“I am glad Dr. Andrews’ shoulder is in place,” the butler Andrews said as he gathered the whisky, the glass, and the basin. “I was worried we would not be successful.”
“So was I. Thank you again for your help. And for bringing the whisky.”
“That was clever of the boy to think of having you distract the doctor. I do not think the whisky alone would have done it.”
Arabella looked down and felt her face grow hot.
“But you should tell the coachman and the boy to stop calling you ‘miss,’ Mrs. Andrews. Someone might misunderstand.”
Arabella looked quickly at the butler Andrews, who had his usual grave expression on his face.
“I—”
“And I am glad to see you found your wedding ring sometime between entering the house two nights ago and yesterday’s breakfast.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Please let me know if your husband or you require anything else, Mrs. Andrews.” He laid the barest trace of an emphasis on the words “husband” and “Mrs.” and Arabella was not sure whether or not she had imagined it. But clearly, he knew that they were not married. The butler bowed and was gone, closing the door behind him softly.
She walked over to the not-stupid fool who was lying on her bed.
His eyes fluttered when she drew next to the bed and he reached toward her with his left arm.
“Come lie with me, darling.”
“This is very dangerous,” she said and sat on the edge of the bed on his right side, a few feet from him, out of his reach from where he was lying.
“Dangerous? Not at all. Ye are the one who keeps wantingmeto get in bed withye.”
“I quite like you when you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk.” He raised his head. “Why do ye say that?” He laid his head back. “Ye are awfully far away.”
“You’re acting drunk and you had four fingers of whisky in one go.”
“I’m a Scot. I’m a man.” He rapped on his chest with his left arm. “I can handle my whisky. I am, perhaps, tipsy. I meant, why do ye like me?”
“Why do I like you when you’re tipsy?”
“Aye.” He patted the mattress next to him on his left side. “At least come to this side of me, my good side, my good arm.”
But she did not move. “Do you really want to know?”
“Aye.”
“I’ll tell you and then I want you to go to sleep.”
“Aye.” And he yawned as if to show he meant it.
“Because you’re affectionate when you’re drunk.”
“Tipsy.”
“When you’re tipsy.”
“I’m always affectionate. With you. Arabella.”
“Go to sleep.”
