Anthony closed his eyes and let the memory of that last kiss in the darkness of her bedroom soothe his battered body. He’d told her he loved her at least, and in his heart, he knew she loved him too, even if she was too afraid to say the words.
Wells’s voice cut into his dream. “My God, did you send for a surgeon?”
“Yes, he’s coming directly.” The voices grew fainter.
“Help me get him upstairs. Be easy with him.” Wells sounded near panic.
Anthony wished he had the energy to tease his stoic butler, but he was barely staying conscious. “Contact her.”
“I will send word to your mother immediately, my lord.” They put him on a bed. “You men can go. The footmen will assist me from here. If only you had a valet, he would be very helpful now, my lord.”
Pain ebbed and flowed with his level of lucidity. He wanted to tell him to contact Sylvia, but perhaps it was better she not see him in his weakness. All that lavender cloth that would have looked so lovely on his sweet Sylvia.
* * * *
He woke in a haze. The room refused to come into view. “What?”
A soft hand touched his forehead. “You are fine. A broken leg and collarbone along with some cuts and bruises, but you will heal.” Her Italian accent a balm, Momma caressed his cheek.
In a harsher voice, Aunt Daphne added, “You could have been killed.”
“But you were not,” Momma insisted.
His vision cleared. “I’m having trouble seeing you.”
“It’s the laudanum, for the pain.”
It was worse to not quite be in the world. To drink one’s self blind on occasion was one thing, but this he hated. “Don’t give me any more of it.”
Aunt Daphne huffed. “You say that now, but the pain will change your mind.”
An attempt to move his right arm was agony, so he took his mother’s hand with his left. “No more, Momma.”
“As you wish, piccolo amore. But if you change your mind, do not be too proud to ask for help.”
“Do you think you can take some soup?” Aunt Daphne sounded stern, but he heard her worry. She had lost so much, and this had likely been an ordeal for both women.
“I will try, Aunt. I’m sorry to have caused you worry.” He tried to push himself to sitting, but pain shot through him from both his collarbone and his leg.
“Do not injure yourself,” Momma scolded. “I will get Wells, and Daphne will call for something to eat.”
They left him alone, staring at the ceiling. Sylvia had picked the bed curtains and the new bedding. She was all around him, but not with him. His body hurt, but his heart ached worse.
Mother returned with Wells.
“I shall have to pull you up from the waist so as not to re-injure you, my lord. Will you put your left arm around my neck and apply what pressure you can in assistance?” Wells said it all as flatly as he might have described an afternoon caller on a Tuesday.
“This is quite embarrassing, Wells, but I thank you.” He did as he was told, and with minimal pain, they got him to a sitting position while Mother propped pillows behind him.
“It is temporary, sir, and I am glad to be of service.” With a bow, Wells left the room.
“Momma, what day is it?”
She sat on the edge of the bed. “It is Friday. You have been incoherent for two days. What were you thinking, going into that burning boat? Captain McCormick came by yesterday and told us all about it. Once you got all the men to safety, why not let the cargo sink?”
“What would Papa have done?” He adjusted his position using his left arm and managed to find a more comfortable seat.
She huffed. “Gotten himself killed most likely. I have written your sister. She should be back at Marlton tomorrow, but I sent the letter to Riverdale yesterday. I didn’t want to send word until we knew your condition. You had me quite terrified.”
Hating to worry her or make her sad, he took her hand. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “You are the one who will pay the price. The surgeon set both bones and said you are to stay in bed for a week before you try to get up. The leg should not have weight on it for six weeks. He will bring you crutches when he returns, but that collarbone will make it difficult to use them.”
Daphne returned with Lila, a kitchen maid, who carried a tray with tea and soup.
“Thank you, Lila.”
Her dark blond curls bounced as she curtsied and ran back out the door.
It was more difficult than expected to spoon soup with his left hand, but he did his best. “Aunt Daphne, the staff at Riverdale misses you. Perhaps a visit soon is in order.”
“I always loved that house. We can talk about it when you are better. For now, I need to rest. I’ve taken up residence in Sophia’s old room. Very comfortable.” Cane in hand, she ambled out the door and down the hall.
The small amount of soup exhausted him. “I think I need to rest too, Momma.”
She took the tray away and put it on the table. “We will bring you more when you wake.”
On the third day of being awake and in bed, he couldn’t take it anymore. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he waited for the pain to ease before gripping the crutches. He couldn’t put much pressure on his right leg but managed to hobble around the room and get himself seated in the chair. He rang the bell for Wells.
Moments later the door opened. “I see you have relocated. Very good, my lord. How can I assist you?”
“There is a pile of paperwork on my desk downstairs and I’m sure a mountain of mail. Will you bring it to me here? I must do something besides sit and moan all day long.”
Wells stared for a long beat. “Is that wise, my lord? You are barely out of bed.”
Despite his butler’s stoic demeanor, the man cared about him, and it warmed Anthony to know it. “I don’t know how much I can do, but if I get through one scrap of paper a day, at least it’s better than nothing.”
“Indeed. Is there anything else?”
“I would like to see Captain McCormick. Can you send word to the docks and see if you can locate him?”
Wells frowned. “I will do my best, my lord.”
The mail appeared less daunting than the pile of papers. He sorted through it and found one small envelope with Sylvia’s familiar hand. Heart pounding, he broke the seal.
My Dear Tony,
I hope you are recovering quickly. Please believe that when you hurt, I hurt in equal measure.
I came to see you, as your good sister informed me of your injuries. However, I was told you were in no state to see anyone and could think of no way to explain our relationship to your mother and aunt. In fact, I have no explanation for it myself.
Not hearing from you in London, I thought perhaps your feelings for me had changed, which would be completely within your rights. I do not deserve your regard. It was then I received Sophia’s letter telling me you had been injured.
Worrying about you has become my only comfort, and I would dearly appreciate some word about your progress. That said, I am extremely vexed with you for risking your life so nonchalantly. Can you know how precious you are to so many people, and still have done something so reckless? I’m certain your mother and aunt have already scolded you, so I will let that be the end of my reproach.
I imagine you are not able to get around, and perhaps you would like to hear about how the rest of your house party went. You may be assured the guests all had a grand time, but without their host, they left two days early. We did play pall-mall as planned on the day you received the missive that drove you to London.
Sophia and Daniel stayed to the end of the week, but Serena, Mrs. Horthorn, and I returned to London. It appears as if Lord Stansfield will offer for Serena any day, and we have had a long talk with Mother. She is amenable if not enthusiastic. It is thanks to
you that we will celebrate Serena’s happiness. My gratitude is immeasurable.
On the morning you left Riverdale, I learned something about my mother and about myself. If ever we meet again, perhaps I can share that revelation with you.
I thought you might be interested to know that I have decided against giving up my secondary employment. I enjoy it, and against the advice of a well-respected friend, I shall continue to take pleasure from the process. Though, a name change might be in order, a suggestion from another good friend. You may keep an eye out for juicy tidbits.
I’m sure you have had quite enough of my ramblings. Please know that I wish you a quick recovery and pray for your health daily.
Affectionately,
Your Sylvie
She was in his house. She had come to see him. Heart pounding harder than it did when he’d run into the sinking ship, Anthony read the letter again. Could it be that her worry over his regard meant that her feelings had changed? Hope blossomed inside him as he read her closing over and over.
He rang for help and a footman.
Sean arrived. “I’m sorry, my lord, Wells was unavailable. Can I help you?”
“Will you ask my mother to come in?” It would be awkward, but he could barely lift his right arm, let alone try to write a letter.
“Mrs. Braighton went out for a while. Her ladyship is reading in the study, shall I get her?”
Anthony groaned. Perhaps he should wait for another alternative. “Did my mother say when she would return?”
“I cannot say for certain, but she said something about tea with an old friend.”
“Please ask my aunt if she would be so kind as to help me pen a letter.”
Deciding what to write in response to Sylvia’s letter, that would be appropriate for his aunt to know about, was impossible.
The door opened, and Aunt Daphne came in preceded by her cane, which she waved in the air. “I have come to write your letter. To whom are we communicating?”
Sean brought a tray with parchment, ink, and pen, then moved a small desk and chair closer to where Anthony sat. “Will there be anything else, my lord?”
“No, Sean. Thank you.”
Once the door was closed, Daphne sat at the desk and dipped the pen before looking up at Anthony for instruction. “So, what is your salutation?”
Good Lord, this was punishment because the agony of two broken bones was not enough. “The letter is to Miss Sylvia Dowder.”
One curved eyebrow lifted high on her forehead. “The girl from Everton’s?”
“Yes.”
“Are you planning on hiring her again?”
His internal groan made its way to the surface. Maybe he should wait for his mother or contact Miles. A terrible idea. None of his options were good ones, and no matter who helped him, the embarrassment would be severe. “Aunt, this is difficult enough. Might I ask that you write the letter and not ask me too many questions?”
She harrumphed. “Shall I begin with ‘Miss Sylvia’?”
“Dearest Sylvie.”
“That is completely inappropriate, and a lady of virtue would be highly insulted. She deserves more respect. Just because she is in service of a kind does not give you leave to lose your manners.” Daphne put the pen down and watched him.
He closed his eyes. This was never going to work out the way he intended. He would have to answer, but not in the way he had hoped.
Daphne picked the pen up and dipped it in ink. “You might try, ‘My Dear Lady.’ That would be appropriate.”
He struggled not to roll his eyes. “I see your point. My Dear Lady. Thank you for your letter. It came at just the right time to occupy my mind as I recover from my injuries. Please be assured your worry is unwarranted. I am fine and will make a full recovery.”
Daphne scribbled the last word. “I shall sign it ‘Grafton’ and post it immediately. It was kind of her to write regarding your health. I have always liked that girl, good head on her shoulders, not too much of a nitwit.”
“I like her too.” Anthony wanted to tear up the letter and wished he had the energy to do so.
“Perhaps you should offer for her. She is not titled, and there would be no money from the family, but you are rich enough. Of course, there is that mother of hers, but all women become idiots when they are trying to marry off a daughter. It stands to reason that a woman with twin girls would become twice as idiotic when they come out into society.” Daphne stood with the help of her cane.
“I may do so. Thank you for your thoughts.” It was easier to agree without personal commentary. His pain increased the longer he sat up, and every move became agony.
“I’m going to send Wells up to help you back to bed. You’re pale as a sheet.” She strode from the room, leaving the door open.
Grasping his crutches, he pulled himself to the edge of the chair and stood on one foot, found his balance, and hobbled to his bed.
Wells ran in. “My lord, you should wait for help. If you fall, it will be disastrous.”
“All this mollycoddling is driving me to Bedlam. If you will take the crutches, I will get myself into the bed.”
Taking the crutches, Wells said, “I understand, my lord. However, if you need help, I hope you will ask for it.”
Painfully, he pushed himself with one leg and one arm into his bed and closed his eyes. “I will. It must be time for me to rest, Wells. See that I’m not disturbed for an hour or two.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and, Wells, see if you can find me a copy of the most recent Weekly Whisper newspaper.”
Both the butler’s eyebrows rose. “I’ll see what I can do.”
It was not the same as seeing her, but even a little slice of Sylvia was better than none.
* * * *
Anthony had never begged for anything in his entire life, but four weeks after his injuries, he pleaded to be allowed to go downstairs. He was an earl but felt more like a six-year-old boy. “If you don’t let me out of this room, Mother, my next stop will really be the madhouse. I have stared at these four walls for weeks.”
Mother bristled. “You could fall. Then all this time healing will be for nothing.”
“Wells!” Anthony’s holler shook the walls.
Stern as always, Wells stepped inside Anthony’s prison. “My lord?”
“You will help me down the steps. I will use the railing and your shoulder for stability.” He handed Wells his crutches.
Daniel walked in. “I will help you, Tony.”
Smiling like a woman coming into a ballroom rather than an argument between mother and son, Sophia said, “Then Daniel will help you into our carriage.”
“Sophia!” Mother gasped.
“You cannot keep him cooped up here forever, Momma. He needs to get out of this room and this house. Daniel and I will take Tony to the country, where we will care for him, and he will get some fresh air and finish his healing. We have a fine doctor near Marlton, and I have already contacted him with regards to Tony’s well-being.”
Anthony had never loved his sister more than he did at that moment. “Bless you, Sophie. Wells, pack my trunk. Get Sean to help you. We will leave within the hour.”
“You will be in agony bounced around in a carriage for two days.” Mother might have been right, but it would be worth it.
He hopped across the room, stopped next to his mother, and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me. You have been a perfect nurse. You and Aunt Daphne are angels, but now it’s time for me to go.”
Daniel steadied Anthony when he wobbled on one leg. “I have had the carriage re-sprung and added pillows, so the ride should be better for you, Tony. We will wait on your trunk and be ready to leave.”
Wells was already hard at work packing his master’s clothes and personal items. Sean brought everything over. Ant
hony was happy to have won the argument regarding dressing that morning. His casted lower leg looked ridiculous next to his other, and he could only wear one boot, but the cast would come off soon. “Wells, be sure to pack my other boot. I will need it before we return.”
“That’s the spirit,” Daniel said. “Let’s get you out of this room.”
Putting his hand on his brother-in-law’s shoulder, Anthony wished there were words to convey the magnitude of his gratefulness. “Thank you.”
Daniel grinned. “I can imagine this has been trying. We would have come sooner, but little Adel had a cold then passed it on to Charlie. We canceled all our plans and stayed at home until they were well.”
“You are here now, and I was in too much pain to be moved earlier. Your timing is excellent.”
“You might tell your sister that. She has been fretting for weeks.”
One step at a time, they hobbled and hopped down the curved stairs until they reached the marble foyer. Anthony sucked in long breaths. “Perhaps a rest and a small meal before we depart.”
Helping him to the parlor on the left, Daniel nodded. “I’ll see what the cook can put together on short notice.”
Sophia sat next to him and hugged him. “You didn’t answer my letters.”
Struggling to lift his right arm, he managed to raise it almost to his chest. “I have been unable to write much and used what I could do for business matters. It’s getting better. Another few weeks and I can respond to all my mail.”
“Did Sylvia write or come to see you?”
“Why do you ask? Have you spoken to her?”
“I thought she would contact you once I told her about your injuries. I have only had a minimum correspondence with her. When the children were ill, I had to postpone her visit, so she took a new assignment. Also, she is helping her mother and sister plan a ball to announce the engagement.”
“She did come, but Momma sent her away. She wrote, but I had to filter my answer through Aunt Daphne, of all people.” It came out with more bite than he would have liked, but he was at the end of his wits from both his separation from Sylvia and his confinement as an invalid.
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