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“It is a pity you cannot be a physician. You are most competent.”

Her expression sobered. She slumped back in the chair, the oversized banyan swallowing her slender frame. “I could practice medicine officially if the Company of Apothecaries would allow me admission.”

Julius blinked. “The apothecaries allow women in their ranks?”

Audrey heaved a heavy sigh. “Under special circumstances, they have permitted women into the guild since the seventeenth century. I have petitioned them several times but have been unsuccessful as yet. I await a response from my most recent request.”

Julius leaned in slightly, intrigued despite himself. “What sort of circumstances?”

“Usually, it is the widow of an apothecary, if she can prove that she apprenticed successfully at her husband’s side. The Widow Wyncke was one of the first, having worked in her husband’s business for decades. The guild considered that he had rendered a great service to them and was favorable to her circumstances.”

“So you wish to practice medicine?”

Audrey’s nod was enthusiastic. “Once I convince the guild to accept me, I will return to Stirling to tend to the villagers.”

Julius felt an odd relief settle in his chest. It appeared his prospective bride had no great designs on London or the ton. The daughter of a physician would be content in the country. He would do the honorable thing by marrying her but then, perhaps, retain some semblance of freedom thereafter.

“Why have they rejected you? Dr. Gideon apprenticed you from your earliest years.”

She appeared dejected. “It is politics. I cannot join the physicians without a university degree, and Papa was a member of the physicians’ guild, which is a rival to the apothecaries’ guild. In my most recent petition, I provided them with documentation that he was a committed student of Nicholas Culpeper’s works and apprenticed me in the apothecary arts, but … I am not certain that it will be well received. They might be irate that he infringed on their domain.”

“Ah, yes. The pettiness between the guilds is not to be underestimated. What will you do if they reject you again?”

She fidgeted with the tie of his banyan, smoothing it with absentminded care. Julius found himself suddenly and acutely aware of her nearness. He averted his gaze, uncertain why his breath had caught for the briefest moment, only to be rescued by a loud growl from his stomach, which issued a stern reminder of its unmet needs. He sincerely hoped Patrick would appear with his tray before long.

“I suppose I shall apply again,” Audrey said with quiet resolve. “And I will continue to apply until they accept me. I could practice in Stirling without their permission, but as a member, I would publish my father’s notes so that others can benefit from his research. Just as Nicholas Culpeper did when he published his book to encourage ordinary people to care for their own health.”

Something twisted in his chest. It was not discomfort exactly, more like the slow, quiet unfurling of sympathy. Or admiration.

Stuff! Audrey was now the second female he had allowed to breach his walls in recent weeks. Fraternal bonds were supposed to be the province of men—of comrades and brothers, not women with clever fingers and wide, honest eyes. But there was no denying that the new baroness had earned his loyalty by throwing her reputation to the wind to rescue Brendan from the hangman’s noose. And Audrey, by charging into a street fight to protect him and then nursing him through fever, had now claimed a place in that sacred circle.

Julius was … feeling things … on her behalf.

Egad! Is this … compassion?

But how could he not feel for her? She had lost her only parent, and now she was challenging the very walls of convention to protect his legacy. It was brave. Laudable, even. She deserved every success. And once she won her petition, she would surely be content to retire to the Stirling estate. As his countess, yes, but not as his companion. That would suit him well enough.

He had no wish to become a humorless husband entangled in the rituals of domestic drudgery. He certainly did not wish to repeat the pattern set before him by his own parents.

They had been happy once, his family. Laughter had filled the halls, his father had bounced him on his knee, and his mother’s arms had been a place of comfort. But it had not lasted. As his father became increasingly entangled in his work for the Crown, joy had evaporated. His brother Pierce no longer came home from Oxford, his little sister had vanished into the care of relatives, and his mother’s face—once so familiar—had blurred in his mind’s eye like a fading miniature. The loss still clawed at him with a slow-burning fury.

His thoughts scattered when Audrey stood and crossed the room to ring the bell for the servants. The sharp peal broke through his memories and spared him the need to frame a response to her tale of bureaucratic resistance and unmet hopes.

Audrey rang the bell to order breakfast, reflecting with quiet contentment that it had been unexpectedly pleasant to share her hopes and ambitions with someone. Julius had not scoffed or dismissed her aspirations, despite her being a woman and despite the unconventional nature of her plans. He had, in fact, listened with something approaching respect. He had obeyed her medical instructions without complaint. And this morning, he had even acknowledged her role in his recovery.

Such grace from a gentleman of his standing was no small thing.

Since Papa’s death, she had not spoken freely of her dreams. In polite society, the very notion of a lady engaging in meaningful work, especially work so entwined with the physical body, was enough to cause a fainting spell. Yet Julius had not batted an eye. Perhaps she had sensed he would not. He had asked thoughtful questions, and his only resistance had been concern for her reputation, not his pride.

It was … nice.

For the first time since she had arrived in London, Audrey felt seen. For the first time since she had lost her father, she felt that someone had truly listened.

A lump rose in her throat at the memory of her late papa, seated in his old study with its worn books and warm hearth, discussing her future over steaming cups of tea. The longing struck hard, a yearning for a time when everything had seemed possible, when her path forward had been clear and hopeful.

Grief had lingered like smoke over her months in London, and her inactivity had felt unbearable. She would never have recommended such idleness to a patient. But she had been biding her time, awaiting her inheritance, and remaining near the guild in hopes of a favorable ruling.

Perhaps she ought to inform Lord Stirling of her intentions formally. Perhaps Julius, or even the earl, might write a letter on her behalf, should she need to petition again.