Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Will looked his fill at Catherine bent over his nephew, and smiled to himself. The line of a woman's back surpassed the grace of any cathedral, he believed. At least this woman's does.
He found her gentle competence oddly compelling, also.
They had laid Charles on a sofa in the tradesmen's parlor, while Will had shouted for cloths, hot water, and honey.
She had cleaned and bandaged the wound in short order, all the while encouraging the boy and quieting his fears.
Her strong hands wrung out the cloths she had used into a basin, before she handed both the basin and rags to a waiting footman and rolled the sleeves of her simple dress back down.
Will watched her smooth back Charles's hair, and longed to feel those strong, gentle fingers in his own. When she kissed the boy's cheek, he felt a wholly inappropriate surge of desire. He ought to be concerned for his nephew, not lusting after his extraordinary neighbor.
"Will I get honey? Randy said you would give me some," Charles reminded her.
"Of course!" Catherine answered with a chuckle. She reached for the honey pot. "You were very brave."
"I was, wasn't I, Uncle Will?"
Will didn't answer, lost in the woman's husky voice. That voice would reduce a man to begging.
"Uncle Will?" Charles repeated.
"Yes. You were very brave," the earl murmured.
When Catherine popped a spoon of honey into the boy's mouth, the adoration on Charles's face mirrored his uncle's.
"Chadbourn! Why didn't you come when I sent for you? Franklin told me those horrid boys imposed themselves on Charles. He said you ordered him brought to the stables, but I couldn't believe it."
Will spun around to see Sylvia leaning on the door-frame, breathing rapidly. He saw the moment her eyes found Charles and the white bandage around his right thigh.
"Dear God, what have you done to my son?"
She looked as if she might faint. Will stepped closer, but she proved to be sturdier than he thought. She pushed herself forward and fell to her knees beside her son. Catherine stood and moved away. Will put out a hand to steady Catherine, but she sidestepped him.
"My baby, what did they do to you?" She grabbed the boy's hand and patted it repeatedly. Charles looked like he wanted to pull it away.
"What have you done, Chadbourn?" Sylvia spat over her shoulder. "He may never be normal. He may never walk. He may—"
Will saw stark alarm on the boy's face. "Nonsense, Sylvia, it's a clean cut. He will heal up fine." He glanced at Catherine, who eyed the parlor door. He didn't want her to bolt. They needed to talk.
"Randy says I may get an excellent scar," Charles, relieved, put in with pride.
"Randy? We don't associate with any 'Randy.' Those horrid boys did this, didn't they? Emery was right to run them off. You will call the magistrate, Chadbourn. I insist on it." She continued to chafe Charles's hand, while the boy tried in vain to tug away.
"No, Mama," Charles insisted. "Randy didn't do anything. I climbed up the fence to watch Freddy and slipped. It was my fault, but Randy says he slips all the time, and I just need practice."
"Randy says? Randy says? What does he have to say about it? That lot at Songbird Cottage are not received, Charles. You will not go near them again. You will keep yourself to the schoolroom with dear Franklin." She hiccuped a sob. "We must send to London for a physician."
"You might want a physician or surgeon to look at it," Catherine said quietly to Will. "There is an excellent medical practitioner in Wheatton. I doubt he will do more than I, however. Until then, I recommend you keep it clean. Reapply honey when you change the bandages tomorrow."
"You let this woman touch my son? With honey?
We will send for Wetherby, of course. He will come from London posthaste, but this honey will horrify him.
" Sylvia rose to glare at Catherine. "She's from Songbird Cottage, isn't she?
One of them?" She didn't wait for an answer.
She lifted her chin and addressed Catherine directly.
"Get you gone. Stay away, and keep your sons away from mine," Sylvia spat.
Catherine drew herself to her full height and returned Sylvia's haughty look with one of her own. "I will gladly leave, and I will make sure my brothers know they aren't welcome here, as I had intended when I came."
She turned to Charles, neatly giving Sylvia the cut direct, her slight bow acknowledging the boy's title, for his mother's sake. The smile she gave him looked genuine, but strained. "I hope this scratch doesn't trouble you unduly, Your Grace. Don't let it keep you from enjoying the out of doors.”
“My lord," she went on, with a nod at Chadbourn, and strode with her long-limbed stride to the door.
"Miss Wheatly, wait!" She didn't.
* * *
Blasted snooty aristocrats. Catherine rounded the hall into Eversham's vaulted and, in Catherine's opinion, over-decorated, entance hall.
I'll be damned if I skulk out the tradesmen's door like a charwoman.
She refused to recall the last time she had come to this door.
Her half-boots pounded on the floor mosaics and echoed off the gilt cherubs on the molding.
She could hear the earl call for her to stop.
If he thought he could detain her, he was as big a fool as his ninnyhammer sister.
She reached the front door before he caught up with her. "Please don't go," he said breathlessly, putting out a hand.
She jerked her arm up so he couldn't touch her.
"Do you plan to throw me in the dirt?" she demanded, when she spun on him.
"What? No. I want to talk to you about Charles."
His sister treats me like dirt, and he wants to talk about her son? She scowled at him.
"I apologize for my sister. She is in a fragile state, and I'm afraid the sight of the bandages sent her wits begging."
"I doubt it. From the looks of the duchess's pupils, an excess of laudanum scrambled those wits long ago."
The pain in Chadbourn's eyes caught her. He must genuinely love the woman. He bit his lower lip; Catherine found herself captivated by the sight.
"My sister was not well served in her marriage," he said hesitantly. "The generosity of spirit she had as a girl disappeared." He looked directly at Catherine. "I can't seem to bring it back."
For a moment, he looked as if he meant to ask Catherine for help, as if she could heal the duchess's hurts, but he quickly came to his senses. "I'm sorry. I have no right to burden you with my problems."
She nodded firmly. "You wanted to talk about the young duke?"
He asked her briefly about wound care. He obviously knew more about it than he let on, but he asked, and she repeated what she had already told him.
"Try not to let that society doctor treat him," she added. "He will want to bleed the boy. That's their answer to everything."
The earl nodded. "I didn't plan to allow it. When do you think he'll be able to meet with the boys again?"
The question startled her.
"You have been here two months, and will be here two more. You must see that the breach between Songbird and Eversham runs deep. Let it rest."
"I will not. Charles needs boys his age. His cousins—I'm right that they are his cousins, am I not?"
She couldn't deny it. She nodded.
"His cousins can give him not just companionship, but the confidence he desperately needs. You have no idea how pleased I am he attempted to climb a fence, even if it didn't end well. He has had no chance to be a normal boy. I want that for him, and I'll have it."
He means it. This interfering earl is going to storm into our lives, upset Papa more than his bloody damned lordship can imagine, and then leave.
"Very well, my lord," she said. "Your nephew is welcome to visit Songbird Cottage whenever you like. However, under no circumstances will I, or my brothers, step foot here again."
Storm clouds again. "You should be welcome here," he ground out.
"We aren't, however—" The last time I came, only Papa's illness and desperation for his sake brought me. The duke set two footmen to toss me out the tradesmen's door. "—And obviously, that hasn't changed. I'll bid you good day."
The earl put a hand on Catherine's arm to hold her in place; she didn't expect it. In her agitation, she jumped, and he dropped his hand as if it burnt.
The earl's coffee-colored eyes bore into hers. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I saw the look on your face."
"My face?"
"Out there, by the paddock, when I asked you in. For a moment, you were afraid."
She didn't deny it.
"What did Emery do to you? Did he force you?"
The sting of her slap echoed through the house. "What do you take me for?"
He rubbed his cheek. "I take you for an innocent who has been badly treated by this house, damn it!"
Too angry to speak, Catherine struggled to catch her breath. She felt heat rise up from between her breasts to inflame her cheeks.
Chadbourn ran a hand through his unruly hair. "I'm making a muddle of this. I apologize if my concern gave offense."
"Accepted. May I go?"
"Of course you may. Stop acting like I'm coercing you."
He wasn't. Not really. Catherine urged herself to stop acting out a Cheltenham tragedy over it.
The earl heaved a great sigh. "Stay away if you wish. What I'm trying to do is ask for your help. With your permission, Charles and I will call on you when he feels better." His brown eyes pleaded for understanding.
"Very well, my lord. I wish you well convincing the boy's mother." She spun on her heel and left.
* * *
A few days later, Catherine watched the three boys make their way toward the orchard, Freddy and Randy skipping about, the young duke stiff and uncertain, but determined. Bertha, the dog, scampered around them. November had just passed into December, but the chill was slight.