‘Ah, someone has done a capital job of cleaning you up, I see.’
‘That would be Lady Cecily,’ Tom reported, and Cecily blushed at the doctor’s penetrating look.
‘Indeed? Thank you, Lady Cecily, for you have saved me some work here. Hmm...still a small amount of debris, I see.’ Taking a set of tiny pincers from his bag, he extracted a few small pieces of grass and soil, while the Earl gripped the bedclothes tightly with his right hand. Once content, the surgeon declared that no stitches would be required, and covered the wound again, securing the soft towelling in place with a bandage.
‘Now for this shoulder, my lord.’ The Earl groaned. ‘Yes, I know, but it must be done. I shall need assistance.’ Glancing around, his eyes flitted past the now sick-looking valet, who had returned with a box of splints of various lengths and an assortment of slings and broad bandages. His gaze settled on Tom. ‘Can you aid me with this, sir?’
Tom nodded grimly. ‘Of course.’
‘Ladies, I could do with another assistant, if one of you has the stomach for it.’
Cecily and Nell eyed each other, both knowing who was better suited for the task. ‘I can do it,’ Cecily affirmed, though inside she was quaking. She had been avoiding looking at that misshapen lump in Jack’s left shoulder, as its wrongness caused a terrible queasiness in her stomach.
Once the valet had left the room, along with Nell, the surgeon got to work. ‘First we need to cut away the jacket and shirt,’ he declared, taking a pair of tailor’s scissors from his bag. Tom and Cecily, working together, removed the pieces of fabric as the surgeon cut, with as little disruption to Jack’s left arm as they could manage.
As he worked, the surgeon pushed the bedclothes down as far as Jack’s middle, and Cecily was now glorying in the sight of Jack’s wonderful chest and flat stomach. There was a sprinkling of hairs over his breastbone and around his flat male nipples, and a thicker line of hair heading southwards from his navel. His skin looked tantalisingly smooth, the outline and swell of muscle emphasising the masculinity of his strong frame. Cecily’s fingers itched to touch him. Now there was an entirely different feeling swirling in the pit of her stomach, and one that was deliciously exciting.
Admonishing herself for having such carnal thoughts while Jack lay there in pain, she pulled the blankets up as far as his ribs and lifted her eyes back to his face. That was safer—except that now her love for him washed all through her again, like a swelling wave moving inexorably to its destination.
‘My lord, drink this.’ The surgeon was offering Jack a flask.
‘What is it?’ Jack’s tone was suspicious, and the doctor flashed him a smile. ‘Brandy, with some medicine added.’
‘Brandy, eh? Very well.’ Lifting his head, he drank, and Cecily, now entirely lost in him, watched compulsively as his Adam’s apple moved while he swallowed. He rested his head back on the pillow. ‘Well, that must have been very strong brandy. I declare the room is spinning.’ He grinned, half-foolishly.
‘Brandy mixed with laudanum, my lord,’ the doctor confirmed. ‘It will help you get through the next few moments.’
* * *
Laudanum.
Jack had never, to his knowledge, had it before. It explained the bitterness in the doctor’s concoction. Jack’s mind, almost lost at times with the maddening pain and fear that had threatened to overwhelm him, had now, thankfully, been restored. His eyesight was returning. The relief of it was immense—and how fitting that Lady Cecily’s beautiful face had been the first thing he had seen.
If her face was the last thing I ever saw, he thought now, I should die content.
His own foolishness had brought him to this, but in stripping away all the niceties, all the surface fears and everyday concerns, he lay raw, and exposed, and self-aware, for perhaps the first time in his life.
Tom, my brother.
How petty he had been to punish Tom for marrying. It was clear that he adored his Nell, and that she returned his affection.
And how did he know this?
Because he had found his own heart, and it belonged to Cecily.
Cecily, my love.
He was done fighting the monster within. Fear had lived in him for a lifetime and had been quietened by the only thing capable of doing so. Love.
How he longed to thank her, to tell her of what his heart sang! How fortunate he was that on his day of greatest need, she had been there to hold his hand with her soft one and reassure him with her gentle voice and her quick humour. How lucky he was that she had tended his wounds and remained calm and strong when she had every right to break down in a bout of weeping, as he suspected Nell had.
Even if he could never call her his own, he had at least had her company through the most distressing situation he had ever faced. Even the fact that the doctor had asked her to assist in the bone-setting signalled how capable she was.
She is so much more accomplished than any other woman I have ever met.
Accomplished, and good, and generous, and far-seeing. He closed his eyes as the effects of the laudanum increased. His thoughts were less logical now, more capricious, but the feeling of love, and of gratitude, suffused every part of him.
He had been vaguely aware of the surgeon’s voice, issuing instructions, but now, suddenly, his arm and shoulder were being moved and wrenched with great force. He heard himself scream in agony, then blessed darkness settled over him once again.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cecily sank into the armchair by the fire, trembling from head to toe. What they had just done to the Earl had been necessary, she knew, but she felt sick at the movement of bones she had just seen and felt through her own hands resting on him, and at the pain they had caused him. Thankfully, the manoeuvre had been successful on the surgeon’s first attempt, and Jack’s shoulder was back where it ought to be. A stiff bandage had been strapped around Jack’s shoulder, chest and upper back, and the surgeon had issued strict instructions for the Earl to rest his left arm and shoulder during the coming days.
Having pronounced himself content, the doctor was now packing up his bag. Hearing him give Tom further instructions for the Earl’s care, Cecily stood again.
I should listen to this.
It was straightforward enough—changing the bandages on his head and ensuring there was no sign of pus or poison. Ensuring he kept to his bed and rested until the surgeon decreed otherwise. Checking that the shoulder strapping remained tight, yet not too tight. Using the sling provided any time he sat upright.
‘There is one more thing.’ The surgeon paused and was looking at them both directly. ‘It can be difficult to measure the correct dose of laudanum. The Earl is tall and broad, so I gave him quite a large amount in the brandy. He may show some delirium over the coming hours, so should not be left alone. He may also need to be roused should his breathing become too slow.’ He closed his bag and picked up the unused splints. ‘I shall return this time tomorrow, but someone sensible needs to remain with him until then.’
‘Of course. Thank you.’ Tom shook his hand. ‘I shall see you out.’
They departed, leaving Cecily alone with the Earl. Well, since he was incapacitated, she supposed there was no impropriety in it. Returning to his bedside, she saw beads of sweat were gathering on his brow, and he was moving his head around, as if troubled by a nightmare. What could she do to ease his discomfort? Reaching for the pitcher, she poured clean water into an empty bowl, and dipped a clean cloth in it.
* * *
All was darkness, but darkness without peace. Images, sounds, ideas fluttered through Jack’s mind like drops of fiery rain, each indistinguishable from the next, yet each hitting him with a drop of pain. Papa, a stern expression on his face. Tom, falling from a horse. A paper, listing shipping routes. Mama, crying. Cecily, crying.
No! Please!
He had no idea who he was or where he
was. Only his responses gave him some clue. He knew these people. They mattered to him.
My knight! Where is it?
He was seven, and Mama was dead, and he was coming home from boarding school for Christmas. He had not lost his precious knight figure at school and was proudly preparing to show it to Tilly. Tilly! There she was, her face alight with love and kindness. Somehow the image was faint, much fainter than the others.
‘Hush now, my lord. You are safe, and all is well.’ A gentle voice, nearby. He was not alone. He tried to open his eyes, but they were too heavy.
Who...?
Something was pressed into his right hand. His fingers knew the shape and closed round it instantly.
My knight!
A cool damp cloth was placed on his forehead. It was the most beautiful sensation he had ever experienced.
‘Thank you, Tilly,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t leave me.’
Oblivion slipped over him again.
* * *
Tilly!
Cecily’s heart wrenched. Somehow, in the throes of laudanum, Jack was reliving Tilly’s departure yet again. As she mopped his brow, he seemed to settle again, into something that looked much more like a natural sleep. He had asked for his knight, and she had been glad to give it to him instantly. Her mind went wandering, wondering again why Tilly had gone so abruptly all those years ago. It did not seem to fit with what she had heard about the woman. Perhaps Molly could enlighten her. She had been with the family back then.
I should—
‘Cecily! How are you?’ It was Nell, tiptoeing in, and speaking in an exaggerated whisper.
‘I am well, thank you,’ she replied prosaically. ‘The Earl is resting, but we are to ensure he is not alone until tomorrow.’
‘Yes, Tom has just told me. He intends to sit with him all night, and so is having a quick meal before resting for a few hours. He says we are to entertain the guests at dinner and arrange for Jack’s valet to sit with him this evening.’
‘His valet? The chap who turned green when anything difficult was to be done for Jack? I think not.’
Nell frowned. ‘Then you think we should remain with him instead?’
‘For tonight, yes—because of the laudanum. From tomorrow the valet can take on his care.’ She glanced at Jack, noting that he was sweating again. Dipping the cloth in the tepid water, she reapplied it to his forehead. ‘You may do whatever you believe to be right, Nell, but I intend to stay here until Tom takes over.’
‘All evening? But—’
‘The Earl remains seriously ill. I cannot have it on my conscience to leave him. Why, anything might occur!’
Nell bit her lip. ‘You are right, of course. I shall stay with you. But who then will accompany Mr Harting and Mr Carmichael at dinner?’
Cecily thought it through. ‘Tom is right, you must go to dinner. As hostess, you cannot abandon your duties.’
‘Mr Harting and Mr Carmichael have already offered to leave on the morrow, as the household will likely be all disorder until Jack is better. So it is only tonight that we must plan for.’
‘Can you stay here for ten minutes while I wash and change?’
‘I must speak to Cook first but then, yes, I can replace you. But...’ her brow creased in puzzlement ‘...why should you do this? Jack is nothing to you, after all. Surely it is my responsibility as...’ Her voice tailed away and her eyes widened.
Cecily eyed her evenly.
‘Cecily!’ Nell’s jaw dropped. ‘You—’
‘Hush!’ There was a possibility that the Earl could hear them. Drawing Nell to the door, she hissed, ‘Please, do not say anything!’
‘But I must!’ Nell took both her hands. ‘You...have an affection for Jack?’
‘Affection? I suppose you could call it that.’
‘And what would you call it?’
‘A conflagration. An explosion. A multitude of fireworks. A sickness. A miracle. An obsession. A desire to shield him from all harm. A need to ensure his happiness.’
‘Oh, Cecily! You love him!’
Cecily nodded grimly. Hearing it said aloud reminded her how hopeless it was to love a man such as Jack, who denied he even needed to love and be loved. ‘I do. He does not, however, love me in return—or at least he has not said so. Now, please send Molly to my room and tell her I shall be there in a few minutes. There is something I should like to ask her.’
‘Even if he does not love you yet, dear Cecily, he must come to do so in time.’ Nell hugged her fiercely, then departed.
* * *
Three days after his accident, the Earl declared himself bored with the surgeon’s advice and rose from his bed. He was relieved to discover that Harting and Carmichael had indeed departed, for he knew himself to be irritable and frustrated by his injuries, and in no fit state for company. Tom and his valet had fussed over him as though he were a hatchling, and he had not seen the ladies since the night of the accident. Cecily had sat with him until midnight, he had been informed, refusing to give way to Nell, and had waited steadfastly until Tom had taken over for the nightwatch.
He owed them all a debt of gratitude, and his newly-found insight did not prevent him from being guiltily grumpy. Could he read anything into Cecily’s devoted care of him? Probably not, for she was so good that she would likely have done just the same for Harting or Carmichael. Jealousy flared as he briefly imagined her leaning over Harting, pressing cool cloths to his brow and speaking in a soft voice to him.
Well, Harting was gone and he, Jack, remained. Tom and the ladies had postponed their plans for London, giving Jack an extra week in which to woo Lady Cecily.
How does one woo?
He had no idea. He could not imagine himself smiling giddily at her or writing poetry. All of the actions he associated with men wooing women seemed stupid, foolish, pointless. Yet he wished to woo her, wished to ask her if perhaps, someday, there might be a chance that she might consider...
Lord, here is a fix!
Instead, on his first morning downstairs he chose a moment when Tom and Nell were engaged in private conversation and offered her the opportunity to review Carmichael’s business proposal. It was all he could think to do.
‘Then—you have not yet decided whether to invest in this project?’ She was looking remarkably pretty today, he noted, her pale green dress displaying her perfect figure, while the spring sunshine through the casement lit up her blonde hair and her sparkling amber eyes.
‘Not at all, for Carmichael wrote down the details only that morning. I have not yet studied his information.’ He rose to fetch Carmichael’s workings from the side table, ignoring the jarring pain in his shoulder. He was in shirt and breeches, with his jacket hung awkwardly over his shoulders and his left arm still in its sling. He felt under-dressed and unsure of himself.
Scanning his friend’s scrawl with narrowed eyes, he commented, ‘Lady Cecily, I will surely need your assistance. While I can see most things, I confess Carmichael’s penmanship is challenging my vision.’ Indeed his eyesight was not yet fully returned to normal, with a faint blurring around the edges of his vision and a definite tiredness when he tried to read.
She took the paper, their fingers touching. Had that been deliberate? He could not know. What was beyond doubt, however, was the sparkle in the glance she threw him before dropping her eyes to Carmichael’s proposal.
Despite being decidedly unromantic, his approach may have been the right one for he and Cecily spent the next several hours poring over Carmichael’s figures and reviewing the arguments for and against.
‘I am so glad that you have shared this with me,’ was her pointed comment, but he took it as a good sign that her eyes shone, and that she gave him such a look.
I must not make assumptions, he reminded himself.
Tom, naturally, had joined in the business debate, while Nell w
atched them all, fascinated. In the end they decided collectively that Carmichael was to be disappointed, for the plan, on closer inspection, did not look viable. Having the ladies involved also smoothed over any remaining awkwardness between Tom and himself. It was good to be in charity with his brother again.
There were limitations in the aftermath of his foolish accident, too. Nell and Tom seemed always to be there, hovering over him as though he were on his deathbed, so he had no opportunity to speak privately with Cecily.
Of course, he had no idea if Cecily even wished to be alone with him. If anything, she was more reserved now than she had been, and he had difficulty in reading how she was feeling most of the time. She had taken to venturing out walking in the mornings, with only Molly the housemaid for company, and he could never rest until he saw her back again. How quickly she had become the centre of his world! He shook his head slowly. The entire situation was slowly driving him to madness.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Two more days passed, and still Jack had not declared himself. Indeed, he had no notion how he might do so. Confidence that she might return his feelings had slowly leeched out of him, and he was also now half-convinced she deserved better than a broken soul such as he, regardless. So it was with mixed feelings that he agreed to Nell’s suggestion of a walk through the village.
‘We might even reach the top of Thursley Hill, if you are well enough, brother, for the day is clear and mild.’ Tom joined in immediately, arousing his suspicions that they had made this plan when he had not been present.
‘An excellent idea!’ Cecily’s reply was rather more enthusiastic than the topic warranted.
Do they think me slow to recover? I was never invalidish!
The notion stung, so naturally he declared himself as fit as a fiddle, with only the mildest twinges in his various wounds.
Captivating the Cynical Earl Page 22