Effie sighed. Changing her friend’s mind was a hopeless cause.
Tristan waitedfor the physician and the nurse to finish making Rowan comfortable in his bedroom at home.
The fatigue of the past two days and the worry had the surprising effect of silencing his nervous twitch although he wouldn’t mind a visit to The Octagon just to forget about the world.
George fussed around the bed, straightening cushions and pulling the curtains. His red-rimmed eyes were a testament to his love for Rowan.
“All done, my lord.” Dr. O’Neil collected his tools and bottles from around the bedroom. “I’ll visit Lord Rowan every day and make sure the wound is healing properly.”
“No sign of infection so far, right?”
“Not one.”
“Lord Rowan will be able to walk normally, won’t he?” George asked.
Dr. O’Neil hesitated. “The surgery was extensive, and the shrapnel damaged the bones, tendons, and muscles. But Lord Rowan is young and strong.”
Too young to deal with such a terrifying situation. Tristan cursed again his decision to take Rowan with him.
George’s clenched jaw proved the answer wasn’t to his liking.
“I’m sorry I can’t give you any guarantees.,” Dr. O’Neil said.
George swallowed hard. “If you’ll excuse me, Tristan. I need to…”
Tristan patted his shoulder when his friend didn’t talk further. “Have a sip of that horrible brandy. It’ll fortify you.”
George kissed the top of Rowan’s head and hurried out of the room, blinking. Rowan remained silent.
The doctor bowed his head and left with the nurse, and Tristan was alone with his brother.
He waited a few moments before going closer. Rowan’s expression didn’t invite a conversation. His deep frown was likely similar to Tristan’s. Without the influence of the laudanum, Rowan’s discomfort with him had nowhere to hide.
“Are you in pain?” he asked.
“A bit.” Rowan leant back and stared at the ceiling. The harsh line of his jaw made him look older.
“I’m happy you’re at home.” He didn’t know what else to say.
Rowan turned his head towards the window. “She didn’t come, did she?”
“Who? Lady Effie? I’ll send her a message if you wish to see her.”
Rowan worked his jaw, looking surprisingly mature. “No, not her.”
“I see.” He sat on the edge of the bed and exhaled. “No, she didn’t come, nor did she send a message.”
“My name is in every newspaper. She must know.”
An insult towards Charlene, Rowan’s mother, remained trapped in Tristan’s mouth. With effort, he didn’t voice his thoughts.
He swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. “Yes. She must know.”
Rowan turned on his side, as much as the injured leg allowed him, and pulled up the cover.
“Rowan—”
“I’m fine. You can go.”
