Page 17 of Maid for the Marquess

CHAPTER 7

ALEXANDER

Ihad never known a touch as tender and gentle. Or as comforting. From a battered bandbox, Madeleine produced some rags and a tin of liniment. The box was the only item she brought with her, and she had refused to part with it, sliding it under her skirts as she sat. I didn’t argue with her, already feeling dismay that her entire cache of worldly goods was in a case of such disrepair.

She turned her back, removing her gloves, not allowing her hands to be visible. She carefully set my leg on the seat beside her, pulling off my boot and inspecting my foot. I was shocked at the size of it and the large discoloration on the ankle.

“You are fortunate this did not break the bone, my lord,” she murmured, running her fingers over the hot skin.

I only grunted in response, unable to form words as she applied some of the ointment and began kneading it into the skin. I could smell the liniment, the aroma of herbs not unpleasant. Her touch was so light it didn’t bother me, and to my surprise, the pain eased slightly. There was a slight feeling of roughness to her skin, but I did not comment, assuming it was from years of toiling, and I did not wish to embarrass her further. I watched from under narrowed eyes as she worked. She had a small wrinkle between her eyes as she concentrated, and she hummed under her breath, a welcome sound in the carriage. I was certain she did not realize she was doing so, and I chose not to remark on it. There was none of her nervousness, or qualms about touching a strange man—she was determined and calm.

“Where did the liniment come from?” I queried.

“One of the servants had a mother who was a healer. I twisted my foot badly, and she kindly made it up for me. Between that and the bandages, it healed quickly.”

“Ah.” There was a healer in the village by Wheaton whom I consulted with from time to time.

“I had to hide it from my father.”

“The liniment?”

“All of it. The small rags I tore for bandages. The fact that I spoke with people in the stables. Or aided the servants.”

“Your father is the devil,” I stated mildly.

A ghost of a smile graced her lips, but she remained quiet, stroking her fingers gently along the injured area, never hurting, only soothing. She stopped and reached into the bag again, producing some rolled rags. She tied one around my foot so it was tight, but not painful. She handed me a small bundle of linen, and I opened it to find an apple, bread, and cheese nestled inside.

“You did not eat at the inn. I thought perhaps you would need sustenance.”

Something warm cracked inside my chest, leaking throughout my person. She was incredibly kind and caring. Sweet in her thoughts and gestures. Given the situation she had left behind, it was a pleasing surprise to discover that she wasn’t bitter and angry.

“Thank you.”

“Keep your foot relaxed and up,” she encouraged. “I believe that aids the healing as well.”

I munched the apple and ate the bread and cheese. I longed for a whiskey but knew that would have to wait until we reached Wheaton. Madeleine pulled on her gloves, then placed her things back in her bandbox, but as we hit another jarring bump, it fell from her hands, a few items falling to the floor and seat of the carriage. Some small pieces of paper fluttered in the air, and I pulled one down, examining it.

It was a sketch done in pencil. I was amazed at the detail in the small etching. How lifelike the petals and stems were of the flowers. I lifted my gaze, meeting hers.

“Is this your illustration?”

“Y-yes,” she stuttered.

“Have you others?”

She nodded, and I held out my hand. “I would like to see them, if you please.”

She hesitated and then reached into her bag, pushing a few scraps of rag paper into my hand. Each sketch was a delight for the eyes. Flowers, horses, a meadow. One of Lydia, the likeness so clear on the small scrap, it was as if I were staring at a portrait.

“Madeleine, you are talented.”

She didn’t respond.

I held up the minute pile. “Why on such scraps?”

“Only what my father discarded. I didn’t dare take a sheet from his desk. And I had only the very stubs of pencils to use.”

“I do not understand your father’s mind-set. Why you have been treated as a maid.”