She struggled a bit, but she brought it over to him and spread the screen in a semicircle around him. Sam dropped the blanketon the bed, put a hand on the screen for balance and took care of his needs then he covered himself again.
“I’m done.”
She folded the screen closed and put it back. If she was determined, who was he to stifle her courage?
“Can you help me put on a shirt?” he asked.
She nodded, her mouth set in a line. She fetched the shirt, and Sam raised his right arm, his pain minimal. But then he tried to raise his left arm. He couldn’t lift his arm higher than his shoulder without the muscles around his ribcage screaming. A string of curses left his mouth before he registered Miss Smith’s silence.
“Forgive me.”
“’Tis fine, my lord. How about we start with your left arm rather than your right?” She tugged his shirt off his head and carefully slid his left arm into the sleeve and over his head.
Sam was breathing hard, which worsened his pain, but it worked. His shirt was on. He was almost decent.
“Now my breeches, or we can wait for Petrov.”
“Unnecessary.” She was firmly focused now. She collected a soft pair of breeches and removed the chamber pot. She dropped to her knees before him. From Sam’s vantage point he could see the tips of her ears were bright red, but she held his breeches open for him to slide his feet into.
“Once they reach my knees, I can manage.”
She started to shake her head.
“I’m not an infant. Please allow me the dignity of pulling on my own breeches.”
She sighed in response and stopped at his knees. She turned away, and Sam carefully and slowly got his breeches under his arse and fastened them.
His clothing felt... heavy. He was tired already, and the pain in his side was growing.
“I’ll give you a thousand pounds to fetch me a glass of whisky.”
She cast a sidelong glance at him. “No.”
“Then a chair at least.”
She dragged a chair over. Sam stared at the wooden frame and leather seat. He reached for the back of the chair to steady himself and then cursed for reaching with his left arm like an idiot. He clutched his arm to his side and reached with his right, gripping the back, standing, and then turning to sit.
The room spun, sparkles filling his vision, but it settled, and he took a shallow breath of relief. “This feels good.” He decided then to wait a little longer before taking the laudanum he’d set aside.
She moved to stand in front of him and bent close, her eyes darting back and forth between his.
“No dizziness?”
“Only for a moment.”
“Good. Water?”
“Tea, please.”
Petrov returned and was startled as he caught sight of Sam sitting in the chair.
“Miss Smith assisted me,” Sam said.
“But—”
“She’s a nurse. She allowed it,” Sam said, defensively.
Her lips twitched as she handed him a cup of tea, and Sam considered that small, almost-smile a gift. This woman clearly lacked joy. Her story—even just the little glimpses of it he’d seen in their one conversation—was most certainly tragic. Whatever that story may be, it wasn’t his business, but he would tread carefully, and hopefully, she’d grow more comfortable.
