“Milord!”
He collided with something much softer than the pathway, caught in its folds as he crashed to the ground.
“Milord, are you all right?”
The frantic feminine voice in his ear roused him from the shock of his fall. “Miss Worthington?” Theodore braced his hands to push himself off the ground, only to realize that she was between him and the path. Outraged, he rolled to his right, freeing her. “What are you doing, fool woman?”
“Trying to prevent you from further injuring yourself.” She huffed. “Since you would not heed my warning about the rock.”
Beside him the sounds of her rising were apparent. Theodore lay blind and stunned on the ground, uncertain which of the many avenues flooding his mind to pursue. Anger seemed obvious, a cover for his humiliation.
“You ought to have said there was astonein my path. A rock implies something small, negligible.”
“Rock and stone are synonymous. Why would I have mentioned it if it were negligible?” Exasperation punctuated her every syllable.
She had a point, though he was reluctant to admit it. He listened as she shook out her skirts and presumably brushed dust from them—dust from the hard ground she had landed on.Because of me.
“Are you injured?” he asked, reverting to the gentlemanly course he ought to have chosen first. It was likely too late for that now when he’d been behaving as anything but one.
“You wouldn’t care if I were,” she said, her voice quavering again as he had heard it that first day in the library.
He wondered how he had ever assumed she was an older woman. Just now he could hear only youth and vulnerability and sorrow in her voice.So much sorrow. And he had caused at least a little of it.
“I would care.” He sighed wearily, tired of the world as he now viewed it—blindly, through only a lens of mistrust and fear—and mostly tired of himself for the cad he had become. War did terrible things to a man, but he was no longer at war, and he needed to cease acting as if he were and stop blaming his poor behavior on his experiences there.
“Youare hurt, aren’t you?” Her skirts brushed his arm as she leaned over him.
Theodore shook his head. “I am well enough.” He hoped. The sutures in his legs had long since healed, and with her cushioning his fall, it was doubtful any further harm had been done internally. Theodore leaned forward and sat up, then lifted each leg so that his knees were bent. He turned toward Miss Worthington, keenly aware of her hovering presence. Oddly, it did not bother him. He did not sense her pity, only a true desire to help if needed.
“Would you like me to bring your chair closer?”
“Yes, please.” There it was, that quality that Mrs. McNeil had spoken of—a sense of knowing what one would request before he requested it. Only now, he did not find it so odd, but rather he appreciated that she had not tried to pull him up herself or run screaming for help.
“If you’ll hold it for me, I can get myself into it again.”
“It’s right here.” She took one of his hands and braced it on the wheel. “This is the right side, as it is facing you.”
“Thank you.”
Her hand lingered on his a second longer. “I apologize for my surliness. The fall did hurt, but that was no reason for me to be cross with you.” She released his hand and stepped away again.
She had every right to be cross with him when he had been nothing but irritable with her since their first meeting. Theodore clenched his hand over the wheel, curling his fingersaround it in an attempt to shake off the effects of her touch. It had been almost affectionate, and he fought against his warm reaction, against the desire to feel her hand on his once more. Miss Beatrice Worthington was not Violet. Nor did he yet trust her. Perhaps it was she, and not her cousin, who was the accomplished actress.
“I’m ready when you are,” she said.
Theodore nodded. This was not going to be pretty. He could imagine well enough how repulsive his awkward movements might seem to her.Good.That might end her scheming if she’d thought to take Violet’s place.
“You have a lovely garden here,” she said as he began to position himself. “I haven’t had too much time to appreciate it, but the wildflowers are simply breathtaking. Your garden isn’t like most of those I’ve been to in England, with precisely trimmed hedges and pruned bushes, with not so much as the tiniest branch out of place. There is a wildness to the plants here. A more natural and simple beauty. Take those clusters of dark pink flowers growing against the wall over there...”
She prattled on about the plants she’d encountered in the past week, describing them in detail—clearly focusing on them instead of him—all while he struggled to pull himself into the chair. It was a process, maneuvering himself in front of the chair with his back to it, then using his arms to lift himself onto the seat. Twice he tried and failed. She said nothing each time but continued her litany of botanical observations. Instead of finding it irritating, he found himself grateful—and fully aware that she was doing her best to take the attention off him during his struggles.
At last, he was settled. He leaned his head back and would have been staring up at her, were his eyes not bandaged. “You can stop now, Miss Worthington. Though I appreciate your efforts at making an awkward situation less so.”
“Was I that obvious?”
He chuckled. “Only a little.”A lot.And he appreciated it.
“Well, youdohave a lovely garden.”
