*~~*~~*
Richard was awoken by a gentle touch on his shoulder.
“Time to wake up, sir. Lunch will be served shortly. D’you feel up to it?” The efficient Charles was hovering with what looked like a bowl of steaming hot water.
“Umphh…” he blinked, disentangled himself from the linens and managed a nod. “Yes…yes, I’m better.” He put a hand to his head and felt the solid bandage. “I think I am, at least.”
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he glanced at the lad. “I’m very thankful for your care, Charles.”
The footman grinned. “My pleasure, sir. Not often I get to serve a gentleman, but the house is that busy right now with the preparations for Christmas, and clearing the snow, and all that…”
“Well then, if you would put that water down somewhere and undo this dratted bandage, I’d be most grateful.”
“Er…” Charles hesitated. “Mrs Trenchard…”
“Is, I’m sure, a woman of amazing talents and delightful disposition. But she’s wrapped me up like a china figurine about to be shipped off to Zanzibar. My head is a lot harder than that, and I refuse to lunch with a family I’ve never met looking like the victim of a pirate attack on the high seas.”
Charles burst out laughing, nearly spilling the water before he remembered himself. “Ooops, sorry sir.” The bowl went safely to the bureau. “Both of us will probably hear about this, but if you’d lean forward a little, I think I can manage it…”
As good as his word, the lad handily removed the offending cloth, leaving Richard feeling much better. “Thank you. That’s a decided improvement.”
“Got some clothes, too, sir,” Charles waved at the nearby chair. “You’re about the same size as Mr Ashe, so his valet found these, and said that they aren’t being worn anymore, so you should make use of them, just while yours are being cleaned.”
“That is very kind,” nodded Richard. “A shirt that isn’t decorated with…well, let’s just say I prefer plain white.”
“Can’t disagree with you there, sir. But there’s been plenty of blood shed in this house, and our maids are real clever at gettin’ it all out, nice and clean.” As if he’d just realised what he’d implied, Charles hastened to correct himself. “I mean, sir, accidents and all. You know, someone falls down and cuts a knee or something. Not like what you went through.” He gave a tiny shudder. “That’s a first for me.”
“Me too,” grinned Richard, carefully touching his head and pleased to note that it was now only tender, not painful anymore. “And I’d just as soon not repeat the process, which might happen if I’m late for lunch. So be a good chap and go away. I’ll dress and be down directly.”
“As you wish, sir. I could help if you’d like, someday I want to be a valet…”
“And a fine one you’ll make, Charles. But at this moment, I don’t actually need anything but an empty room.”
“Ah.” The lad nodded and took the hint. “Dining room’s second door on the right when you get downstairs.”
Richard smiled and waved him off, sighing with relief when he was finally alone.
Used to doing for himself, it took no more than five minutes to ensure he was refreshed and tidy, and that his wound was not showing signs of anything other than healing.
A clean shirt was, as he’d said, a delight. Apparently, Ashe Trease had good taste in clothing, since it was the sort of style and fabric he’d have bought for himself, if a tiny bit long in the sleeve. But paired with the cravat, and the lovely figured waistcoat, he looked quite the gentleman, especially when he finished it with the jacket, a fine wool in a green so dark it was almost black.
His breeches, thank God, were his own, obviously cleaned and neatened. Head wounds and stab wounds damaged upper garments more than lower ones.
Slipping on his boots, now polished to a shine they hadn’t had since the day he bought them, he glanced in the mirror and snorted out a laugh. Fine feathers, indeed.
Turning away, his mood sobered. He was about to face a difficult situation, complicated by the apparent presence of Sir Duncan Aylmer and Mr Blackstone. He would also be facing Holly’s family. How this muddled tangle would sort itself out, he had absolutely no idea, but one thing stuck to the forefront of his mind. Miss Holly Trease was definitely the most unusual and fascinating woman he’d ever met.
But what he was going to do about that fact—well, that matter would require some serious thought.
Chapter Six
In Which Lunch is Served, and No Dishes are Broken
Holly would never have admitted it, but she was somewhat nervous about the luncheon to come. The Trease family didn’t stand upon formalities, which was mostly due to Lady Hazel’s belief that a lot of it was utter nonsense, and she would rather dine alone than at a table where everything was frosty and correct.
But even so, Richard Hawkesbury was her responsibility. She, Holly Trease, had observed his attack through her telescope, she had been the one to drag him from the riverbank, get him to the Nook, give his wounds initial care, and also feed him.
All that, she thought, made her sort of in charge of him. And responsible for him as well.
