With Pensive Admiration

Dashing, devoted, and deftly disguised, he needs to tell her his secret. Just not quite yet…

Though William Alwyn, a doctor’s apprentice, longs to propose to Belinda Everson, he knows he may be accused of trickery when Society discovers his true identity. So, he decides to hold his tongue on all matters of importance until he can irrefutably prove his honour and merit.

Secretly smitten, Belinda has watched Mr Alwyn tend to her ailing mother for months. While bidding her farewell, he kindles her hopes with an unexpected kiss, then disappears entirely in the weeks that follow. Determined she will not languish for a man who has forgotten her, Belinda goes to London with her aunt. But when a sudden malady brings Mr Alwyn to their doorstep, she fears her heart may break again.

Seeing Miss Everson in town, Alwyn feels pressed to lay bare the truth of his love and lineage. Just as the confession is on his lips, a grudging gossip appears, set on revealing him to all the world. When finally, Alwyn declares himself to Belinda, he cannot know if she will spurn the offer of his heart, or entrust her own to him forever.

A Whiff of a Wooing

I cannot ask Miss Everson to agree to a secret engagement, Alwyn knew as he trotted through the mist that had settled on Trippingham’s high street. Yet, should I get a moment alone with her this morning, I must say something of my intentions or she may think me indifferent.

However, the doctor’s apprentice had no idea what that something ought to be, even though he had mulled the matter over for the entire hour-long ride from London.

The proper way to go about this, of course, would be to seek an audience with her father, but I doubt he is at home now, as he rarely is when I come to call.

Arriving then at his destination, Alwyn eyed the shabby, yet respectable, exterior of Everson Cottage. Its rough, flint face had four windows and a wide front door, their wooden frames all painted white. Dotting the green of the front garden, were purple stalks of lavender, pale ruffles of heliotrope and a scattering of red poppies.

Surely, the Eversons would appreciate the step up that being a doctor’s wife would give their daughter. He dismounted his hired horse, and tethered it by the trough. For that matter, when they learn of my other advantage…no, they mustn’t urge her to accept me based on that. I’ll say nothing of it to anyone, not even her, until I’ve proved myself by passing my examination.

The date he would sit for his viva voce before the Court of Examiners, was six weeks away. Success there would earn him membership in the Royal College of Surgeons, the goal towards which the 24-year-old had been tirelessly working for the previous seven years.

A large part of his education had been in the form of an apprenticeship to one Dr Archibald Felix, whom Alwyn had accompanied months earlier in visiting Everson Cottage for the first time. Then, Dr Felix had assessed the condition of Mrs Barbara Everson, who was suffering from inflammation of the lungs. After formulating a plan for her recovery, he had directed Alwyn to ride out to Trippingham twice a week to implement her treatment. It was not unusual for practitioners to delegate such tasks to their apprentices, as it gave the younger men experience, and kept the older ones indoors during inclement weather. Over the months that followed, this arrangement had allowed Alwyn to become very well acquainted with the patient’s daughter, Miss Belinda Everson, much to his delight.

Therein lay his conundrum. Knowing that the mother’s treatments would not go on forever, he had been considering for weeks how he might continue his association with the exceptional Miss Everson after it had finished.

Such a tangle, this courtship business! Alwyn thought. Yet surely, like all things, it can be managed with level-headedness, and sound judgment.

He determined to push his frustrations aside as he started up the cottage’s walkway. The front door opened, revealing not the object of his affection, but her mother. 

“Come in out of the damp and drear, Dr Alwyn!” she invited, though it sounded a bit like a command as she stood before him with her hands on her hips.

Because he had already told her several times that he could not yet claim the title of ‘Doctor’, Alwyn knew it was futile to correct her. Stepping across the flagstones in a few long strides, he looked her up and down, grinning broadly.

“Mrs Everson, how delightful to see you on your feet and answering the door!”

“All due to your help,” she said, clasping her hands together with a rare air of bashfulness, then waved him inside. “Belinda’s spent the morning baking you some ginger knots.”

Heartened at this, Alwyn stepped into the cottage which felt welcoming in spite of its clutter. He looked around the small sitting room and saw no sign of Bertie, the youngest Everson. Though Alwyn had enjoyed many a chat with the seven-year-old, he had been hoping that today the boy would be off with his friends.

Perhaps I might get a moment alone with Miss Everson, after all.

As he stood just inside the front door, shaking the moisture from his hat, she emerged from the kitchen.

“Miss Everson.” He dipped his head, wondering what disorder his thick, wavy hair was in now that it was no longer hidden under his topper.

Her brown eyes flitted coyly in his direction as he doffed his frockcoat and hung it on a peg on the wall.

“Mr Alwyn.” A smile curved her generous lips and locks of her dark hair were draped fetchingly about her shoulders.

As she walked past him to the settee, Alwyn pulled at a loose thread on his cuff, not wanting his admiration of her lithe figure to be apparent.

However, it is only natural to recognize beauty in all of its forms, he reasoned. Besides, it is primarily her intelligence, kindness and calm demeanour, that have convinced me she would make an excellent wife. 

His conscience checked him again as the girl’s mother made her way towards the settee. 

Ah yes, the matter at hand – caring for the patient...

Fishing a little book and pencil out of his coat pocket, he sat down on a chair opposite her, then promptly scribbled down:

 August 17th: Ambulatory Gait -- still slow and slightly unsteady

“How have you been feeling these past few days, Mrs Everson?” he asked.

“Well, yesterday I was quite winded after just clearing the table,” the woman answered. “And then this morning, though I started to sweep the kitchen floor, Lindy had to finish it for me.”

She continued with a long list of complaints. As most of them were familiar, Alwyn only pretended to write every one of them in his book, allowing his thoughts to take flight again.

Perhaps if I delicately imply to Miss Everson what my intentions are, but emphasize that I will not be at liberty to pursue them for several weeks, she will understand that I hope she will wait for me.

But she deserves a proper wooing, not a whiff of one! 

He trammeled a sigh, begrudging that this — merely hinting at his predicament — was probably his best option.

When the mother had finished grousing, he turned to where her daughter was seated on the far end of the settee.

“And you, Miss Everson – is there anything you think I ought to know about your mother’s progress?”

She furrowed her pretty brow in thought.

“Her improvement is undeniable, yet I would like her to perform her prescribed exercises with more regularity.”

“Oh, Lindy!” Mrs Everson gasped, her mercurial temperament emerging. “Surely you see how much better I am.”

“Much better than you were, Mamma, but not entirely better.” Miss Everson looked at Alwyn as if seeking a champion for her cause.

Rising to the occasion, he pushed his shirtsleeves up over his elbows, leaned forward, and said with great solemnity, “Mrs Everson, muscular tissue atrophies rapidly when it is not challenged. To regain your former vigour, you ought to perform your exercises daily.”

As the mother grumbled anew, Alwyn saw from the corner of his eye that the daughter was studying him, her eyes flicking over his person with purpose.

What does she think of me? Sitting up straighter, he re-situated the little booklet in his hand. And what will she think of me by the time I leave here today?

He pressed the pencil too hard upon the page, breaking its leaden point. A grievance caught in his throat when Miss Everson rose from her seat and started towards him.

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