Relief flooded through Eleanor so powerfully she nearly swayed. "Your valet?"
"Yes. A professional who can maintain proper discretion and dignity." Aubrey's jaw was set. "Thank you, but you need not concern yourself with my... intimate care. Morrison is perfectly capable."
Eleanor nodded, backing toward the door. "Of course. As you wish, my lord."
She escaped into the corridor, pressing her back against the wall, her heart hammering with something between relief and residual humiliation.
A valet. Thank heavens. She wouldn't have to—
The thought died unfinished, too mortifying to even complete in the privacy of her own mind.
Morrison arrived at half past six that evening, announced by Mr Davies with barely concealed concern.
"The valet from London has arrived, my lady. He is asking to see Lord Madeley immediately."
Eleanor found Morrison in the entrance hall, a slim man of perhaps thirty with an air of fastidious propriety that radiated from every carefully pressed seam of his traveling coat.
"Lady Madeley." He bowed with precision. "Morrison, my lord's valet. I came as quickly as I could upon receiving his urgent summons."
"Thank you for coming, Morrison. His lordship is upstairs."
"How severe are the injuries?" Morrison asked, his expression grave. "His letter was rather... vague about the particulars."
Eleanor felt heat creep up her neck. "Severe bruising to the hip, pelvis, and... and surrounding areas. Dr Fielding has prescribed regular cleaning and turning to prevent—"
"Surrounding areas," Morrison repeated slowly, his face paling slightly. "I see. And by that you mean..."
"The doctor was quite specific about which areas require daily attention," Eleanor said, unable to meet his eyes. "Perhaps his lordship should explain the details to you directly."
***
Ten minutes later, Eleanor heard the scream.
It was high-pitched, sustained, and came unmistakably from Aubrey's bedroom.
She picked up her skirts and ran.
Eleanor burst through the door to find Morrison swaying on his feet, one hand pressed to his forehead, the other clutching at the bedpost for support. Aubrey was sitting up in bed, the sheet pulled hastily over his lower half, looking somewhere between mortified and furious.
"Morrison, for God's sake—" Aubrey was saying.
Morrison made a small whimpering sound. "My lord, I... I cannot... the injuries are most..." He waved his hand in a vague gesture toward Aubrey's covered form, his face now completely bloodless. "This is beyond... I am not equipped... thedelicacyof the situation..."
"You're my valet!" Aubrey snapped. "You dress me every morning!"
"That is entirely different! You are usually vertical! And I can easily avert my eyes!" Morrison's voice had risen to something approaching a squeak.
"Morrison," Aubrey said through gritted teeth, "I am paying you—"
"My lord, I must insist on hazard compensation!" Morrison pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. "The psychological toll alone... I may need smelling salts. Do you have smelling salts? I believe I'm about to swoon."
"You are not going to swoon—"
Morrison swayed more dramatically. "I am definitely going to swoon."
"Mr Davies!" Eleanor called into the corridor. "Fetch the smelling salts from my room. Quickly!"
The butler appeared with remarkable speed. Clearly, he and half the household staff had been listening from the hallway. He pressed a small vial into Eleanor's hand, then retreated with equal haste.
