Love's Faithful Promise Read online

  “I’m sorry, Victor. Perhaps if she were to come here, I would consider it, but I simply cannot leave the city right now.” Not with Phoebe in such a fragile state. Perspiration gathered under Matthew’s collar while he held Victor’s stare.

  At last, Victor inclined his head. “I understand this is a big decision. Especially given your personal circumstances. But I’m asking you to think it over. James O’Leary is like a brother to me. If I can do something to help him, I have to try.”

  Once the door closed, Matthew expelled a long breath. This was one battle his mentor wouldn’t win. No matter how indebted he was to the man, Matthew would never leave Toronto, never leave Phoebe, to cater to one rich, entitled woman.

  His daughter and his fellow soldiers needed him far too much for that.

  2

  DEIRDRE CHECKED her mother’s vital signs one more time, compared the numbers to the last statistics on her chart, and let out a soft sigh. Mama had passed a peaceful night, and her condition remained stable. She’d seemed more alert this morning and even managed a few bites of breakfast.

  Thank you, Lord!

  Now if only Daddy would return from Colleen’s with good news, things would indeed be looking up. Instead of going all the way to his Long Island home, Daddy had gone to Colleen’s brownstone to call Uncle Victor and to take a short nap. But he should have been back by now.

  With Mama asleep once again, Deirdre slipped out of the room to get a cup of coffee. She started down the hallway, but the sight of Daddy walking toward her dashed all thoughts of beverages from her mind. She went to intercept him, dismayed at the severe downturn of his mouth.

  “How is your mother?” he asked without preamble.

  “Resting comfortably. Did you reach Uncle Victor?”

  His mouth formed a grim line. “I spoke with him, yes.” With a touch to her elbow, he guided her into the empty waiting room.

  “I’m afraid the news isn’t good. Victor was unable to persuade Dr. Clayborne to come to New York.”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

  “While the man’s dedication to his patients is admirable, I wish he could set it aside for a few weeks to help your mother.” He exhaled deeply. “But it seems nothing will sway the man.”

  “We’ll find someone else. He can’t be the only therapist.”

  Her father’s troubled gaze met hers. “There are a few physicians doing this type of work, but they’re in England. Which is where Dr. Clayborne learned the technique himself.”

  England? Even if they could get one of the therapists to agree to come, an ocean voyage would mean valuable time wasted.

  Daddy’s rough hand clasped hers. “Deirdre, I want you to go to Toronto. Persuade this doctor to change his mind.”

  Deirdre’s stomach twisted with instant apprehension. “Oh, Daddy, I don’t—”

  “I’d go myself if I thought it would do any good. But you know the medical terms. You speak the same language. If anyone can get him to come around, it’s you.”

  Tension squeezed her shoulders. She’d do almost anything to help her mother, but travel to Canada?

  “Please, Dee.” A film of moisture shone in his blue eyes. “You can charm the fish from the sea, as your mother says. Please say you’ll try.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. O’Leary?” A nurse appeared in the doorway.

  Deirdre’s gaze locked on the wicker wheelchair at her side.

  “We have the chair for your wife, sir. Perhaps when she wakens, we could get her to try it.”

  Her father’s face turned ashen.

  The nurse hesitated. “This chair will allow her to get out of bed. You might even push her out into the yard, if the doctor gives permission.”

  The image of Mama sitting in a chair for the rest of her life flashed through Deirdre’s mind. Never being able to climb the stairs to her bedroom. Never able to walk in her garden. Never able to chase her grandchildren. Deirdre’s throat constricted. If this Dr. Clayborne could save Mama from such a fate, didn’t Deirdre owe it to her mother to use every means possible to persuade the man to help them?

  Daddy thanked the nurse, who continued down the hall.

  Deirdre gulped in a deep breath. “I’ll do it, Daddy. I’ll go to Toronto.”

  Relief flooded her father’s features as he scooped her into a tight hug. “Thank you.” The tremble in his whisper gave evidence of the depth of his gratitude. He pulled back and cleared his throat. “I’ll find out when the next train leaves and let Victor know to expect you.”

  Deirdre nodded, firming her resolve. She’d do whatever it took to convince this man to come. And if he still refused, she’d take the opportunity to learn all she could about the type of treatments he was using and bring the knowledge home to help her mother.

  One way or another, she’d make sure Mama regained the ability to walk.

  Matthew exited the physical therapy room and headed down the hall to the cramped room that served as his office. He could have chosen a more spacious room on the second floor near Dr. Fullman, but from sheer practicality, it served Matthew to be near the area where he treated his patients. In between appointments, he could answer calls, swallow a mouthful of coffee, and retrieve his notes for the next patient. Plus, the isolation of this room suited Matthew better than Dr. Fullman’s busy office.

  He flipped on the electric lights and blinked as though seeing the space for the first time, mildly surprised at how messy the place had become. When had he last tidied up? He pulled out his chair and made a mental note to spend some time later that day filing his paperwork. He moved a stack of books to one side, found his spare reading glasses, and perched them on the end of his nose.

  A light tap on his door caused a ripple of irritation. “Yes?”

  The door opened. Matthew’s eyebrows rose at the sight of the stunning young woman who entered. She was dressed in a blue skirt and matching jacket. Her hat hid most of her auburn hair, except for a tidy roll pinned at the nape of her neck. Eyes the color of summer grass held him in a bold stare.

  Suddenly aware he was gawking, he pressed his lips together and gave her a fierce scowl, one that usually had the staff running for cover. “I’m afraid you have the wrong office, Miss. You probably want the physicians on the second floor.”

  She tilted her head. “You are Dr. Clayborne, are you not? Dr. Fullman told me where to find you.”

  Apprehension skittered along Matthew’s spine. Why would Victor send a woman to see him? Surely he wasn’t trying his hand at matchmaking again. After Victor’s last attempt, Matthew had made his position crystal clear. Priscilla was gone, and he had no intention of ever marrying again.

  Frowning, he removed his spectacles. “I am Dr. Clayborne.”

  The woman gave him a bright smile, one that created a dimple in both cheeks, and stepped forward, arm outstretched. “I’m Deirdre O’Leary. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Though manners dictated he shake her hand, Matthew scowled again. “What is it you need, Miss? I’m very busy, as you can see.” He gestured to his overflowing desk, now glad for the extra piles.

  A brief flicker of anger flashed in her unusual green eyes, but she quickly schooled her features into a frozen smile. “Might I sit down? I just got in from New York, and I’m a bit fatigued.”

  New York. Warning flares ignited in Matthew’s mind. Victor wouldn’t stoop so low—or would he?

  “Suit yourself.” He swept a hand toward the only other chair in the room, filled with books and journals.

  Undaunted, the young woman picked up the stack and plopped the lot on the already teetering corner of his desk. With a gloved hand, she swiped the wooden seat before perching herself on the edge.

  Her look of disdain chipped at Matthew’s composure. “What can I do for you?”

  She raised her chin. “I’ve come to implore your help, Doctor, for the sake of my dear mother, who is paralyzed due to a recent stroke.” Moisture sheened her vivid eyes.

  Matthew couldn’t help but wonder if the tears were real or merely a ruse to evoke his sympathy. A favorite ploy of Priscilla’s to get her way.

  Miss O’Leary took out a handkerchief and squeezed it between her fingers. “Uncle Vic—that is, Dr. Fullman spoke very highly of your work. He’s certain you can help my mother regain the use of her limbs.”

  The earnestness of her gaze caused a prick of sympathy in Matthew’s surly armor. But not enough to entertain her request. “I’m afraid Dr. Fullman has wasted your time. I’ve already told him why I can’t take on your mother as a patient. Surely there’s a qualified therapist in New York who could treat her.” Someone who doesn’t have to leave his child to do so.

  A slight frown puckered the area above her pert nose. “My father has tried, believe me, but there’s no one doing the type of therapy you employ. Your name is known even in New York.”

  Matthew raised a brow. “Appealing to my ego will not sway me.”

  A pink hue infused her cheeks. “That’s not—” She inhaled, then hissed out a breath.

  Matthew stood and glanced at his pocket watch. It was unlikely he’d get any paperwork done now. “While I’m sorry about your mother’s condition, Miss O’Leary, I’m afraid it’s impossible for me to leave Toronto. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a patient scheduled.” One of many he was not about to abandon, no matter what tactics this woman tried.

  Miss O’Leary rose, her determined stare boring into him. “Very well, Dr. Clayborne. If you won’t come with me, I will observe your techniques so I may apply them myself.”

  The audacity, not to mention the sheer lunacy, of this girl assuming she could duplicate his work herself almost made Matthew laugh out loud. He gaped at her. “What makes you think you could learn a therapy that has taken me years of practice to master?”

  She shot him a haughty glare. “I happen to be a medical student myself, Doctor, with three years of nursing as well. I am fully capable of learning your techniques. Now, lead on or we’ll be late for your appointment.”

  Of all the hard-headed, cantankerous doctors Deirdre had worked with, Dr. Clayborne surpassed them all. When he couldn’t dissuade her from joining his session, his patient—a lovely gentleman by the name of Mr. Worthington—had given permission for Deirdre to observe, and Dr. Clayborne had no choice but to comply. However, he had pointedly ignored her as much as possible, barely answering her questions with a grunt.

  Now Deirdre studied the doctor as he finished up. If the man wasn’t so morose, he might be considered handsome. He wore his light brown hair combed back off a high brow, showcasing a set of piercing blue eyes. Yet there was a hardness to him that told of the wall he’d erected around himself. Even with his patient, he showed little emotion.

  Once Mr. Worthington had left the room, Dr. Clayborne addressed her. “I trust you got the information you required. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make some phone calls in my office.”

  “Very well.” Deirdre picked up her handbag and made to follow him. “What time is your first patient scheduled tomorrow?”

  He leveled her with a look of incredulity. “You’re not seriously planning to attend all my sessions?”

  “Not all of them,” she said sweetly. “Only for the next week until I can manage on my own.”

  Red flags stained his cheeks. “Of all the—”

  “Uncle Victor’s orders, I’m afraid.” She raised one brow and resisted the urge to wink, fearing an apoplectic outburst.

  The man pinched his mouth shut tighter than a surgeon’s clamp and stormed down the corridor toward the staircase.

  As she followed him, her impulsive actions caused a wave of remorse. She was supposed to be charming the man, persuading him to help her, not antagonizing him. No matter how much she disliked him, she had to try to win him over—for her mother’s sake.

  “Dr. Clayborne, wait.” She stopped to catch her breath at the top of the stairs. “I fear we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Could we perhaps share a cup of coffee and discuss the matter in a civilized fashion?” She flashed what she hoped was a winning smile.

  His entire frame tensed. “No, Miss O’Leary. We cannot. I’m on my way to tell Dr. Fullman—”

  “Matthew.” Uncle Victor rounded the corner, his weathered features brightening. “This is a pleasant, though not entirely unexpected, visit.”

  “Might I have a word with you in private, sir?” Dr. Clayborne’s clipped tone hinted at his displeasure.

  Uncle Victor glanced at Deirdre and then back to Dr. Clayborne. “I can spare a few minutes, but I must insist Deirdre join us, since this most certainly concerns her.”

  Uncle Victor headed down the corridor, not giving Dr. Clayborne a chance to argue. They followed him into a spacious reception area, where a woman sat at a large desk, hitting keys on an Underwood typewriter.

  Upon seeing them, she rose from her chair. “Your messages, sir.” She handed Uncle Victor several slips of paper.

  “Thank you, Miss Howard. Please see that we are not disturbed.”

  He gestured for them to precede him into the office. Deirdre swept in and took a seat. She gripped her hands together on her lap and offered a silent plea for help to get through to this difficult man.

  Perhaps with God’s favor and Uncle Victor’s encouragement, they would be able to make Dr. Clayborne see reason.

  Matthew marched over to the window on the far side of the office. If Victor thought Matthew would back down because of Miss O’Leary’s presence, he was sadly mistaken.

  Victor’s chair squeaked as he sat. “Well, Matthew, what’s on your mind?”

  Matthew turned to level a hard stare at his superior. With effort, he controlled the volume of his voice. “I’m dismayed at your audacity, sir. I expressly told you why I could not take on this patient, and yet you invited the woman’s family here to sway me.”

  Miss O’Leary glanced at Victor, as though unsure of his reaction.

  Victor simply studied him, his fingers steepled over his stomach. “I’m sorry to see you so aggrieved, my boy. When you refused my request, I invited Deirdre to come and observe your therapy techniques. As a medical student, she will be the primary caregiver for Mrs. O’Leary when she is released from the hospital.”

  Matthew remained silent, unconvinced by Victor’s speech.

  “I can’t deny I hoped that when you met Deirdre and learned more about her mother’s condition you might change your mind. Especially in light of the fact that you’ve mentioned your desire to one day apply your therapies to stroke victims.” His mustache twitched. “But alas, I see I have only served to anger you. For that I apologize.”

  Matthew expelled a loud breath. Though he didn’t fully believe the story, he did trust that the man’s motives were well-intentioned. “I suppose it’s possible that I . . . overreacted.”

  Matthew thought Miss O’Leary gave a snort, but he dared not look at her.

  Victor pushed up from his desk. “So you’ll cooperate with Deirdre and allow her to observe your sessions?” His tone was more command than question.

  Matthew glanced over at the woman then and saw desperate hope shining in the depths of her eyes. “There’s little point. Even with my medical training, it took me over a year to master this therapy. I’m afraid, Miss O’Leary, you’ll never learn it in a week.”

  The woman rose with undeniable grace. “Anything I can do to benefit my mother will not be a waste of time.”

  Matthew knew when to concede. He exhaled and shrugged. “As long as you don’t interfere with my patients, I suppose there’s no harm in it.”

  A stunning smile spread across her features. “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate it.”

  Before he could utter another word, a sharp knock sounded on the door, and Miss Howard poked her head inside.

  “Sorry to interrupt, sir,” she said, “but there’s an urgent phone call for Dr. Clayborne.” The woman turned, eyes swimming with sympathy. “It’s about your daughter.”

  Panic knotted the air in Matthew’s lungs. The nanny only called him at work if something serious had occurred. He charged out of the room, not even bothering to say good-bye, his only thought to get to his daughter before it was too late.

  3

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Matthew quietly entered his daughter’s bedroom. Miss Shearing sat dozing in the corner rocking chair. That alone gave Matthew a measure of relief, for it meant Phoebe must be faring better.

  Matthew had checked on Phoebe several times during the night, and each time she seemed to be resting comfortably. Still, he’d barely managed to get more than two hours of sleep. He gazed at the sleeping child, wisps of blond hair lying across her cheek. His chest tightened as it always did at the remarkable resemblance she bore to Priscilla.

  He laid a hand on her forehead, relieved to find it cool to the touch. Perhaps this time they would be fortunate, and the sniffles wouldn’t turn into anything more serious.

  Miss Shearing was right to have called him home when she had. She knew from previous experience not to take any chances. The mildest malady could turn deadly with little notice.

  He arranged the quilt around Phoebe’s shoulders, tucked her worn rag doll beside her, and straightened.

  At the same time, Miss Shearing sat up in her chair. “Dr. Clayborne. What time is it?” She rubbed her eyes and patted a few stray hairs into place.

  “A little past seven. No need to rush. Phoebe will likely sleep late this morning.”

  Miss Shearing rose and smoothed her wrinkled skirt. She peered at his suit. “You’re going to work?”

  He bit back an irritated sigh at the censure in her tone. “I planned to, yes. Phoebe passed a quiet night with no evidence of fever, and I have every assurance that if her condition worsens, you will let me know immediately.”