Bride of Choice

Chapter XVI: Recovery

Love is a strange phenomenon when one takes the time to reflect on it. Interestingly, we (a group of self-proclaimed experts who believe we are above everything and everyone) think we can achieve success in this world without ever experiencing the profound impact of an emotion, which at its most selfless, is indecipherable to the naked eye. Our inclination to perform actions we despise is often driven by the false perception that we lack options, yet our fundamental drive to accomplish anything is ultimately derived from love. Take a moment to consider before getting all humpity-grumpity and stitching the whole idea as pernicious nonsense.

One's ambition to excel in their chosen field stems from self-love and a desire for a successful future (as was the case with our Doctor Garin). A mother purchased that costly doll for her daughter because it brought her immense happiness to witness the child's smile and joy. You choose to sit through that tedious show with your spouse (don't we all have that partner who insists on watching a show we'd rather skip?) because you know it pleases them when you perform such a self-sacrificing act.

Are your motives for doing considerate deeds rooted in hatred, then?

Hopefully not!

Be it good, bad or in between, choices towards the better outcome guide everything we do in life. Wade Lambert acknowledged this himself when he rushed headfirst into a storm on behalf of Miss Brightley (though he might have gone on a whim, Garin might have implied). Idrielle Brightley, many times over (as loving sisters often do) bore this almost every day of her life and Lori (well, she's not of an age yet where she'd do something that would tickle her busy mind into pondering such serious thoughts of life) has, for her own benefit so far, stumbled into similar situations herself.

Consider everything for a moment before shutting out the possibility. We are thinking creatures, after all, and great things are done by the creative thinkers of the world.

***

Lisabeth suffered an alarming fever that left her delirious during her stay at Idleworth Manor. Whenever she awakened long enough to glimpse her sister at her bedside, she'd brush the saddened cheek with a heated hand and whisper, "Oh, my poor Idrie!" several times before falling into a sluggish relapse of sleep.

Miss Brightley, with tender devotion, remained at her side, often found by the doctor bathing the feverish head with cool cloths or singing gentle nothings late in the evening when he made his late-night calls. Lori, despite the doctor's firm wish she leave his patient in peace, often slipped inside to spy on the invalid whenever Miss Brightley was absent.

"They are quite similar when you look at them well enough, Foster. Only Idrie has much darker hair and a longer nose. Her sister's smaller and has got more curls. She hasn't opened her eyes yet, so I can't see what they look like."

Here she took a bite of a flaky bunchkin (looted from Ruth's kitchen just before afternoon tea) covered in white, powdery sugar and examined the oozing caramel that dripped onto her dress. She made a weak attempt at blotting it with the napkin Foster offered her.

"Ruth has really outdone herself with these bunchkins, Foster. She ought to save some for Idrie and her sister, and Wade. They all look like ghosts in the house and Wade hasn't gone out since the accident. I wonder if he's ill as well—Mama says he might be. Even Garin seems glum."

The week that followed was an endless one at Idleworth and even Anne admitted she felt her heart go out to Miss Brightley, who seemed to float about like a ghost in her pale dress, seldom abandoning her post at her sister's side. Garin was as sombre as ever, having adopted a tone so serious, Lori, keeping her distance, peeked at him around corridors and entry ways.

"I shan't bother him, I think," she told her father one afternoon in his study. "He seems really serious like how you are when you're going through your business letters. I suppose I shouldn't expect sweets for a while. Poor me..." 

She stared at the forbidden cabinet sheltering the blue china elephants with a thoughtful eye.

"But you know, Papa, Garin might make Idrie's sister worse by looking so much like Aunt Constance."

She shuddered.

"You'll have to tell him, Papa. She might die after all if you don't..."

Unlike Mr. Lambert, Lisabeth Brightley would not have found this conversation with Lori at all amusing. During her slow recovery, Mr. Brightley having come to Idleworth fretful and anxious, she found Garin most attentive to her health and comfort with such kind eyes and a warm voice that took the bitterness out of having a broken foot and arm, both of which she complained whenever she was awake when he made his rounds. His Russian stories amused her, and his odd phrases and mannerisms made her unfortunate, not to mention painful, circumstances all the more bearable.

"He swears sometimes, Idrie, but never in English, mind you. I'm almost certain he does it when he thinks no one's listening. After all, if I had stubbed my toe against that ancient ottoman, I might have thought of a few colourful words myself..."

One cool morning, she found herself smiling at Garin with almost as much fondness as she held for dear old doctor Willis.

"You've been ever so attentive, Doctor Garin," she said after the doctor had examined her. Her sister opened a window to let in the therapeutic morning air.

"And to think you were so kind as to let Idrie keep me company," she gave her sister a tender smile before turning her head towards the doctor. "She's always been devoted to me—I couldn't have asked for a better friend and sister." This she often said to a cousin twice removed, to whom she often showed open displeasure, whose own elder sister was a crotchety crone.

She extended a small hand, which the doctor clasped in his oversized ones.

"Thank you dearly for your many kindnesses, sir. It is nice to think Idrie's found such endearing friends."

"Believe me, Miss Brightley, your sister has been more good to anyone than they have for her—just ask Lori." And they looked just in time to see a head of ringlets disappear just outside the door.

The doctor chuckled.

"It appears she can be shy sometimes."

"Well, I can't wait to be up and about again. I've got an inkling that she'll like me better when I do. Idrie, dearest, you'll have to convince Daddy to let me go riding again once I'm better. He'll listen to you."

The doctor gave the elder Miss Brightley an expressive look.

"You needn't think of things as that, Lizzy. You're to focus on getting better—Mr. Lambert?"

Everyone turned to look at the young man lingering in the doorway. 

________________________________________________________

Lisabeth's finally getting better. I suppose I ought to be grateful, but you know how it is. Readership is higher when there's a scandal or some death coming about.

(Not to mention my compensation benefits most thoroughly)

(Sigh)

I'm afraid the doctor (not to mention the elder Miss Brightley) would not like me so much if he knew my thoughts...

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