Chapter 11
Oh, she truly hoped that Percy was not too terribly injured.
She recalled how much pain she had been in after she had fractured her ankle and how she had not been allowed to move for weeks and then she was still limited to the use of crutches and then a cane.
The entire healing process took nearly three months before she could walk unassisted.
If Percy had to endure the same, at least he would be healed in time for the Season when he would not ask her to dance again.
She wanted to be angry with him, but not while he was in pain. Further, she enjoyed being this close to him. They hadn’t touched since he had removed her from his lap after so thoroughly kissing her.
What did he mean that her assistance was more than enough?
Did that mean he did not really need her? Or she was the only one he wanted?
Oh, she wished she understood and she hated these churning feelings of wanting to be angry with him for all the reasons she had stated, and the ones she had not voiced, and still loving him despite it all.
It hurt that she still wanted more than a friendship when that was all he cared to share.
Tilson hurried ahead and left the bag of mistletoe on the terrace and opened the door to the parlor where they found Miss Damaris, standing not far from the settee and wringing her hands with worry as Miss Chloe wrapped Claxton’s hand with a bandage. Beside her on the table were bloodied cloths.
“What happened?” Percy asked as Deborah led him to the opposite settee, where he lowered himself down and blew out a sigh. He kept his leg straight and she was concerned that he could not bend his knee.
“Miss Damaris stabbed me,” Claxton announced.
“It was not intentional,” Miss Damaris cried.
“She scalded me last night and thought to take my hand off today,” Claxton grumbled as tears filled Miss Damaris’ eyes.
“It was an accident. Both incidents,” Miss Chloe chastised.
“And the soup was not all that hot,” Percy added. “Not enough to burn.”
“It ruined a perfectly good pair of trousers,” Claxton complained.
While Deborah could understand him being bothered by the inconveniences, both had been accidents.
“I am truly very sorry, Lord Nevil,” Miss Damaris cried right before she ran from the room.
“How many lives did she claim in your former town?” Lord Nevil asked.
“None!” Miss Chloe pulled the bandage tight enough to make him wince. “It was an accident.” She then marched after her sister.
While she did not know Claxton all that well, and her encounters with him had been during the Season and rare, Deborah hadn’t thought him so difficult.
“You are being an arse,” Percy said.
At least she wasn’t the only one who had that opinion.
“I will apologize later, but that woman is a danger to herself and everyone near her.”
Tilson pressed a glass of brandy into Claxton’s uninjured hand then offered one to Percy.
“What happened to you?” Except Claxton’s question wasn’t directed at Percy, but more accusingly at Deborah.
“My foot slipped while I was climbing an apple tree and I slammed my knee against a branch.”
“I have asked the housekeeper to send for a physician to see to your hand,” Lord Jude announced as he entered the parlor, carrying fists of rosemary that he tossed on a table. “I still believe you need to have it stitched.”
He winced, but Deborah also wondered if he wasn’t correct since fresh blood already stained the recently tied bandage.
“He will also need to examine Lord Shrewsbury’s knee,” Deborah announced, then explained what had happened.
“I do not need a physician,” Percy complained.
“Prove it by standing and walking across the room,” Deborah challenged, which earned her a glare before he sipped his brandy.
Percy hated that Deborah was correct.
Well, not in her stating the facts, but angry that he might be stuck on this settee for the remainder of the holiday because of an injury to his knee.
He needed to be able to move around and court her because he was certain that she would not remain at his side, engaging him in conversation as he had done when she had fractured her ankle.
No doubt Tilson would take advantage of the situation to have her to himself, not that Tilson had any idea of Percy’s intentions.
Though, he could tell his friend and maybe he would step aside and not use the opportunity to further a potential courtship.
He truly hoped that there was nothing more than a bruise from which he would quickly recover. Just because there was discomfort now did not mean it would continue to cause him difficulties in the following days.
Soon after the others arrived with their evergreens and ivy, a tea service was rolled into the parlor.
While they may have noted his straightened leg, they were more concerned with Claxton’s hand and when the Simpson sisters, who had not been present earlier learned, they left to check on Miss Damaris.
And, while Deborah could have taken the opportunity to remove herself, she remained by Percy’s side and even moved closer so that another could join them on the settee.
“The yule log has arrived,” Wingate announced as he hauled it toward the fireplace with the assistance of Peter.
It was only when they turned and took in the room did they ask what had happened.
Claxton quickly explained that Damaris tried to stab him, even though he truly did not believe that was the case and knew that it was an accident.
Deborah then quickly explained about his knee because apparently it was not obvious that he suffered an injury as well.
“I had not realized house parties could be so dangerous. It is good that no further outdoor activities have been planned.” Wingate smiled.
“I see no reason why we cannot decorate while we wait for the doctor,” Wingate’s wife announced.
That was all it took for everyone to tie evergreens, ivy and rosemary together with ribbons and place them around the parlor, the entry, the drawing room and dining room.
Not that Percy could see everything being done, but he was told and could hear.
Tilson clipped mistletoe at a table and Deborah tied the ends with gay ribbons before Wingate affixed it at the top of every doorway.
Spices of cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg along with citrus filled the room when a bowl of wassail was delivered, to which Wingate added a good deal of brandy.
Several times Deborah asked if his knee still pained him and if she could get him anything, and Percy enjoyed the attention.
He might have even enjoyed it more if she hadn’t been standing beside Tilson putting together mistletoe to hang throughout the house.
Was Tilson planning on finding Deborah beneath one of those sprigs?
Still, she was first to retrieve a cup of wassail and bring it to him, then retrieved her own before she settled beside him on the settee.
“You are being kind when all you did yesterday was run away from me,” he commented quietly.
“I shall not abandon you in your injured state just as you did not abandon me.”
He had hoped that Deborah wanted to be by his side simply to be there and not because she was obligated.
Percy did not question her further but enjoyed having her there as he sipped the spicy hot beverage and listened to the conversations around them until the doctor finally arrived.
He first saw to Claxton’s hand, which did need four stitches, then examined Percy’s knee in the library behind closed doors because Percy dreaded climbing the stairs to his chamber since it had been difficult enough to limp across the room.
His knee had grown stiff and difficult to move.
And the reason he needed privacy was because he needed to remove his trousers so that the knee could be examined.
Percy groaned when he noted the slight swelling about the knee and the deep red in the center fading to darkening purple around the edges.
He could just imagine what the bruise may look like on the morrow since he recalled the various shades and changes from red to dark purple before there were greens, browns and yellows in his face after the beating he had taken from Peter.
But at least this bruise would be covered, and he would not need to hide away from everyone until it was healed because he had not wanted to explain.
It was bad enough that he endured looks from the patrons during the two days that he had remained at the inn before he returned to Deborah’s home.
Once he was in London, he was not home to anyone until the injuries had healed Well, except for Tilson, who had come to call just as he had arrived on his doorstep.
He had been the only friend or acquaintance who had seen him in that state, and he never did explain to his friend why his eye was still blackened and partially swollen or where the healing cut on his lip or bruising of his nose and jaw had come from.
“How long before I can walk without pain again?”
The doctor gently touched the top of his knee, causing him to wince from discomfort.
“It is not fractured but likely deeply contused, given your description of how the injury took place.”
Percy didn’t need a doctor to tell him that his knee was bruised. “That is not an answer to my question.”
“Your knee will likely remain stiff and painful for a sennight.”
That was too long to be immobile. He needed to be free to court Deborah and if she returned to avoiding him, as she had that first day, by walking away from him, there would be little he could do. Yes, he would follow, but he’d be at a much slower pace and likely not able to catch up to her.
Then there was Tilson who would be more than happy to escort her about.
“If you have a cane or crutch, you could move about, but not far and not for long.”
At least he would not be confined to one place as Deborah had been when she had fractured her ankle.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Percy said as he finished dressing, then returned to the parlor where everyone waited.
“Is it fractured?” Deborah asked anxiously.
“Contused,” the doctor answered with a bit of humor before he arched an eyebrow at Percy. “He should avoid walking as much as possible.”
As the doctor accepted his greatcoat from the footman and bid everyone a Happy Christmas, Percy limped back to his place on the settee and lowered himself down, glad to finally be off his leg again only to note that Deborah had left them.
Was her concern only contingent on whether he suffered a fracture?