Eleanor had yet to see Morrison anywhere near Aubrey's injuries since his arrival yesterday evening.
He appeared promptly at dawn to lay out Aubrey's clothes, clothes the man couldn't wear. He materialized at teatime to discuss the morning's correspondence. He hovered nearby during meals, ready to adjust pillows or fetch reading materials. But the moment Eleanor arrived with bandages and water basins, Morrison developed a remarkable talent for urgent business elsewhere.
"His lordship requires fresh cravats pressed."
"I must inventory the wardrobe."
Eleanor had given up on the man-child. Both of them.
She knocked softly, then entered without waiting for permission.
Behind her, Mary carried fresh linens and bandages. Mrs Williams had offered to assist, but Eleanor had refused. This was humiliating enough without witnesses.
Aubrey was exactly where she had left him at four in the morning, propped against the pillows, except now, he was staring at the ceiling. He glanced in her direction, and his jaw tightened when he saw her, but he said nothing.
"I've brought water for bathing," Eleanor said, her voice admirably steady. "And fresh bandages for your dressings."
Still nothing.
Mary set down the linens and fled with the haste of someone escaping a firing squad. The door clicked shut behind her.
Eleanor set the basin on the bedside table and arranged her supplies with meticulous care. Soap. Flannel cloths. Towelling. Bandages. Salve. Each item gave her a few more seconds to steel herself for what came next.
"I suppose," Aubrey said finally, his voice tight, "there is no point in arguing for a male attendant."
"No servant can be trusted not to gossip." Eleanor kept her eyes on her preparations. "And I’ve seen everything already. I shouldn’t have been so nervous the first time. It’s quite… unremarkable."
"Unremarkable," he repeated, his face unreadable. "I suppose you’d know the difference."
Eleanor turned to face him despite heat rushing to her neck. She folded her hands behind her back to hide their trembling. "I’m uncertain what you mean but trust me. I see it as nothing but an appendage."
Aubrey’s eyes met hers intently. She internally crumbled at the disgust she saw there but refused to react. Whatever he felt, whatever he was thinking, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hurting her more than he already had.
She moved to the bedside, willing herself to meet his eyes. "I shall endeavour to cause you as little pain and embarrassment as possible. I would ask that you extend me the same courtesy."
A muscle in his jaw ticked before he closed his eyes, lying perfectly still.
Eleanor picked up one of the cloths and dampened it. Her hands trembled predictably as she lifted the blanket off his lower body.
She drew a breath, steeling herself for what had to be asked. "Before we begin... do you require the chamber pot?"
"No." The word came out sharp. Aubrey's face flushed. "I rang for a footman earlier."
Relief flooded through Eleanor so powerfully she nearly swayed. "I see. That is... that is good."
A beat of awkward silence.
"Your nightshirt," Eleanor said, forcing herself back to the task at hand. "Can you... or shall I...?"
Aubrey's face flushed. "I can manage the upper portion."
He tried to pull himself up. Failed. Gasped with pain and fell back against the pillows, breathing hard.
Eleanor did not ask permission. She simply leaned forward, slipped her hands beneath his shoulders, and stuffed more pillows behind him until she could lift him more easily. Her face was perhaps six inches from his, close enough to feel his heat and smell the laudanum on his breath mixed with something distinctly masculine.
She looked away quickly, focusing on helping him work the nightshirt over his head.
His chest was bare now. Broad shoulders, well-muscled as she had suspected. Dark hair scattered across his sternum. A body that might havebelonged to a Greek statue, if Greek statues came with spectacular bruising down the left side.
