The doctor remained another quarter of an hour, outlining his course of treatment while he finished his tea. He might have stayed longer if the butler hadn’t entered to inform Jane that Lord St. Clare and Lord Mattingly had come to call.

“I told them that you were not at home to callers today, Miss Trumble, but…” He gave a discreet cough. “Lord St. Clare was most insistent that I tell Miss Honeywell he was here.”

A smile threatened at the edge of Maggie’s mouth. In the week since St. Clare had first taken her driving, she’d seen or heard from him nearly every day.

One morning he’d contrived to accidentally run into her and Jane at Hookham’s Library. Another morning he’d crossed their path as they were exiting a shop in Bond Street. He’d twice sent her a large bouquet of flowers. And on two separate occasions, he’d come to call on her in Green Street.

Their interaction in town had been limited to a cordial greeting and an equally cordial “I’m obliged to you, my lord” when he’d offered her some assistance. Whether it was reaching a book for her from a high shelf at Hookham’s, or handing her up into the barouche outside the milliner’s in Bond Street, St. Clare never lost an opportunity to do her some little service.

All the same, it was clear to Maggie that what St. Clare really wanted was a moment alone with her. Another chance to talk as they’d done that day in the park. She suspected it was the reason for his calls to Green Street.

Thus far, he’d been consistently thwarted in that regard. His visits to the Trumbles’ townhouse had been brief and heavily chaperoned. Not only had Jane been present, but Jane’s aunt Harriet as well, and on the second occasion, even George.

As a result, St. Clare’s conversation had been restricted to the veriest commonplace. He’d talked civilly with Jane and exchanged a dry witticism or two with George, all while keeping his voice low so as not to disturb a sleeping Aunt Harriet. When he’d addressed Maggie at all it was to remark on such unexceptionable topics as the weather or the quality of the new hunter he’d lately purchased at Tattersall’s.

He was courting her, to be sure, and his conduct in doing so was beyond reproach. But Maggie could see that he was becoming frustrated with the excessive formality.

“You’d better show the pair of them in, Olmstead,” Jane said to the butler.

“But we haven’t yet finished speaking with Dr. Hart,” Maggie objected.

“That’s quite all right, Miss Honeywell,” the doctor said, rising. “I have another appointment I must get to before the hour.”