“Your Grace. How may I be of assistance?”
“Mrs. Simmonds. I found this lady unconscious in the forest. She may be hurt. Could you have a maid attend to her and make sure she is comfortable? I have sent the doctor.”
If the housekeeper found the story strange or wondered why he was in the woods, and how he had found a woman there at this hour, she didn’t show it. She was too discreet and well trained for that.
“Of course, Your Grace. I’ll do it myself. I’ll go find a nightgown. One of mine should do for now. Tomorrow we can get more garments.”
She left, and he set himself to study the sleeping woman again, now that he had better light, to see if he had missed any injury before. He ran his hands into her hair, feeling her head for any lump or cut that could account for her loss of consciousness. He found nothing, but her hair smelled wonderful, like some exotic fruit. In better light, she was even more stunning, and her clothing even more strange than it had seemed at first.
Before, he had assumed she was wearing men’s clothing. Some sort of disguise, which fitted with his theory that she was on the run. But upon closer examination, he realized her trousers were made of a fabric he had never seen before. They were dark blue, and faded in places, thick and strong, but also flexible, molding to her hips and thighs before flaring out at the knees. Peeling his gaze from that part of her anatomy, he examined her shoes. She was wearing boots, although they did not look like any ladies’ boots he had ever seen. They looked almost masculine. Made of black leather with no embellishments other than a logo imprinted in the leather, they had a thick rubber sole.
He then turned his attention to her torso, which proved to be a mistake because the way the fabric of her tight-fitting shirt molded to her body did something to his insides. Not that her neckline was revealing. Indeed, he had seen more skin exposed by the ballgowns of many society ladies... he cut off that train of thought. He was a beast. Here she was, a lady in obvious distress, unconscious, and he lusted over her.
Mrs. Simmonds returned at that moment, so he left her to attend to the lady of the forest.
“I will be right outside, Mrs. Simmonds. Please make her comfortable and let me know when you finish. Leave all her garments in the room, please.”
With that, he left, closing the door after him. He didn’t go far, though. He sat on a bench in the hallway and waited for Mrs. Simmonds to emerge. Try as he might, he could not fathom where she could have come from and what style of clothing she wore. He would bet she was foreign. Her features didn’t look quite English, although he would be hard-pressed to explain why.
But where was she from, then? He had traveled far and wide, throughout Europe and even to Asia and the Americas, had met people from many cultures, and he had never seen anything like what she wore. Intriguing...
The door to the bedroom opened, and Mrs Simmonds stood there wearing a bemused expression. “I put her in a nightgown and tucked her into bed. I also built up the fire and left all her clothing draped over the chest at the foot of the bed. Is there anything else I can do? Bring her some hot broth or tea? Do you want me to keep watch over her until the doctor arrives?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Simmonds. That won’t be necessary. I will keep watch over her. You may return to your rest.”
The housekeeper bowed and left. He moved one of the deep comfortable chairs by the fireplace next to the bed, sat on it, and contemplated her. Her hands caught his attention this time. Slim and elegant, they looked so delicate. Compelled by an unknown force, he reached out and grabbed her hand. It was so cold. He rubbed her hand between his to warm it up. It felt like a fragile little bird trapped in the cage of his much larger hands. Little by little, her hand warmed up. He should let go of it now, but the handclasp felt so right, he was loath to break the contact.
A knock on the door.
He released her hand, as if caught in a forbidden act, then took a calming breath, and bid, "Enter."
Mr. Harris, the butler, entered, followed by the physician.
Dr. Roberts was in his late sixties and boasted a white head and beard with a grave but warm disposition. He cared for his patients and often provided his services for free to those who could not pay. He had been the doctor in this village since before Avondale’s birth, and Avondale trusted the man with his life at both a personal and professional level
Avondale shook the physician’s hand and showed the woman on his bed. “I found her unconscious in the forest near the road.”
Dr. Roberts raised his eyebrows at that, but refrained from making any comment. With the calm assurance of one who is used to dealing with disease and injury, he went to see the patient. Avondale retired to the far corner of the room to give them privacy.
The doctor checked her pulse, temperature, and then, frowning, pulled out a strange tube with a bell-shaped piece at one end and placed it against her chest, applying his ear to the other end as he listened intently while moving it around her torso and back. He continued his full examination. From head to toes, checking her throat, nose, ears, arms, hands. Even poking her with strange instruments.
Avondale could not stand to watch the doctor poke and prod her anymore, so he turned to the window and fought the urge to look over his shoulder at her pale, quiet visage once more. He knotted his hands behind his back, barely able to keep the air flowing in and out of his lungs.
What if the doctor could not help her? She seemed well, almost as if she were asleep. Even the color was returning to her cheeks as she warmed up. But she could have some grave internal injury. It surprised him to realize how much her wellbeing mattered to him, given he had only set eyes on her a mere hour ago. Yet now it seemed necessary for his sanity that she recovered.
He wanted to see the color of her eyes, hear her voice, and know her mysteries.
