Charlie lifted his arm, and Lucas saw that the shirt was torn and the arm was bleeding. Charlie’s panic and anger seemed to be fading but only just. Replacing those emotions was a mixture of shock and exhaustion. The corner of his mouth lifted as he looked at Miss Faraday. “It seems I may need your doctoring again, Lydia.”
The exchange of Christian names did not escape Lucas, but he could not focus on it now. He turned to Miss Faraday. “Will you find my parents?”
“They’ve left for the evening, an hour ago—a house party with some friends in Hampstead.” Miss Faraday’s eyes were wide. “They will not be home until tomorrow. I could have a servant call them?”
Charlie swayed, and Miss Faraday deftly stepped up and slipped her arm around him. “Come,” she said. “Lie down and tell us what’s happened.”
Lucas led the way into the drawing room, his mind briefly catching on the fact that, for the second time in a handful of weeks, his mother’s rug would likely be bled on. What had his life come to that his family members were bleeding in their own home? Where had he gone wrong to cause this?
Miss Faraday helped Charlie onto a dark damask chair, immediately kneeling beside him to pull back his torn shirt and inspect the cut.
Lucas crouched down beside them. “Who did this?”
“How would I know? Two thugs grabbed me before I could hail a hackney, roughed me up, warned me to leave the... Heavydoor Canals?”
“Heatherdown?”
Charlie pressed his eyes closed, grimacing as Miss Faraday pulled back more of his shirt. “Yes, that’s it.”
Miss Faraday stood. “I need to get supplies,” she announced then left the room in a hurry.
“What in the blazes are you wrapped up in, Lucas?” Charlie hissed.
“Nothing that should have come to this.” He’d never told Charlie to stay home. He was supposed to warn him, but he’d been so wrapped up in his own concerns that he’d forgotten. How could he forget something like that?
“Well, leave the blasted Heatherdown Company alone. I’m growing exhausted of being on the receiving end of pugilists’ blows.”
“Did they say anything else to you?”
“I don’t know, it was hard to hear with them boxing my blasted ears.”
“Charlie, this is serious.”
“Iamserious, Lucas! I’ve just been beaten up, man!” He groaned, leaning back. “Ah, my blasted ankle is throbbing.”
Miss Faraday came back in the room, not batting an eye at the two yelling men. She pushed between them, coming to her knees beside Charlie again. “This is going to sting,” she declared, giving him only a moment before she dabbed something onto his cut.
Charlie ground his teeth.
Lucas stood. “I need to speak with someone. You two stay here and do not leave.
Miss Faraday did not look up. Her eyes focused on Charlie’s cut, but concern colored her voice. “What do you intend to do?”
“Nothing dangerous. I will be back this evening.”
She nodded, and Charlie’s eyes were pressed shut. With one last look at the both of them—a look that sent frustration and anger coursing through him at what had happened to his brother yet again—he quit the room, calling for the butler to get him a horse.
Within minutes, he was riding for the club. Much as he’d held on to a desire to do his good quietly and secretly, apparently that was no longer possible.
Chapter 32
Lydia had finished patching Charlieup and helped him to his room, and now she was doing her best to tidy the drawing room with the help of one of the maids. Lady Cheltenham didn’t deserve to return home to the mess that they’d left—blood on the chair and rug, a vase knocked over in their haste, a pile of linens, and a table pushed aside.
Every so often, she glanced out the window. It would likely be hours until Lord Berkeley returned, but seeing the state Charlie had been in had Lydia worried for Lucas’s safety.
Which was silly. He was a pugilist—she’dseenhim in action and knew he was capable. Yet still, she worried. Should she call the Cheltenhams home? Yes, that was the next best solution. Though they wouldn’t get a message for several hours yet, they should be apprised of what was occurring.
“Do you need anything else, miss?” the maid asked, hovering nearby and sending nervous glances to the stained rug.
