Vermillion (The Hundred Days Series Book 1) Read Free Page B

seeming immediately to
glean key bits of intelligence and file them away for later. An attractive
symmetry to his bold features held her eye.
    Whoever had designed the most recent
iteration of the English officer's uniform had probably never envisioned a
specimen in existence who could do the cut such justice. Dust-caked black
riding boots hinted he had just arrived. Tan thigh-hugging buckskin breeches
were practically a scandal in the making, stretched over legs acquainted with
physical activity. The wide breast of his red wool coat looked like a lady's
pincushion, medals of every shape lined across, leaving her no doubt she was
facing the legendary General Webb.
    Flustered, Kate realized she had
been staring.
    He should be old , her mind
protested. Shouldn't he be old? Generals were seasoned veterans,
tempered by years of conflict, claiming enough decades to still don powdered
wigs and knee breeches. General Webb was young by comparison, in his middling
thirties if the gentle creases winging his eyes were to be believed. He was not
at all what she had imagined. For the first time in a long time, Kate felt
unbalanced.
    The grim line of General Webb's
mouth turned down a little more at seeing her there, while Astley planted both
hands stupidly on his hips. “Foster. What are you doing? Why are you in here?”
    Just the sound of his voice grated
at her. Though she realized her irritation was disproportionate, there was no
checking it when Astley bit at her. “He sent for me,” she retorted.
“What are you doing here?”
    “Caring for him.” The words were
hollow and syrupy, and she swore he batted his eyes at the general.
    She would choke his weasel neck if
given the slightest opportunity. Astley was oily, self-important and forever
lifting at some skirt-hem or another. All character flaws she could ignore,
except that he was negligent . Steeped in his own ego, she had watched
him make decisions about a patient, life and death decisions, without regard
for necessity. If she were ever in need of aid with only Astley available, she
prayed fervently for a quick death.
    General Webb stepped out from behind
Astley, leaning forward to peer down at Addison as though the doctor were an
unidentified species. “What ails him?”
    “He has fits,” Astley cut in, eager
to trump her. “It's nothing. They pass. Just a matter of age.”
    She began to sigh, then caught
herself. It was intolerable, listening to him speak with authority while
completely ignorant. Straightening, she took over. “It is hardly 'nothing'.
He's lost movement on his right side, and his faculties have suddenly
diminished. This is more than a fit.” Kate pointed to the drool running from
Addison's drooping mouth. “He's in a dire state.”
    “Female hysteria. What have you
given him?” Astley snatched up the glass and sniffed it. “Laudanum? There's no
examining him properly now.”
    “He's been properly examined,” she
shot back.
    The general wagged a finger between
her and Addison. “Miss Foster, you are the doctor's...?”    She might recognize him , but General Webb had no clue who she was. How unsurprising that Astley
had forgotten to mention her. At least he had not taken the opportunity of a
walk across camp to raze her credibility. That did not mean that whatever he
had shared was not damning by omission. She took a breath, squared her
shoulders a little and looked Webb in the eye. “ I am his nurse, Kate
Foster.”
    “You're his assistant ,
“sneered Astley.
    Thin decorum torn to shreds, and
Kate rolled her eyes. “No, you are his assistant.”
    He puffed up. “I am a physician in
training.”
    “I'm a fully trained nurse,”
she hissed.
    “Enough!” General Webb bit off the
command with practiced force, startling her and causing Astley to flail. Even
during the worst of their bickering Doctor Addison had never been as quick with
discipline as the general was now.
    Webb swept a hand at the doorway.
“Miss Foster, step outside with