* * *
The physician arrived at Ashbourne by three.
The ankle was badly sprained, not broken. It required rest, elevation, ice brought up from the ice house, and, the physician added with a pointed look.
“I will make sure of it,” Isadora declared firmly.
“I will rest,” James said at the same time.
The physician looked between them.
“I believe one of you,” he said pleasantly, collected his bag, and then left.
“I am perfectly capable of—” James began.
“Resting,” Isadora interrupted. “Yes. That is what you are capable of at present.”
“I have a report to review with Henderson.”
“Henderson will manage by himself. You will stay in bed.” She straightened the blanket at the foot of the bed. “Do you need anything before I go and speak to Mrs. Holt?”
“I need the report on my desk.”
“You do not need the report.”
“Isadora—”
“James.” She pinned him with a look. “I am sure you cancelled today’s plans for the fair. You are simply looking for reasons to stress yourself. You are in bed. You have a sprained ankle. The estate will not crumble overnight.” She picked up the pile of papers he had produced from the bedside table. “I’m taking these.”
“Those are mine.”
“They will be returned when the physician says they can be returned.” She tucked them firmly under her arm. “Sleep.”
He looked at her like he had several other arguments available and was assessing which would be most effective, but she left before he could use any of them.
She came back at eight to check on him and found him asleep.
This was surprising. As far as she had observed, James did not surrender to sleep easily or early. He was usually the last person to retire; his study lit long after everyone else had gone up.
He was lying on his side, one arm thrown loosely across the pillow, his face slack in repose. His shirt was still loose—the valet had not quite finished dressing him after the physician arrived—and open at his throat.
She should leave.
She checked the ice. Replaced it. Checked the fire. Adjusted it. Then she sat in the chair beside the bed for a moment to make sure he was sleeping properly.
The moment stretched.
She had not slept much the night before. She was, she acknowledged privately, tired. The chair was comfortable. The room was warm. James’s breathing was slow and even, and she was simply making sure…
She woke to grey morning light and the realization that she had slept in a chair. Her neck confirmed it.
She straightened, blinking, and found James awake.
* * *
James had been awake for perhaps ten minutes when she stirred.
He had woken in the early light to find her in the chair beside his bed, and he had not moved since. He had lain very still and simply watched her.
