and with much bloodshed, we sent thousands of redcoats back to Britain so we might live in peace.” He tapped his pipe against his palm. “And that woman will no doubt disrupt it. Lady Rowand has come here for a few short months to amuse herself at our expense—nothing more.”

  “Hear, hear!” one man cried.

  “You missed your calling, Dr. Galloway,” the man with the Irish lilt said. “If you’d lived during the Revolution, you’d have been giving rousing speeches, not removing musket balls!”

  A burst of laughter followed.

  Charlotte’s ears roared like a Highland wind. She was shaking. How dare he presume to know her in the blink of an introduction he himself had cut short! Discuss her over a round of drinks, as if she were nothing more than an overpriced business investment. Her eyes burned. Did everyone in this room see her that way? She blinked quickly, trying to banish her tears.

  Her trembling fingers barely managed to set her champagne flute down on a nearby table without spilling. She was likely overreacting, but she couldn’t bring herself to care—she needed to go upstairs before she became a spectacle.

  She exited the receiving room, heading toward what she thought was the entryway. But no, it was merely a room for ladies to refresh themselves in. She wandered through another corridor, disoriented, head pounding more than ever. Drunken laughter echoed through the cavernous corridor. If only she could find the main staircase.

  Finally, she spotted a footman who pointed her down a lengthy passage. “Turn left down there and you can’t miss the staircase,” he said kindly.

  A sudden urgency pushed her into quick, unladylike steps as she reached the end of the passage, where she turned and nearly ran headfirst into—

  Dr. Galloway. His hand was on her elbow, his firm grip keeping her upright. “Lady Rowand? Is there something the matter?” he asked. His hazel eyes, so cold before, were now keen with worry.

  She tugged her elbow away. “No, nothing at all.” Her insides felt hollow, but she was overcome with the sudden desire to make sure he knew she’d overheard his bitter diatribe. “You’ll have to excuse me. I believe I’ve amused myself at your expense enough for one evening.”

  And before he could respond, she crossed to the stairs, doing her best to ascend them with all the airs of an overindulged peeress.

  Chapter Five

  Not five hours after he’d quit the Maganns’ sprawling home, Alec returned. This time, however, the call was not a social one. This time he carried his black bag and wore simple attire better suited to his profession.

  The door swung open before he’d even reached the top stairs of the front terrace. Warm rain had saturated his coat on the way over, and he shrugged out of it, handing it to the waiting footman. He’d hardly begun to wipe his boots when Martin approached him, Mr. Stewart on his heels.

  Not the spirited Lady Rowand, Alec observed with a hint of relief. But might Mr. Stewart’s presence indicate she was the one who had fallen ill? He certainly hoped not. The less they saw of one another, the better.

  Martin greeted him. “I’m sorry for the early hour, my friend.”

  Alec waved off his friend’s concern. Martin wouldn’t have sent for him unless it was serious. “Sickness rarely comes at a convenient hour. What seems to be the trouble?”

  Mr. Stewart stepped forward, hair tousled and face drawn. “It’s my cousin’s chaperone. Harriet. She’s seventy-two and has a worrisome fever. A bit alarming for a woman who’s never been sick a day in her life. Well, that is, in my life.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Forgive me. I’m being a blatherskite. It’s just that . . . Harriet is like family tae us.”

  Alec nodded, acknowledging Mr. Stewart’s concerns. He sensed the man’s urgency, the worry he obviously felt over the woman. “Take me to her. In the meantime, I have a few questions I’d like to ask before I examine her.”

  Mr. Stewart led the way, taking the stairs two at a time, with Alec right behind, knowing Martin would follow as quickly as his arthritic knees allowed. “When did her symptoms first begin to manifest?” he asked.

  “Fatigue over the last few days, though we thought it was due tae the rigors of travel,” he replied. “She has a bad fever, though I’m not certain when that started.”

  At the top of the stairs they turned left, where a door to the right opened. Lady Rowand stepped into the hall, wearing a skewed dressing gown of pale green. Her mouth drew into a firm line the moment she caught sight of him. The ruthless indictment he’d given of her the night before had clearly not been forgotten.

  Alec nearly flinched at the memory.

  Whether she was a spoiled peeress or no, he’d behaved badly.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes shadowed. Unlike last evening, when her hair had been neatly piled atop her head, now her voluminous brown curls made little pretense of being confined to her hasty braid. Seeing her undone like this, looking almost vulnerable, made something like self-reproach settle in Alec’s stomach.

  But now was not the time for an apology. He turned back to her cousin. “Any other symptoms I should be aware of?”

  “I thought, as the doctor, you would be telling us,” Lady Rowand replied, cool and even. The derisive look on her face, apparent even in the hall’s shadows, told him she’d like nothing more than to dismiss him and call for another of Pittsburgh’s doctors.

  Alec was half-tempted to tell Martin to do just that. His hand tightened on his bag. “As a standard practice, I gather as much information as I can before the examination,” he said tersely.

  Mr. Stewart shot his cousin a sidelong glance. “With the fever, she’s had chills and muscle aches,” he answered.

  Martin appeared beside Alec as he considered that information. “How long, exactly, since you arrived in America?” Alec asked.

  Mr. Stewart’s brows pinched together.

  “Eleven days,” Lady Rowand replied without missing a beat. “Six days in Philadelphia and then five days over the turnpike to Pittsburgh.”

  Alec nodded. “I’m inclined to think it’s the seasoning, but I can’t be certain until I’ve had a chance to examine her.”

  Lady Rowand stepped into the light, her lips stiff with challenge. “The seasoning?”