Before the earl could answer, Randy piped up. "No, but you may get an interesting scar from that one. I sliced my arm on a broken branch last year. Hurt like the Devil, but I got the best scar." He started to roll up his sleeve.
Catherine thought about the days she spent dreading infection, and dropped down beside the earl.
"It doesn't look so bad," she said soothingly, but whether she meant to reassure the boy or his uncle, she couldn't say. "It will need some attention, though. Cleaning and bandaging. An application of honey may be in order."
"Honey?" the earl and the duke asked in unison.
"It aids healing. I don't know why, but it makes infection less likely. Dark is best if you have it. I can send some, if you don't."
"I saw a surgeon use it in the Peninsula once. Does it work?"
She cast him a sardonic eye as if to say, Of course it works, you looby.
"Ever so well," Randy interrupted. "And Catherine will give you a spoonful when she's finished dressing the cut. That's the best part."
Catherine did not intend to dress it. "Not I, the earl. We're going home. Now."
"You can't. I need your help." Chadbourn lifted his nephew into his arms, and Catherine rose to her feet. "Come along." He started for the Hall, but Catherine stood fast. She stared up at the imposing façade of the old house and felt her stomach clench. The earl turned to see why she didn't follow.
"Miss Wheatly, we need your help. You obviously know more about cuts than I."
Don't these people have servants for that?
"You know more about boys, too, I think," the earl went on.
A boy needs more than servants and bandaging when he's been hurt.
She turned to her brother. "Randy, fetch Freddy, and the two of you go directly home. I expect to find you there shortly, and I'll be wanting an explanation for what happened."
"There's nothing to explain. His Grace climbed the fence after me, and he slipped. It wasn't my fault."
"Home. Now." He left, head hanging.
Catherine took a steadying breath.
"Will you come now, please?" Chadbourn urged. She fell into step beside him, feeling like a cow in the vicar's parlor in her plain dress.
I don't belong here.
Chapter Five
Will looked his fill at Catherine bent over his nephew, and smiled to himself. The line of a woman's back surpassed the grace of any cathedral, he believed. At least this woman's does.
He found her gentle competence oddly compelling, also. They had laid Charles on a sofa in the tradesmen's parlor, while Will had shouted for cloths, hot water, and honey. She had cleaned and bandaged the wound in short order, all the while encouraging the boy and quieting his fears. Her strong hands wrung out the cloths she had used into a basin, before she handed both the basin and rags to a waiting footman and rolled the sleeves of her simple dress back down.
Will watched her smooth back Charles's hair, and longed to feel those strong, gentle fingers in his own. When she kissed the boy's cheek, he felt a wholly inappropriate surge of desire. He ought to be concerned for his nephew, not lusting after his extraordinary neighbor.
"Will I get honey? Randy said you would give me some," Charles reminded her.
"Of course!" Catherine answered with a chuckle. She reached for the honey pot. "You were very brave."
"I was, wasn't I, Uncle Will?"
Will didn't answer, lost in the woman's husky voice. That voice would reduce a man to begging.
"Uncle Will?" Charles repeated.
"Yes. You were very brave," the earl murmured.
