Chapter 4 #2
“Oh!” Charlotte cried.
“Your dog, Madam,” Lord Eversleigh said in a tone that would have curdled milk.
Charlotte blinked at the wild canine. “My dog? I don’t…”
But she couldn’t bring herself to admit that she didn’t remember it. Not when her husband was in such a foul mood.
“The poor dear,” she said instead. “Is he hurt?”
“He is fine,” Lord Eversleigh replied icily. “Filthy, ungovernable, and not fit for a civilized household, but otherwise—”
“Bring him to me, please,” Charlotte said. “He must be frightened out of his wits.”
Turner gaped at Lord Eversleigh as he stalked past him. “You’re bleeding, my lord,” he said. “Did the dog—?”
“In part.” Lord Eversleigh stopped just short of the bed to address Charlotte. “He’ll maul you too given the chance.”
“Oh no.” She stretched her arms out further, ignoring the pain in her head. “He’s just a trifle out of sorts. I’ll soon settle him.”
Lord Eversleigh appeared doubtful. He nevertheless lowered the thrashing dog onto the bed.
The instant the dog’s feet touched the quilt, he scrambled from his lordship’s grasp.
Giving one wild look at Charlotte, he shot off the bed and disappeared underneath an ancient mahogany wardrobe on the opposite side of the room.
Her heart beat fast. “He’s terrified!”
“It’s a menace,” Lord Eversleigh said.
Charlotte gave her husband a reproving glare. “He’s not an it. He’s a he. And I’m sure he has a name.”
Lord Eversleigh withdrew a handkerchief from the pocket of his black cloth waistcoat. He used it to dab at the scratches on his face. “If you can’t recall it, ma’am, I can be of no help to you.”
Charlotte bristled at his tone. Did he not even know her dog’s name? Is that how little he cared about animals?
Or was it how little he cared about her?
The notion was a dispiriting one, but she couldn’t ignore it. If true, it would explain much about the interactions they’d had since she regained consciousness. He hadn’t kissed her hand or held it tenderly. He hadn’t professed how worried he’d been, or how relieved he was that she’d awakened.
From the first, he’d addressed her not with concern, but with vast irritation. As if she—and her injury—were nothing to him but an inconvenience.
She racked her brain to no avail. Despite her best efforts, she was still drawing a blank about the names of both her husband and her dog.
Yet, of the two, it was her dog she’d remembered.
Perhaps not specifically. But there was no mistaking the rush of affection that had risen in her breast when she’d seen him.
The very real empathy and concern she’d felt, all intermingled with an overwhelming desire to help, to comfort, to console.
She must have loved him very much indeed.
“He’s called…” A name stirred from the depths of Charlotte’s soul. She had a faint memory of holding a warm, furry bundle in her arms. A pet, to be sure. “He’s called…Mr. Aloysius.”
Turner started. “I don’t think—”
“Mr. Aloysius?” Lord Eversleigh’s lip curled in a smirk. “Rather dignified for a scrawny mongrel.”
Charlotte frowned at the unkind description. “You mustn’t judge him harshly. None of us are at our best when we’re hurt.”
Turner tugged at Lord Eversleigh’s shirtsleeve. “My lord. A word—”
“Perhaps you might fetch him a dish of milk and bread?” Charlotte asked the valet. “I can better assess his injuries once he’s properly fed.”
“Er…my lord?” Turner looked to his master.
“And your own injuries, ma’am?” Lord Eversleigh returned, still daubing at his wounds with his handkerchief. “Any improvement on that front?”
Charlotte experienced a faint stab of guilt. What trouble she must be to her husband for him to look at her in such a cold way. First to hurt herself so dreadfully, then to tax him with caring for her injured (and very poorly behaved) dog.
And what did his lordship get in return?
Not a very capable wife, she feared. Not if the state of their bedchamber was any indication. The outdated furnishings were covered in a layer of dust, the windows darkened with soot, and the bed linens all but threadbare.
Queer, that. She didn’t remember much of anything aside from the name of her dog, but she was quite certain in her mind that she wasn’t an untidy person. What had happened for her to allow her household to fall into such disrepair?
“My head…It’s all a muddle.” She touched her temple with a wince. “I try, but I can’t seem to…” An intense weariness descended over her, extinguishing what remained of her words. How long had she been sitting up? It seemed an interminable time.
“You should lie down until the doctor comes,” Lord Eversleigh said. He pivoted to the door. “Turner?”
“Yes, sir.” The valet moved to exit along with him.
Charlotte slowly reclined back against her pillows. Her bodice was as twisted as her skirts now, binding her shoulders and pinching at her throat. Why had no one thought to disrobe her? Or at the very least to unfasten the buttons at her neck?
“Husband?” she queried.
His lordship’s shoulders tensed. Though he stopped, he did not turn around. Neither did he reply.
She swallowed before asking, “Do I not have a maid?”
Lord Eversleigh and Turner appeared to exchange a look. “Doubtless you do,” her husband said dryly. “But not here.” He continued to the door. “Turner must suffice. If you need anything—”
“It’s somewhat delicate, my lord,” Charlotte said.
Again, Lord Eversleigh halted.
Charlotte bit her lip. “I’m sorry, but the pain is such…”
Unaccountable heat crept into her face. It was mortifying to ask. But she was married to him. And all things considered, she’d rather have her husband’s help than that of his valet.
“I would be more comfortable in my slip,” she said.
Turner flashed a horrified glance at Lord Eversleigh.
At length, his Lordship turned to face her. His own expression was completely unreadable. “I see.” An endless pause. “Do you prefer I tend to you first or to your dog?”
Charlotte blinked, genuinely surprised by the question. She looked to the other side of the room where a low growl continued to emanate from beneath the wardrobe. “Why, to my dog, of course. He’s—”
“Right.” Lord Eversleigh strode out the door before she could finish.