Chapter 2 #3
“You are not well at all.” He spoke before he thought and was greeted by stony silence from the lady.
After a long moment, she spoke. “It is only a scratch, and I am a soldier’s daughter. I am quite accustomed to looking after myself and knowing whether I am well or not. Now I beg you, let me continue on my way.”
“Of course, Miss Barrow. Please accept my apologies.” He stepped back to wait for her to rise.
But when she did, she collapsed again with a gasp of pain. “My ankle…”
Richard approached her once again. She cowered back but did not demand his withdrawal, and so he continued. Kneeling at her feet, he stretched out one hand. “May I?” He indicated her injured ankle.
Her jaw tightened and her face became a stony mask, but she nodded and settled herself upon the ground to allow Richard to examine her foot, even as he was aware of the slow, measured breaths she was surely using to maintain her composure.
Miss Barrow wore shoes rather than boots, and her skirts were short enough to allow him access to the injured joint.
His fingers prodded at her ankle as he felt up and down, and then gently rotated it in his hand.
She winced once or twice, but made no complaint as he continued his examination, breathing in and out with deliberate steadiness.
At last, he rocked back on his heels. “I feel no break. I am no doctor, however, and would urge you to speak to the fort’s medical man. Please allow me to assist you as we return.” Her icy gaze did not soften, but she nodded. “Let me help you stand.”
Carefully he shifted to his feet and then guided Miss Barrow to hers, all but lifting her bodily as she did so. She balanced on her one healthy foot and then, leaving much of her weight on his arm, tried her ankle again. She grimaced and gritted her teeth.
“I believe it will do if we move slowly enough.”
Carefully, step by step and with many stops for rests, they made their way back to the busy grounds before the fort.
As they approached the fields before the enclosure, a small group of workers raised their heads from their tasks to see Richard aiding the limping young woman and hurried over to assist. Before long, Miss Barrow was seated in a make-shift litter, there to be carried to her father’s suite of rooms and, presumably, to the doctor’s care.
“May I call upon you later to ask after your health?” Richard asked as the men began to move.
He did not hear her reply, but he did see her nod. “Until later, then, Miss Barrow.”
Now that she was safely returned, he had another task to undertake. He made his way to the stables by the main entrance to the fortifications and asked after the head groom.
“Was there a soldier who returned here about an hour ago? His horse might have been sweaty from great exertion.”
But the groom gave him a blank stare and shook his head.
“No, sir. Nothin’ like that. No one’s come in or gone out all day.
Drilling inside, they are, not riding about.
” He blinked with wide, too-innocent eyes, and Richard did not believe a word the man said.
But pressing him would get nowhere. There was no point engendering antagonism from someone whose assistance he might well need any time he wished to go riding.
He made some polite comment and strode back to the fort, there to straighten his garb and prepare to look in on Miss Barrow.
It was several hours later when he knocked at the colonel’s door.
Mrs Barrow let him in and showed him to her daughter, who was seated at an angle on a settee in the small parlour, her foot resting on the seat before her.
She smiled at him, the first friendly look he had seen upon her face since their ill-fated meeting earlier in the day.
Richard bowed. “I have come to ask after your ankle.”
The young woman gestured to a chair across from her. “Thank you, sir. Major Jameson—he is the staff surgeon—examined it earlier and is confident it is not broken, merely twisted. I must rest today, but afterwards I may walk on it whenever I feel able.”
“I am glad to hear it.” His smile was genuine. Despite Miss Barrow’s suspicion of him, he held no antipathy towards the lady and wished her well.
She turned from him for a moment, and her face flushed red. “Thank you,” she breathed at last. “I am one to be self-reliant, but I know I could not have made it back here without your help.”
“Even the strongest of us need assistance from time to time,” he replied with what he hoped was a kind smile. “There is no shame in accepting help when necessary. I think no less of your capabilities for it. There may well come a time when I shall rely on your strength.”
These words seemed to satisfy her, and she smiled again. While she was no great beauty, her smile was pleasing, and Richard hoped she would one day bestow it upon him again.
“Would you care for some tea, Lieutenant Colonel? The kitchens sent up some cakes. Please join us.” Her invitation was born of pure civility rather than a real desire for his company, he was certain, but Mrs Barrow pressed him as well, and he found himself agreeing.
A young maid—a local girl by her accent—came in with a tray, and the three were soon settled around the low table, each with a cup of tea and a plate of surprisingly delicate almond cake.
“Our kitchens are best suited for feeding the scores of soldiers,” Mrs Barrow explained, “but the cooks can turn out a pleasant treat from time to time.”
Richard did not stay for long. Miss Barrow must wish to rest, and he did not wish to incur her disapprobation once more. He expressed his wish for her continued recovery and said his goodbyes, hoping to see her again soon, and in perfect health.