She nodded firmly. "You wanted to talk about the young duke?"
He asked her briefly about wound care. He obviously knew more about it than he let on, but he asked, and she repeated what she had already told him.
"Try not to let that society doctor treat him," she added. "He will want to bleed the boy. That's their answer to everything."
The earl nodded. "I didn't plan to allow it. When do you think he'll be able to meet with the boys again?"
The question startled her.
"You have been here two months, and will be here two more. You must see that the breach between Songbird and Eversham runs deep. Let it rest."
"I will not. Charles needs boys his age. His cousins—I'm right that they are his cousins, am I not?"
She couldn't deny it. She nodded.
"His cousins can give him not just companionship, but the confidence he desperately needs. You have no idea how pleased I am he attempted to climb a fence, even if it didn't end well. He has had no chance to be a normal boy. I want that for him, and I'll have it."
He means it. This interfering earl is going to storm into our lives, upset Papa more than his bloody damned lordship can imagine, and then leave.
"Very well, my lord," she said. "Your nephew is welcome to visit Songbird Cottage whenever you like. However, under no circumstances will I, or my brothers, step foot here again."
Storm clouds again. "You should be welcome here," he ground out.
"We aren't, however—" The last time I came, only Papa's illness and desperation for his sake brought me. The duke set two footmen to toss me out the tradesmen's door. "—And obviously, that hasn't changed. I'll bid you good day."
The earl put a hand on Catherine's arm to hold her in place; she didn't expect it. In her agitation, she jumped, and he dropped his hand as if it burnt.
The earl's coffee-colored eyes bore into hers. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I saw the look on your face."
"My face?"
"Out there, by the paddock, when I asked you in. For a moment, you were afraid."
She didn't deny it.
"What did Emery do to you? Did he force you?"
The sting of her slap echoed through the house. "What do you take me for?"
He rubbed his cheek. "I take you for an innocent who has been badly treated by this house, damn it!"
Too angry to speak, Catherine struggled to catch her breath. She felt heat rise up from between her breasts to inflame her cheeks.
Chadbourn ran a hand through his unruly hair. "I'm making a muddle of this. I apologize if my concern gave offense."
"Accepted. May I go?"
"Of course you may. Stop acting like I'm coercing you."
He wasn't. Not really. Catherine urged herself to stop acting out a Cheltenham tragedy over it.
The earl heaved a great sigh. "Stay away if you wish. What I'm trying to do is ask for your help. With your permission, Charles and I will call on you when he feels better." His brown eyes pleaded for understanding.
"Very well, my lord. I wish you well convincing the boy's mother." She spun on her heel and left.
A few days later, Catherine watched the three boys make their way toward the orchard, Freddy and Randy skipping about, the young duke stiff and uncertain, but determined. Bertha, the dog, scampered around them. November had just passed into December, but the chill was slight.
After an awkward visit of several uncomfortable minutes, Chadbourn had enticed the boys with a suggestion they reenact some lurid episode of the Wars of the Roses. Even the young duke seemed eager to defend Lancaster or York. She wasn't sure which.
