“In a manner of speaking.”
“Were you robbed?”
“Only of my dignity.”
Carenza placed her hands on either arm of the chair and stared into his eyes. “What. Happened?”
“I had an unfortunate collision with an umbrella.”
Her expression changed. “Someone hit you? Not Miss Cartwright.”
He looked at her.
“You didn’t attempt to—”
“Damnation, Carenza! What do you take me for?”
She raised her eyebrows.
“I don’t go around forcing myself on innocents!” He briefly closed his eyes, but that made things even worse. “As she got out of the carriage, the end of her umbrella caught my head.”
“That doesn’t make much more sense than your first answer, but I’ll allow it because you are obviously suffering.” Carenza gently raised his chin, angling his face toward the light. “Head wounds always look worse than they are because of the blood.”
“That’s correct.” Mrs. Mountjoy spoke as she came to look down at Julian. “I’ll clean out the wound, and then we’ll see if we need to call a physician.” She washed her hands and rolled up her sleeves in a rather ominous fashion.
“You are a physician,” Julian grumbled.
“Not according to the law,” Mrs. Mountjoy said. “Women aren’t supposed to be capable of such advanced thinking.”
His breath hissed out as she cleaned the wound with rather too much vigor for his liking.
“It’s a remarkably small cut,” she announced.
“You sound disappointed, ma’am.”
“I was quite enjoying the thought of stitching the wound. I’ve not had much practice recently.”
“That’s hardly a good advertisement for your skills, Mrs. Mountjoy,” Julian grumbled. “I have a terrible headache.”
“I’m not surprised.” Carenza gently stroked his hair. “Perhaps I should take him home in my carriage?”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Mrs. Mountjoy said. “And make sure you put him straight to bed.”
Twenty minutes later, Carenza descended from her carriage and approached the front door of Julian’s town house. She’d visited the house only once, when he’d first moved in and held a party to celebrate. Even though she was a widow, it still wasn’t acceptable for ladies to visit unmarried men at home without a chaperone.
She knocked on the door and waited until the butler opened it.
“May I help you, Lady Smythe-Harding? If you are after Mr. Laurent, I regret to inform you that he isn’t home.”
“I know exactly where he is,” Carenza pointed at her carriage. “He’s in there. I’ll just go and fetch him.”
The butler followed her to the carriage and peered inside. Julian was propped in the corner, his eyes half-closed, his clothes ruined.
“Mr. Laurent! What happened!”
He opened one eye fully and regarded his butler. “Don’t shout. I’m perfectly fine. I just had a little run in with an umbrella.”
“Can you get out of the carriage yourself, Mr. Laurent, or do you require our assistance?” Carenza asked.
