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“I can. If you would be good enough to close the carriage door, I think it best that you see to your own injury as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir. I’m most grateful.” He pushed the door closed, wincing at the loud slam.

Samuel started up the steps leading to the front door.

“You carry me as if I weighed nothing,” Miss Dennington murmured. “Mrs. Chesterfield’s eyesight is not . . . not so good as it used to be. Perhaps if she looks out of her window, she will think you are a new tailor bringing a gown for Elinor.”

“A gown with legs and feet,” he said.

“Oh, yes.” She winced. “There is that.”

“Do gowns come with legs and feet these days?” he asked. It was a ridiculous question, but he’d rather her be fully awake when the butler opened the door to the sight of him carrying the servant’s bloodied mistress.

Her brows came together as though she were unsure. “Not that I know of.”

He chuckled, and she moved her head from where it had been buried against his chest to see him more clearly. “You are teasing me.”

“Possibly. But it is a fair exchange for the interrogation I shall receive the moment I walk into your house with you in this manner.”

She managed another small smile, and it made him wish he could see her in full health, her hazel eyes clear of confusion and glistening with laughter.

“At least . . . at least you are prepared,” she said.

“Indeed.” Raising his foot, he tapped the door three times with his toe. “For all the good it will do me.”

The door opened almost immediately.

The butler’s polite expression changed to concern the moment he set eyes on Samuel’s load. “Miss. Dennington!” He stepped back, allowing Samuel to enter.

“Miss Dennington is in need of a doctor,” Samuel said. “Would you send for one straightway?”

“Yes, sir.” The butler looked to Miss Dennington.

“Please do as Mr. Ross asks, Romford,” she said. “And f-find my sisters.”

“Right away, miss.” He disappeared down the hall, his shoes beating a clipped tattoo as he walked.

“Your bedchamber,” Samuel said. “Where is it?”

“Up the stairs. T-to the right.”

Miss Dennington’s lack of protestation told Samuel more about her current state than any words could have done. She was spent. Protocols no longer mattered. He could only hope that her family members would feel the same when he delivered her to her bed.

He took the stairs two at a time, reaching the top in short order. A maid exited a room and stared at him with wide eyes.

“Miss Dennington’s room,” he said. “Which one is it?”

She glanced from him to the young lady in his arms. Miss Dennington’s eyes were closed, but the blood on her gown must have persuaded the girl that this was an urgent matter.

“This way,” she said, hurrying across the hall and opening another door. “I’ll pull down the bedcovers and light the fire.”

Vaguely aware that the bedspread was a blue-and-white floral print and that sheer white fabric hung from the four posters at each corner of the bed, Samuel gently lowered Miss Dennington onto the softest bed he’d ever had occasion to touch. Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared at him with a glazed look.

“You are home,” he said. “In your bed.”

The clatter of running feet reached him from the hall. Seconds later, two young ladies burst into the room. Of similar build and height to Miss Dennington, one had fair hair and the other auburn.

“Hannah!” The fair-haired one reached the side of the bed first. “Oh, my dear Hannah! What has happened to you?”