Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Algernon.”
Beatrice said his name tiredly. She knew he had not meant to make the midday walk tenuous. He wanted Henry and her friendship to grow, so certainly the gruff way he’d chastised his little brother no doubt came from a deep-seated sense of responsibility.
Right?
“This is not necessary,” she said with a sigh.
Seated across from her, Algernon’s head remained bowed over her hands in her lap, but his eyes drew up, and he raised a brow as his mouth remained in a grim line.
“It most certainly is,” his deep voice rumbled. “Infections are awful things, and the hands are one of the last places you would want them to be. Now, give me your right hand, please.”
It was not his words that ceased her complaining but the look he gave her. The look that said he was not going to go anywhere, and neither was she until his task was completed. Beatrice let out another tired sigh and placed her right hand into his large palm.
With care, he began to untie the black silk makeshift bandage and then began to unwind it. Beatrice hissed out a breath as the last bit of fabric pulled at the cuts on her hand, glued there by the droplets of blood that had sunk and then dried into the makeshift bandage.
Algernon did not look happy as it was—not that he ever was a particular ray of sunshine, but somehow, the storm cloud expression on his face darkened as he looked at the mess of tiny cuts.
“Imbecile,” he seethed under his breath.
“It was a thoughtful gesture,” Beatrice countered.
Even as she said so though, she turned her head away from her wounds.
She had felt the pricks of the thorns but had not bothered to inspect her own hands, thinking it was not so much a bother.
Now, though, as she briefly took in the many small cuts and sticky blood on her palm, her stomach grew queasy.
She drew in a deep breath, hoping it would help, but her nose, which had always had a strong olfactory sense, picked up the scent of blood; further making her stomach roil.
“So, you are going to a ball with Henry,” Algernon said, his deep tone wry.
She was not sure if he was trying to distract or if his timing was simply coincidental, but either way, she used it to pull herself away from the bout of nausea.
It was followed by the sound of water being wrung of a cloth, and shortly after, Beatrice’s body eased just a little as she felt wet warmth in her wounded palm.
She dared a glance back at Algernon. Once more, his head was bowed over her hands as they sat across from one another in her room.
She immediately noticed that the cloth was clean and white,.
a poor choice to clean up blood from her perspective.
The stains would be awful for the laundress to wash out, but she supposed that was not a matter for her to worry over anymore—now that she was no longer responsible for such chores.
“Is that not a good thing?” she asked as Algernon gently soothed the warm, clean cloth over the heel of her palm.
“I suppose it is,” he murmured, “if you truly want to go.”
Beatrice tsked her tongue as she smirked and shook her head.
“Since when have my wants been up for discussion?” she asked.
Algernon’s tender touch as he washed her wounds did not cease, but his eyes drew up to her again, and she regretted the poor joke she had attempted to make. There was sadness in his forest green eyes. Regret, too.
“Apologies,” she said softly. “I know what you have done thus far has been to benefit me. It is not your fault I was at the auction house. That lies solely on Simeon’s shoulders. I am very aware that had you not purchased me, my present situation could be much worse.”
“Do not do that,” Algernon rasped, his tone soft despite the obvious command.
“What?” she asked.
“Try to soothe my feelings over this… situation. What you went through was awful. And you are right. I have not given you many choices since I have brought you here.”
Silence seemed to spread over Beatrice’s room like a thick blanket that stretched to every corner.
It was not tense, yet it was not comfortable either.
Not know what to say next, Beatrice simply let herself be pulled under as Algernon so very carefully rubbed ointment into her clean palm and fingers then went to work binding her hand again with a clean, white strip of cotton fabric.
“Now let me have the other,” Algernon said, holding out his empty hand.
This time, Beatrice did not attempt to argue but instead simply placed her hand, palm up, in his hand, and he soon went to work on cleaning that one. In her freshly washed right hand, she began to feel a delightful tingle begin to spread from her wounds.
“That feels quite nice,” she murmured, holding up her white-bandaged hand.
“Mrs. Sheer has quite a talent with herbs,” Algernon explained.
Then to her surprise, a sudden smirk pulled the right side of his lips up, flashing her his teeth as his brows perked and he met her eyes again.
“I will have you know, she was just as infuriated as I was when I told her what happened,” he said with obvious pleasure. “She was ready to track Henry down and box his ears.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes at them both, but even so, she felt her lips pull toward a smile and her body relax.
“I presume she is perturbed that such wounds might affect my lessons,” she replied dryly.
“No,” Algernon said, pausing in his work. “She is perturbed because you are a sweet woman, and you do not deserve to be hurt by such carelessness.”
Beatrice blushed furiously at his words. He had said far more wicked things from far more wicked positions, yet for some reason what he said presently felt far more intimate.
“She… she sounds quite fond of me,” she managed to say.
Warmth glittered in Algernon’s eyes.
“We all are,” he answered. His tone felt like velvet over her skin. Warm. Soft. Intimate.
Their gazes remained locked for quite some time, and it was only when her lungs began to burn that Beatrice remembered that she was supposed to breathe. She drew in a deep, shaky breath, recalling how lovely it had been to snuggle into Algernon’s lap and fall asleep there.
Then a thought came, filling her with a sadness that she did not expect.
If things went successfully with Henry, she would never experience such a thing again. Not with Algernon at least. Would she feel the same comfort in Henry’s arms? Would he hold her as tightly as Algernon had?
“The cuts are many, but they are shallow,” Algernon said, breaking her from her thoughts.
“After a day of leisure, I see no reason why you could not go back to your lessons. You must be prepared for when you attend this ball with Henry. Even if you are going to perform this play as a mystery, people will speak of you if you make a mistake.”
Beatrice swallowed, watching the memories of that night blur and fade into nothingness as Algernon resumed cleaning her left hand.
“Yes, of course,” she agreed. “I need to be ready.”
“Mhm,” Algernon murmured, drawing his focus back to her hand.
“These costumes Henry spoke of,” Beatrice said, trying to push back the odd feelings threatening to take over her. “The way he way he spoke about them with such excitement. Do you think they will be… extravagant?”
Algernon let out a dry laugh as he began dressing her left hand with another clean, white bandage.
“With Henry everything is extravagant,” he told her. “Do not worry. It will most likely not be your mistakes the ton will whisper about the extravagance of your gown.”
Beatrice smiled, but it felt hollow.
Both her hands cleaned and wrapped now. Algernon rose from his chair and began gathering the bowl of hot water and dirty makeshift bandages onto a tray. Immediately she missed the warmth of his closeness and could not help but look at him.
“Thank you for tending to me,” she told him. “You could have told Mrs. Sheer or even Mira to do it.”
“They will have the responsibility tomorrow,” he stated, his words aloof and matter of fact as he picked up the tray. “I need to leave for Morcaster in the earl morn.”
Beatrice’s heart immediately sank upon hearing this, but she tried not to show it.
“Oh?” she asked, hoping she sounded nonchalant.
“I have business to take care of there. I do not know how long it will take,” he explained in the same tone as before.
“Do not worry though. My staff is very aware of our unwanted visitors from before, and they will ensure that they will not come again. I have also spoken to Henry, and he has reassured me that he will bring all of his seamstresses and such here to design your gown, so you will not have to go out.”
He paused halfway to her door and turned around with a smirk.
“My staff are also very aware of my insistence that you eat your regular meals,” he added. “They will alert me if you are not able to complete such a task.”
Beatrice was sure that he said such things to make a playful jab at her, but after the story Henry had told on their walk, she did not much feel like joking about it. Not now, not after knowing why it meant so much to Algernon that she eat.
“I will finish every meal,” she promised, meeting his gaze.
His smirk slowly slipped from his handsome face, and with his usual stoic expression, he gave her a nod.
“Sleep well, Beatrice,” he murmured then turned back to the door.
“You as well,” she softly replied.
Yet as she heard the door open and close, and she felt the sudden, pulsing loneliness in her room, she silently wished that once more, she could curl up on his lap to find sleep.