Chapter 5 #2
Camilla was beginning to feel better in a prone position with the breeze skimming her cheeks.
The worst of the pain had subsided in her palm and Lord Pembroke had not released her hand but still held it with both of his own, creating a cocoon of warm comfort.
He lessened the pressure of the handkerchief just slightly and looked at the wound again.
Daring herself to look, Camilla brought her eyes to it as well.
The cut was not as big as she had feared.
Blood beaded along its edges but did not come out as quickly as before. He showed it to Miles.
“What shall we do? We will need to get her to a surgeon for stitches.”
Miles cast a quick glance. “I suppose we will.”
“Stitches?” she asked in trepidation, seeking reassurance from either of them. Pembroke reapplied the pressure.
“It may not be necessary,” Miles assured her, patting her arm. “But it is better to see a surgeon and be certain.”
She willed herself not to show how frightened the idea made her, and Pembroke sent her a bracing smile.
“Stitches are unpleasant but quick. They sting a bit, stitches do, but then it’s over.”
She nodded, thinking that “sting a bit” didn’t sound like anything nice. Not anything she wanted to go through. The day was not turning out like she had anticipated, when contemplating it during the early morning stroll in the rose garden.
The discussion then turned to whether they ought to leave straight away or let everyone eat.
Camilla urged everyone to have their picnic, though she had lost her appetite.
“Perhaps you might tie the handkerchief around my hand,” she suggested to Pembroke.
“Then you will be able to eat as well. Right now you are using both your hands and cannot do anything else.”
He shook his head. “The longer I apply the pressure, the more likely the wound is to set. Besides, I feel to blame. I called your attention away from what you were doing, causing you to cut yourself.”
She shook her head. “You are not to blame.”
Tilly and Sophia sprang into action, bringing everyone the plates that had been laid out while Joanna removed the offending pear and tucked Pembroke’s soiled handkerchief out of sight.
Camilla shook her head when Tilly brought her a plate, but Pembroke finally consented to holding Camilla’s wound with only one hand so he might eat with the other.
Tilly poured water over his free hand to rinse it, and he brushed it on the grass in a weak attempt to clean it.
It was mostly silent as everyone ate the simple meal.
After a whispered conference with Sophia, Felix stood. “I propose to ride ahead with Sophia and fetch the surgeon. We can easily ask for directions from the cottages we rode by on the way here. That way, he will arrive at Elmscote not much later than you.”
“It is a good idea,” Miles said. “Mr. Johnson doesn’t live far from us, and any one in those cottages should be able to tell you where to find him.”
They did not tarry after Felix and Sophia left. Tilly brought the baskets to the carriage, and Joanna picked up the glasses and stacked them carefully.
“Do you feel you can stand?” Pembroke asked her. Camilla didn’t feel she could, but would not admit it. Her hesitation gave her answer. “Start by sitting,” he coaxed. She obeyed, and he lifted the handkerchief again. This time she didn’t look.
Tilly returned carrying a slender piece of twine. “This had been used to tie the blankets, Lord Pembroke, and I thought you might use it to tie the wound.”
“It might serve.” He took the rope, then said to Tilly, “Can you hold this handkerchief in place?”
She nodded, and he wound the rope around Camilla’s hand, working around Tilly’s fingers, and tying the handkerchief securely. Pembroke’s hands were still stained with dried blood despite his attempt to wash.
“Come,” he said. He leaned down to help her up, putting his arm around her back.
Tilly assisted as she could on her other side, and Camilla walked with shaky legs back to the curricle.
Pembroke did not leave her until she was settled safely into the seat.
He took her hand in his once again, turning it to see the knot, then flipping it back to look at the folded handkerchief.
Satisfied, he smiled at her and placed his hand on her arm.
“Let us get you taken care of, then, shall we?”
Camilla nodded and watched him walk over to his horse, wondering if any of her sisters had noticed what extraordinary attention he had paid her.
She was now sure of his feelings, but he was leaving tomorrow.
It was probably too soon for him to propose, wasn’t it?
She would not hope for it, and in that way would not be disappointed.
She ran her fingers over the makeshift bandage and twine, the bubble of something approaching happiness nearly taking away the pain of her cut, as well as her dread of what was to come.
Dorothea was surprised to see their party’s return so early but was prepared to receive the surgeon who came shortly afterwards with Felix and Sophia.
Camilla, faint with anxiety as the doctor examined her, did indeed have to endure three stitches.
Although tears squeezed through her eyes clenched tight, she did not utter a sound, something Pembroke found to praise her for that night at dinner, when he learned of it.
“I am only sorry our picnic was cut short,” she replied, pleased by the encouragement.
“We will have plenty of other opportunities,” Miles said, with Dorothea adding, “And we will be sure to have Cook cut the fruit for the picnic next time.”
Despite the day’s events, their dinner was taken in relative calm.
There was teasing, and Evo had returned to his provoking self.
Camilla was tired from all she had endured but had already decided she wouldn’t miss the evening for anything.
No—for Pembroke might find an opportunity to speak to her on an important subject.
She wouldn’t hope for it, but she would not make it impossible for him to do so either, should he wish it.
“Will you all come to London next season?” he asked, his question directed at his cousin but his regard encompassing everyone. A little shoot of happiness sprang up in Camilla’s heart, along with a confidence that he was asking for her sake.
Miles exchanged a silent look with Dorothea and shook his head. “I do not think we will. The baby will not yet be a year, and the journey will be much for her. Besides, I have no pressing obligations there.”
“We will,” Lady Poole said. “I want Camilla to have her season, and we have acquaintances in London we long to see.” This was a newer development, considering the fact that before Dorothea’s season, they scarcely knew anyone in London as the late Lord Poole had not made any efforts to introduce them to Society. But that had begun to change.
“Well, I will see some of you then,” he replied, smiling. And although Camilla would not have admitted it to anyone else, she thought his smile rested on her the longest.