Chapter Twenty-Two
Jonathan slowly became aware that he was no longer lying on a badly padded old door and that instead, beneath him was a soft mattress of infinite comfort.
It had even succeeded in somewhat lessening the pain in his back and chest. Or at least he thought it had.
Trying to move, unfortunately for him, had the pain rushing back.
He opened his eyes. In the plural. Well, he opened his right eye fine, and the left one just a bit, but enough to allow light in.
“Don’t try to move.” A woman’s voice. Walter and Robert—where had they gone? And why did the woman’s voice sound familiar? And gentle. For a moment he was back in the nursery after he’d fallen out of that big chestnut tree and Nanny Jarvis was looking after him. But that voice was not hers.
With infinite care, as he didn’t want to set off the thumping in his head again, he turned his head a little to the right to peer at where the voice was coming from.
Verity was sitting beside the head of his bed.
A knitted shawl hung about her shoulders and her lovely auburn hair had been confined in a thick braid. Was that a peignoir she was wearing beneath the shawl? Was she in her night attire? For the life of him, he couldn’t think why she should be there. Most confusing.
His eyes, without him having to move his head, flicked towards the nearest window.
The room was lit only by a lamp standing on the bedside table and it seemed outside it must be pitch dark.
Nighttime. Hadn’t he already been through a night in that infernally uncomfortable carriage ride to nowhere?
Was it still the night? The same night? Might it being nighttime explain why Verity looked ready for bed?
But not why she was here, at his bedside, with a worried frown on her shadowy face.
He watched her wring out a flannel then lay it across his forehead. It was so pleasingly cool and refreshing he almost gave a sigh of relief, but just managed to stop himself.
She smiled gently, looking the prettiest he’d ever seen her with those escaping wisps of her lovely auburn hair about her face.
“You mustn’t strain yourself. You have a slight fever from the bullet wound, but the doctor assures me it will pass by morning if you’re lucky.
It’s only natural after an injury such as that. ”
The flannel cooled his hot skin.
How he wished his mind didn’t feel so jumbled. He couldn’t even remember where he was. Instead, he hung onto the one fact that seemed to be circulating repeatedly. Verity was his wife.
“We were a little worried my two cousins had administered too much laudanum to you on your way down here,” she said. “You’ve slept for such a long time, although that might be good for you. Your body needs time to mend.”
“Down here?” His voice came out as a croak.
Verity started, probably at the sound of it.
“You must be thirsty. Let me give you some water.” She got up and fetched a glass of water from somewhere he couldn’t see.
“Don’t move. Let me help you.” Before he even had chance to lodge a complaint, she’d slipped her arm under his head and lifted him just enough that he could sip from the glass she held to his lips.
Too thirsty to object, Jonathan drained the glass. That was better. His tongue no longer felt as though it was glued to the roof of his mouth. “Another?”
She helped him to a second glass. Seemingly the water had rejuvenative properties as with it percolating through his body, he began to feel slightly human again. Only slightly, but it was a start. “Help me up.”
She removed her arm and he sank back onto his pillows. “I’m not sure I should straight away. You are much battered about, you know. Your own doctor, a very capable man called Dr. Collins, said that in a few days he’d like to see you up and about. Which probably doesn’t mean the moment you wake up.”
He eyed her as realization began to dawn.
“I’m at Luxborough?” Of course he was. Even as he said it, the memory of Walter telling him that was where they were bound returned.
But then they’d given him more laudanum and he’d slept again after that.
His recollection of the journey down here was minimal.
Just a jumble of rattling wheels and creaking carriage springs and flashing images.
She nodded, her eyes serious. “Walter decided to bring you down here after you were attacked by footpads. He told me all about it while you were sleeping.” Her gaze slid down to his right arm, and his own gaze followed.
His arm appeared to be not only bandaged but also encased in a splint.
“It’s broken,” she said. “Both bones. Luckily for you those footpads chose to attack you right outside the house of a doctor. And even more luckily that doctor was brave enough to come out waving his pistols at them. Otherwise Walter says you would be dead. Him too, probably.”
Jonathan lifted his left hand and explored his face with wary fingers. Just touching it sent pain lancing through his head.
“Either someone kicked you in the face,” Verity said, as though tending to gentlemen with bashed in faces was something she was called on to do every day of her life, “or they hit you with something big. Several times. You’re going to have a terrible black eye.
But Dr. Collins applied leeches while you slept and the swelling has reduced considerably.
You may not want to look in a mirror for a while, but I can assure you, you look much better than you did when you first arrived here. ”
He made an attempt to raise an eyebrow, but this didn’t work. “Leeches? He did? I feel quite glad to have been sleeping, in that case.”
She smiled. “They were quite revolting, especially when pregnant with your blood. Not a thing I would recommend anyone witnessing. Not on their own bodies, anyway.”
He tried a return smile and failed at that as well. Far too painful. The fear that he might have lost some teeth arose so he did a quick check with his tongue. A miracle. They were all still there. “Do you know the details of my injuries?”
“Broken arm, gunshot wound that is producing this slight fever, broken ribs, much battered head. If I were you, I wouldn’t go touching the back of my head.
You have a rather large bump on it, and a scab.
You don’t want that scab coming off and starting the bleeding again. Be thankful you have soft pillows.”
He nodded. “Perhaps we could revisit my request for assistance. I would prefer to sit up, if only a by a small amount.” He nodded at his strapped-up arm. “And I fear that with this I won’t be much use in pushing myself into a sitting position.”
“I’ll call one of the footmen. They’re nice and strong.”
A footman arrived with alacrity.
Jonathan cringed a little inside that any of his staff should see him in such a state of helplessness, but there was no other way of doing this. “William, if you could just get me sitting up, please.”
William, a strapping young man who’d begun life in one of the estate farmhouses, turned out to be far more gentle than he looked.
He might have grown up used to handling recalcitrant cows and pigs, and even plough horses, but he now proved he could be gentle as a woman with a baby.
Although comparing himself to a baby was unattractive to Jonathan.
But at least now he was almost upright in bed.
He leant back against his plumped-up pillows, struggling to control his breathing as the pain throbbed from his toes to the top of his head. “Brandy, William. Fetch me my decanter from my study. Quickly.” He closed his eyes. That would lessen the pain, surely.
“No,” said a voice that had to be Verity’s but had taken on the authority of his first governess. “He’s not to have brandy nor any other alcohol, William. Off you go. I’ll deal with this.”
The sound of the bedroom door closing had Jonathan opening his eyes. He glared at Verity. “This is my house and if I ask for brandy I expect to get it.”
She glared back at him, determination spilling out of every part of her. “And I am your wife and in charge of your care. If I say you can’t have it, then you can’t have it. Believe me, it will not speed your recovery.”
Damn the woman, but he was weak as a kitten or he’d have thrown the covers off the bed and gone and found the brandy himself.
However, he had a suspicion that if he tried to stand up he might collapse in an ignominious heap on the floor.
And that would do nothing for his pride, as she wouldn’t be able to pick him up herself and would have to call for reinforcements.
Possibly two footmen and maybe Dr. Collins himself.
“I need it to dull the pain,” he muttered, loath to admit how much every part of him was hurting.
She fetched a small bottle. “For the pain you may have more laudanum. But not the amount Walter and Robert must have given you last night. It’s a wonder you didn’t expire from its effects.
Dr. Collins has indicated to me what a dose for a man your size should be.
It will help you sleep as well as dull the pain. ”
“Damn it, woman, haven’t I done enough sleeping?”
She chuckled. “Perhaps you’re right about that.
And I think if you’re amenable, some sustenance might be a good idea before you take your medicine.
I’ll send for something Mrs. Lovell has been preparing for you, and waiting up for you to wake up and need it.
Beef broth. It will do you good.” She said that as though she expected a protest.
Jonathan remained silent, however. He wanted to say that he’d prefer a plate of actual roast beef, but it would not have been true. Beef broth, much to his surprise, sounded ideal.