Dora nodded. “The more we moved him while trying to change his clothes, the more his head bled. I had to change the bedding twice.”
“How is he now?” Cassandra asked in a tight voice.
Dora shrugged. “At least his head wound isn’t bleeding profusely.”
The clamoring of feet up the stairs had Cassandra turning to see who was in such a hurry. When Marybeth and Tabitha saw her, they slowed their pace. Thankfully, they carried the items Cassandra needed.
She pointed toward the room. “Take them inside.” She turned her focus on the housekeeper. “I will need you to assist me in washing Coll—um, I mean Lord Kentwood’s hair and bandaging his head.”
The gasps of her servants were louder than Cassandra expected, until she realized they had never met the man who had taken over Lloyd’s title. “Forgive me,” she explained, “but the injured man is Collin Worthington, the lord who has stepped into my late husband’s title.”
The maids exchanged wide-eyed gazes before walking into the room. And the driver and footman appeared very uncomfortable, as their stances shifted several times.
“So,” she continued as she walked into the room, “when the marquess wakes up, please address him with his new title.”
She ignored the mumbles of “yes, my lady” as she took the bucket of warm water from Tabitha and moved it to the side of the bed. Collin’s face was still very pale, matching the white men’s nightshirt that the housekeeper and the driver had dressed him in.
Dora helped gently move Collin until his head was over the bed. Marybeth laid towels around the area, helping to not get the sheets wet. As the housekeeper held him still, Cassandra washed his hair. The egg-sized swollen cut was on his forehead along his hairline. She prayed he would recover quickly without any lasting damage.
The sooner he was out of here, the better.
After ten minutes, they had Collin’s hair washed and mostly dried, and propped his head back on the pillows. His breathing seemed better now. At least he didn’t look like death warmed over.
She stood aside as the maids helped Dora clean up the dirty clothes. Once they moved away, Cassandra stepped back to the bed and proceeded to bandage his head.
She glanced toward the door. Tabitha and Marybeth stood against the wall, wringing their hands. Gritting her teeth, Cassandra knew why they were still here. They were going to try to convince her that they were needed in the manor. But shewould disagree. She would not put up with their insubordination any longer.
“The two of you are free to leave now,” she said, turning her attention back to Collin’s bandages.
“Um, Lady Kentwood?” Tabitha said in a shaky voice. “Marybeth and I would like to apologize—”
“I appreciate it,” Cassandra interrupted, “but I still want you to leave the manor.”
“Um, my lady?” Marybeth said with a catch in her voice. “The rain is terrible, and we don’t wish to travel with the roads so poor.” She cleared her throat. “We would like to stay until the storm passes.”
Cassandra held her breath while she calmed her ire. Perhaps she should be lenient with them for now. “Fine, but once the roads are free to travel on, you two will leave.”
“Yes, my lady,” they chimed softly.
Seconds later, Cassandra heard them leave and close the door. She breathed a relieved sigh. She would rather not have to look at them while they remained in residence, but at least she would spend most of her time taking care of Collin.
“Lady Kentwood,” Dora said. “Was that necessary?”
Cassandra nodded. “Indeed it was. I’m fed up with the rumors in this estate alone. My husband is gone, and it is time I was shown some respect.”
“Of course, my lady.” Dora sighed and folded her arms, looking at the unconscious man. “He had a nasty blow to the head. I hope he wakes up soon, but I’m certain he will be disoriented for a few days.”
“Well, rightly so.” Cassandra frowned. “Anyone would feel that way after being hit over the head with a thick tree limb.”
“I wonder who could have done such a thing.” Dora shook her head.
“I haven’t had a chance to ask Bentley what the man who was running away looked like. He just said it was a servant.” She looked at the housekeeper. “Do you believe it is one of our servants?”
Dora shrugged. “I wish I could tell you. If it was, maybe they didn’t recognize Lord Hanover…um, I mean Lord Kentwood.”
“No, I’m sure they didn’t know who he was, but it was clear by his clothes that he was a lord. So, why would a servant attack a man of nobility?”
“I hope you find answers soon.”
