“I’m not a bloody errand boy,” the earl said. “Where on earth is Cyril?” But he went out in search of arnica balm, nonetheless.
“Take her other boot off, too,” Maggie instructed, “and we’ll put her feet up high on a cushion. I know that helps with swelling.”
“Let’s stop fussing,” Eleanor said, even as Grayson lifted her calf and then set it down upon a pillow. His touch on her leg caused shivers to course through her, and she took another sip of brandy.
When John returned, Maggie said, “Why don’t you two gentlemen leave the room, and I’ll spread some balm on my sister’s ankle.”
“Maybe a cigar would be in order,” the earl suggested, “to celebrate your brave heroics.” His tone held a note of mockery, even as he clapped Grayson on the back.
With her gaze fixed on the handsome man who had indeed been her hero that night, Eleanor caught the warm glance Grayson sent over his shoulder before he left.
When the door closed, Maggie raised Eleanor’s hem and drew down her cream-colored stocking. “Do you love him?” she asked without preamble.
Eleanor blinked at Maggie. Then she recalled her sister’s honesty years back when she had disclosed her love for John Angsley.
“Yes.”
Maggie clapped her hands, and the gesture reminded Eleanor of herself. They smiled at each other.
“You approve, I take it,” Eleanor said.
“He’s a very fine man,” Maggie said. “With dash-fire and good looks, too, don’t you think?”
“I do, rather.”
Maggie smoothed the balm on Eleanor’s ankle. “It is rather plump along here.” She trailed her fingers where the skin obviously had fluid under it. Then she closed the earthenware pot. “And does he return your affections?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but I believe he has feelings for me.”
Covering Eleanor’s legs once again with her skirts, Maggie yawned.
“You should have seen Gray earlier. He literally ran out of here upon learning of your disappearance, especially frantic when he found out Cam had given you the book. He definitely looked like a man with strong feelings, including panic, I must say.”
Then she nodded at Eleanor’s chest. “What have you been holding onto all this time?”
Eleanor had been clutching the muddy glass jar for so long, first in the storm and then on the horse, she’d forgotten it. Even with her wet, filthy gloves on, her hands were cold and her fingers a little stiff as she opened them to release the jar, which was stoppered with a cork. She let it rest on her stomach while she peeled off her gloves and placed them onto Maggie’s outstretched hand. Then she picked it up again.
“It’s the treasure,” she whispered.
Maggie frowned. “You got caught in a storm and twisted your ankle for a jar?” She leaned forward, peering closely. “With a piece of paper in it?”
“Yes, though it was dark, and the jar was covered in dirt, so I couldn’t really see what was inside.”
“Well, shall we see what it says?” Maggie’s lovely eyes sparkled with curiosity.
Eleanor had a feeling it was something special, and for her eyes alone. Before she could answer, suddenly, Grayson’s voice came from the doorway.
“If you don’t mind, Margaret, the message is for your sister only. Would you allow me a moment alone with her?”
Instead of taking offense at being asked to leave her own drawing room, Maggie looked positively elated. Beaming her signature dazzling smile, known to bring more than one suitor to his knees, she cocked her head at him.
“You must treat my sister with the care and respect she deserves, Grayson. As long as you do, you may have as many moments alone with her as you like.”
She ran a cool hand over Eleanor’s forehead and leaned in to kiss her.
“You’re smudged with grime,” Maggie whispered, “and he’s still looking at you as if you were draped in silk and jewels at a ball. Strong feelings indeed!”
Eleanor raised a hand to her cheek.
