With a nod, she returned her focus to the injured maid. She did her best to soothe her worries, saying, “People fall down the stairs every day. Nothing to be embarrassed of, really. I cannot count the times I’ve ‘come a cropper.’ ”
Morla met her eyes. There was no malice or judgment in her gaze, only pain and fear. “ ‘Ee, ma’am?”
“Certainly! Once, when I was still learning to manage my hoops, I tripped down the steps in the churchyard. Half of my village saw my petticoats and drawers!” She smiled and the girl laughed. “I limped home with a warped cage-crinoline, but eventually someone else did something silly, and my embarrassing moment was forgotten.”
Cassandra hoped the tale eased the maid’s nerves. If not, it had distracted Morla long enough for the doctor to arrive.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Wade and Cassandra returned to the drawing room, while the pitiful maid was trundled upstairs on a stretcher. There was little anyone could do for Morla now.
Wade sank down onto the sofa, reaching for his lukewarm teacup. “Dr. Goff is well-respected hereabouts. He is a good doctor…and a skilled surgeon, should matters come to that.”
Cassandra blanched. “Please, not another word!”
Broken bones could be set, but they rarely healed properly. Too often, infection or fever set in. At best, the patient suffered numbness, arthritis, and crippling of the limb. Wade had known of more than one hunter in the field who’d begged for amputation in the face of life-long agony.
He turned to the woman he loved. “How did you know what to do?”
“Hmm?” she asked. She was, perhaps, in shock, herself.
“Down there, on the landing. The way you took charge, gave orders, and consoled the girl. You were a general on the battlefield commanding your troops, and they followed you without question.”
Wade had been genuinely impressed by her compassionate capability. Cassandra Staunton had a warm heart, a deft hand, and a backbone most men would envy. He asked again, “How did you know what to do?”
“I didn’t,” she said, drinking her whiskey-laced tea. If she had not needed the fortification before, she’d certainly earned it now. “I merely imitated what I’d seen the railway workmen do whenever there had been an injury during construction—keep the victim warm, keep them calm, and try, if possible, not to let them realize the extent of the damage.”
Accidents and even deaths had been common occurrences in the dales. Wade remembered learning of the blasts from Simon, who’d taken each loss of life to heart.
Bringing the railway to Longstone had impacted Cassandra in so many unfortunate ways. The most beautiful Staunton sister was not as sheltered as she believed…
“I’ve seen your churchyard,” he said, calling her on her fib. “There are no steps.”
At that, she smiled softly. “I had to think of something, Wade. The truth of the tale was far less embarrassing. In reality, it happened to Honoria, and she fell at home wearing my hoops. I was the only witness, and we had a good, long laugh about it.”
She’d devised a story of her own embarrassment in order to make a servant feel better—a servant who had shown her nothing but contempt. The residents of Pender Abbey did not deserve such an understanding,forgivingmistress.
“You were made for this,” he said.
She nodded, for her skill at household managing came as no surprise to her. “It’s the life I’ve always wanted.”
Wade was glad to help her attain it.
His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Tremaine. The butler stood in the drawing room doorway, waiting to be acknowledged. “Dr. Goff, Your Grace.”
“Send him in.”
The doctor was a portly fellow on the wrong side of middle age. Bald, save for the most magnificent set of whiskers cascading down his chin. He cut a striking figure about the village, and his presence in the scarlet drawing room was no less impressive.
Dr. Goff bowed to the duke, and then inclined his head toward Cassandra. The doctor’s eyes never left that beautiful lady perched so prettily upon the sofa.
She smiled with all the cheer she could muster after a difficult afternoon. Dr. Goff was a man of the world. He understood her purpose in the household.
“Tell us, doctor,” Cassandra said, “How fares Morla?”
“Morla? Oh, yes—the maid!” It seemed the good doctor was struck dumb by Miss Staunton’s pretty face. “She suffered a fracture, which I’ve set. She should not lose the leg, though it may pain her for the rest of her life. At any rate, the child ought to keep off it for two months whilst the bones knit.”
A furrow of worry darkened Cassandra’s brow. “So long?”
