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Shivering, her teeth chattering, Joy grumbled softly as she pulled the ugly gray gown over her head and threw it unceremoniously upon the bare floor. Someday, somehow, she was going to live someplace warm and not wear drab, earth-colored gowns.

In fact, she’d only wear jeweled tones.

She had no control over any of that right now. But by thunder, today the handsome doctor would not laugh at her again.

His physician’s bag in one hand, Doctor Brandon Morrisette briskly rapped the knocker upon the faded, paint-chipped green door with the other. When he’d received Mrs. Sabella Thackpenny’s missive this morning, requesting he listen to her lungs again, he’d nearly sent a note around refusing her entreaty.

By God, during his last visit, she’d coyly asked him to examine her cossetted dog and cat.

Egads, her cat and dog!

Just as he’d been about to politely decline and explain there were animal doctors for such things, he’d caught Miss Joy Winterborne’s wide-eyed glance.

Something in those expressive hydrangea-blue eyes, rimmed with sooty, gold-tipped lashes, had given him pause. Had, in truth, made him consider if Joy would be on the receiving end of her mistress’s tetchy temper if he didn’t oblige the elderly matron’s ridiculous request.

And why it should matter to him if Miss Joy Winterborne were distressed, Brandon couldn’t conceive. But it did, in truth, and a great deal more than it ought to. Something more than a physician’s empathy compelled him to act as a buffer between her and her employer.

He felt confident he’d hit upon the truth when he’d agreed to examine the pets and seen the relief flood Miss Winterborne’s pretty features. She swiftly schooled her too-thin, too pale face into a mask of neutrality, but those magnificent eyes of hers fairly glowed with appreciation and gratitude.

Suddenly, he’d found himself very much wanting to make her happy. To see that small, enigmatic upward sweep of her full, peach lips if only for the briefest of moments. No, he yearned to see her genuine smile—a full-mouthed, humor-filled grin.

Directed toward him.

You’ve taken leave of your bloody senses, Brandon Fullerton Wesley Morrisette.

He blamed his befuddlement on too many long nights tending the sick paupers and beggars at St. Peter’s Home for the Impoverished and Infirm. An establishment very much in need of additional benefactors and the financial support of philanthropical souls if it were to remain open.

It must remain open.

Too many unfortunate souls had nowhere else to turn for help.

Mayhap, Mrs. Thackpenny could be persuaded to part with a few coins, especially during this celebratory time of year when need and want seemed all that much more prevalent. He would apply to her Christian charity. Surely she couldn’t refuse him then.

Keeping that notion at the forefront of his mind, Brandon had listened to the dog’s and cat’s hearts, peered in their hostile eyes, peeked in their ears and mouths—receiving a nip from Poppet and a scratch from Whiskers for his efforts—and declared them fit as fiddles.

In truth, the pets were aging too, and a modified diet and increased exercise wouldn’t go amiss for either. A healthier menu, more fresh fruits and vegetables, and increased activity for Mrs. Thackpenny and Miss Winterborne as well, he’d advised.

Mrs. Thackpenny had responded to his recommendations with a bland stare.

The sly old bird didn’t fool him for an instant.

Yes, she was elderly, and her eyesight was significantly diminished. And yes, she suffered from arthritis, and her lungs weren’t as healthy as they once had been. And yes, the same could be said of her heart. Nonetheless, the elderly dame wasn’t ready to cock up her toes or put her spoon in the wall just yet.

Today, Brandon intended to insist upon dietary and exercise changes for the entire household as part of his treatment regimen. He also hoped to prevail upon Mrs. Thackpenny’s benevolence on behalf of St. Peter’s Home for the Impoverished and Infirm.

Using his charm and a roguish smile to persuade her wasn’t beyond him either.

To gain her cooperation, Brandon was also prepared to declare he’d be required to attend Mrs. Thackpenny twice weekly to observe her progress.

And Joy’s as well.

Truth be told, it was partially because of her grateful glances at his last visit that he’d agreed to come today.

Simply put, Brandon wanted to see her again.

If it meant indulging her manipulative mistress, he didn’t mind as long as Mrs. Thackpenny’s demands didn’t interfere with the treatment and care of his other patients.

In the seven months since he’d taken over Doctor Daggat’s practice and inherited Mrs. Thackpenny as a patient, Brandon had often wondered what circumstances had compelled Miss Winterborne to become a companion to the tight-fisted curmudgeon.