Miss Smith handed him the small glass laudanum. Sam set it aside. He’d take it after he finished eating so the wretched flavor of the laudanum wouldn’t spoil the taste of his food. He hated the stuff, but he was not foolish enough to think he didn’t need it. Not yet, but soon, he swore to himself.
“Miss Smith, will you fetch me paper, ink, and a quill?” Sam asked as he finished his food.
“Certainly, my lord.”
“I should write to Miss Blakewood and give her a proper greeting since I am lord of the house but too feeble to leave my bed. It’s been two years since I’ve seen her, I think.”
“Miss Blakewood is already causing a bit of a stir,” Petrov said. “You’d think the footmen had never seen a pretty woman before.”
“Woman?” Sam scoffed softly. “She’s hardly more than a girl. Blakewood will have their bollocks on a spit if they so much as look at his sister twice.”
Petrov chuckled. “They’ve already been warned, my lord. If you write a letter, I will deliver it myself.”
“Oh, so that order you will follow?” Sam teased.
“Of course. It does you no bodily harm to write a letter.”
“Are you certain? Shouldn’t you ask Amelia first? Holding a quill might strain my reserves of energy. If I prick my finger I could bleed to death. Again.”
Petrov mumbled something in Russian and Sam smirked. He shouldn’t annoy his own valet, but he had nothing better to entertain himself, and it was their habit to banter back and forth. Petrov had been around since before Sam was born. Petrov would be more concerned if Sam weren’t acting like himself.
Miss Smith brought the paper and quill with a fresh bottle of ink. Sam pushed his plates aside and dipped his quill in the ink. He stared down at the blank paper. Perhaps if he wrote a novel while he was stuck in bed, he wouldn’t succumb to insanity or pester Petrov into an early retirement. He could write about a man shipwrecked on an island with cannibals and a well-endowed widow. But that could wait. What would he say to Blakewood’s sister?
She had to be what? Sixteen? Seventeen? He couldn’t recall. She hadn’t come out yet, of that he was sure. Blakewood would have been pulled away to do his brotherly duty, and no doubt Sam would have participated and helped keep her dance card full.
Dear Miss Blakewood,
I am thankful that you made it to London safely and that you’ve come to Alston House. Please feel at home here as if it were your own. As Blakewood is now married to my sister, I suppose that makes us family. Have you need of another brother? I do come with references.
I’m sorry I cannot welcome you properly. I’m confined to my bed for the immediate future. I took a fall from my horse, and my rib is broken, and—
Sam tickled his chin with the quill’s feather. He didn’t want to disgust her with talk of his guts and whatnot. He crossed out the last bit and ended the sentence.
Sam looked down at his ghastly scar. Women would be frightened of it. He remembered something Blakewood had said about Daisy and her exceptional needlework.
A surgeon, Dr. Sloan, repaired my internal injury. I am a medical marvel, he says. I will be featured in textbooks and medical histories. Though his stitching is rather sloppy. He could have used your expert talent with a needle. Dr. Sloan is residing here to document my recovery. If you see a tall, dark-haired man lurking in the halls, avoid him. If you see a short, dark-haired man lurking in the halls, avoid him as well. They are not dangerous, but they are exceedingly strange and arrogant. Spare yourself.
Come and sit with me if you feel so inclined. As I remain abed and bored to near death, you may as well dazzle me with your sewing mastery.
Alston
“Sand and deliver this, will you, Petrov? I’ll need a clean shirt and breeches when you return,” Sam said.
“Of course, my lord.” Petrov left to deliver Sam’s letter.
“Bollocks, I want to stand to piss,” Sam muttered to himself.
Miss Smith jumped to fetch the shallow pot.
Blast it. He didn’t think she’d heard him. “No, I want to stand. I need to move, however limited I may be, or my limbs will forget how to do so.”
Miss Smith looked around, but Petrov was gone, which meant Miss Smith was left alone to help him. Which would have been fine if she didn’t seem to tremble every time at the very idea of touching him.
Sam sighed. “I’ll wait. No need to have an apoplexy.”
She fisted her hands, and her shoulders straightened. “It’s my job.”
“It is obvious it bothers you.”
