“Are you harmed?”
“I am not certain.” Blythe pulled herself up, took a deep breath, then took a step before she winced and stopped. “I believe I may have injured my ankle.”
Seth climbed the stairs and swept her into his arms before carrying her to the front parlor where he placed her on the settee then lifted her skirt slightly to examine her ankle. Already it was starting to swell.
“George!” he yelled for the butler who appeared almost instantly. “Send for a doctor. My sister has suffered an injury.”
“What doctor?” Blythe demanded, almost in a panic.
“The same doctor we always call for,” he responded.
“I have not had cause to see a physician since before I left London.”
He had not needed one in years either.
Seth turned to his butler. “Who do we call?” he asked.
His butler frowned. “I do not know, Lord Seth.”
Blast! How could they not have a doctor?
“Is there someone you would recommend?”
“I have had cause to visit Dr. Xavier Sinclair. He keeps an office in Covent Garden.”
“Send for him,” Seth ordered.
“If he is not available, I will ask if Dr. Orlando Valentine can call.”
“No!” Blythe squeaked. “Anyone but him.”
“Very well,” George answered. “If not Dr. Sinclair, then we will find another, suitable doctor.”
“Why do you have an objection to Dr. Valentine?” Seth knew him, as he and his brothers sometimes frequented The Emerald Garter.
“He was at Waterloo,” she said quietly.
With that answer, Seth asked no more questions because Blythe would not talk of time following the drum and that was the battle where her husband had died. As she wished to avoid the memories, he would not force them on her.
“You do not need to remain with me,” Blythe insisted after George had left. “I know you intended to call on Miss Hawthorn this afternoon.”
“I will not leave you alone and I want to know what the doctor says of your injuries.”
“It is simply a twisted ankle,” she promised.
“You do not know that and you will not get rid of me so easily.”
Blythe rolled her eyes and leaned back against the pillows. “Then the least you could do is pour me a brandy.”
He grinned and crossed to the sideboard and did as she asked, also pouring one for himself. After he placed it in her hand, he returned to the library to retrieve the letters from his father and Wesley and handed them to her.
With each letter, Blythe frowned further until she had finished reading them all.
“Why do you suppose they want us home?” she asked with concern.
“I do not know. I suppose my question is, will you be accompanying me when I leave for Laswell?”
As the afternoon grew late, Frances became anxious and quickly realized that she was experiencing the same excitement and anticipation, and also worry, as when she had waited for Seth to return to the cottage.
