Free Carola Dunn by Christmas in the Country

straight ahead.  “One cannot always live one’s life to please others,” she said, the broadest hint she dared give.
     “No, else I had not become a physician, but it must ever be an object to strive not to grieve one’s nearest and dearest.”
     Did he mean her, or himself? Was he saying she must marry Lord Avon so as not to grieve her parents? Or that he must renounce her so as not to grieve his cousin, his uncle, and his aunt? Either way or both, Cecily honoured him for the sentiment though she vehemently disagreed.
     Vehemently but silently. She was unaccustomed to argument, and no rebuttal came readily to her tongue.
     They turned in among the firs. In the shade the air struck cold and by wordless mutual consent they urged their mounts to a canter. A few minutes brought them back into the sun, where they drew rein on the edge of the wood.
     “A race to the stables?” Iain asked with a somewhat forced smile, his eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat. “Or rather, since it will not do to gallop into the yard, to where this track meets the carriage drive?”
     “Yes. Come on, Shadow!”
     Again they galloped neck and neck. Cecily urged Shadow on but failed to gain an inch. As they approached the crest of the hill, she asked herself why she was trying to outpace Hippocrates. Suppose Lord Avon’s plan failed and this was the last time she would ever be alone with Iain? To shorten it thus was sheer folly!
     She slowed Shadow to a walk. Iain and Hippocrates promptly fell back beside them.
     “I thought I felt Shadow stumble. I was afraid she might be lamed.”
     Iain studied the mare’s gait for a moment. “I cannot see any limp, but perhaps you had best walk her the rest of the way.”
     Thankful, Cecily nodded. “Do you count horse-doctoring among your skills?” she enquired archly.
     He laughed. “Not I, but I can spot a limp as well as any farrier, if not diagnose the cause.”
     “Elspeth told me your chief interest is in treating children.” She had not spoken of it before, since it touched too closely on the painful subject of his plans for the future.
     She was glad she had asked. Eagerly he expounded on his hopes for founding a clinic and investigating the way various remedies affected children differently from adults.
     “You should not have got me started,” he said ruefully as they rode under the stableyard arch. “My friends avoid the topic, for I can go on for hours.”
     “It is all fascinating,” Cecily assured him. “If you had started thirty years ago, perhaps I should have half a dozen brothers and sisters now.”
     “Perhaps.” Reminded of the reason for her compliance with her parents’ every wish, Iain fell silent.
     He handed her down from the saddle without mishap this time, without any excuse to take her in his arms—just as well as grooms and stableboys were about. Nonetheless, their eyes met.
     Cecily read love, sorrow, and understanding in his gaze. He thought she still meant to marry Lord Avon! How could she explain he had misinterpreted the purpose behind her words?
     As a groom approached, Iain said hurriedly in a low voice, “We may still be friends when you are Lady Avon?”
     “We shall always be friends, I hope, whatever may happen!”
     “Then I must be satisfied. Excuse me, pray, I have to drive into Bath this afternoon to see a few patients who do not trust my locum.”
     He turned away. Cecily trailed alone and disconsolate into the house.
     She loved him more than ever, and she no longer had the least doubt that he loved her. If Lord Avon failed, she would just have to find a way to abduct Iain and get herself so thoroughly compromised there was no choice but for them to wed.
     Resolute, yet shaken at the prospect of such outrageous behaviour, she fervently prayed Lord Avon would succeed.
     

Chapter 8
     
     For the next three days, Cecily was on tenterhooks. Twelfth Night was nearly upon them. If she were not betrothed to Lord