Chapter Eighteen

An hour later, a carriage had been made ready and Ian’s trunks were stacked and strapped to it one by one. He managed the task as he did most everything else in his life—quick efficiency and methodical order.

He had no desire to encounter Hopesend again before he took his leave, so he did his best to keep to his corner of the house and only ventured forth when it was time, once more, to check on Meredith. Her bright red hair had been plaited and she rested comfortably in the large bed. Color had returned to her cheeks and her eyes misted over with grateful tears when Ian repeatedly reassured her that the bleeding had stopped and all indications pointed to a healthy pregnancy so long as she rested and continued to eat the prescribed diet rich in the sustenance her body required. She clutched his hand and, where he’d once felt a powerful rush of desire, there was only a deep-rooted affection. His heart would always lean toward his longtime friend, but it now belonged steadfastly in the delicate hands of another.

When he was finished, Sommerfeld followed Ian out into the adjacent sitting room, closing the door behind him. Ian needed less than a moment to discern what was coming next, so he headed it off.

“I don’t doubt you heard of this morning’s incident.” The viscount had enough grace to avert his eyes. “It went about as poorly as can be expected,” explained and turned his gaze to the pastoral scene outside the window. He was startled back into himself by Sommerfeld’s hand on his shoulder. Ian’s eyes flicked from the gesture and into the viscount’s green eyes.

“Condolences.” He removed his hand with an awkward gesture. “I’ve been well acquainted with the earl for several years now. I don’t know how successful I will be, but I can attempt to smooth things over with him once you take your leave.” Whether out of pity or gratitude for how Ian had helped both him and Meredith, regardless, Sommerfeld seemed genuinely sincere in his offer. If those words had been a surprise, the next were a shock.

“I am man enough to admit that I haven’t always treated you fairly, Dr. McCullom,” Sommerfeld said in a low voice. “And I may not be proud of it, but I have experienced jealousy once or twice when it comes to your history with my wife. But, I can admit that I am certain you are not someone who takes advantage of anyone. I’ve never known you to be a man anything other than professional and proper. If this…situation with Lady Juliette transpired as I suspect it did, then Lady Juliette went into it with her eyes wide open. You never would have used her. And I believe she must also mean a great deal to you if you were willing to risk so much for her.” Sommerfeld cast a glance over his shoulder where his wife lay in the bed beyond the door, silently conveying he understood and would do the same—risk everything for the woman who owned his heart.

At a loss for any proper words, Ian could only incline his head in gratitude. The viscount offered him a handclasp, which Ian accepted gratefully.

∞∞∞

Just as Ian was supervising the loading of the last of his items, there was a commotion from the house. Ian paused with one hand on the carriage door, poised to hoist himself aloft, when Juliette burst from the front door to form a tableau Ian would never forget as long as he lived.

The bodice of her morning dress was stained scarlet, it coated her palms and smeared up her bare arms, a smudge of it marred the perfect flesh of her cheek. His name being torn from her lips set him into immediate motion. Lunging toward her, Ian immediately ran his hands over her body, trying to locate the source of the bleeding.

“Where are you hurt?” he demanded, doing his best to ignore the unsteadiness of his hands, the quake in his voice, the painful thumping of his heart, the ringing in his ears. “What did he do?”

Her bright, frantic eyes met his and she shook her head. “Not me,” she gasped. “Not me.”

“What happened?”

“There was an accident,” Juliette stammered.

Ian’s hands gripped her more tightly. “Show me,” he said more steadily before now that he knew she was not the injured party. Knowing Juliette was safe allowed Ian’s pulse to slow as he slid into his physician’s persona.

Ian shed his coat as they dashed to the back of the house and down to the kitchens. The earl’s valet met them an rapidly explained how Hopesend had taken off on his horse once more following their earlier confrontation. He’d been furious and reckless. Recognizing the danger, a couple of the other male guests who had taken part in the hunt returned to their mounts and followed shortly behind to try to calm him. They had caught up to the earl just in time to see the horse—already on edge from its furious rider—shying as a hare dated across the way. The animal had balked violently, but the earl would have been able to keep his seat had the horse not fallen. He had landed beneath the beast, striking his head on a rock.

Hopesend had been carried back to the house, bleeding and unconscious, and was now lying on the long wooden table in the kitchens. The staff had been shooed out, their various tasks left unfinished and scattered around them like detritus following an explosion.

His assessing gaze traveled the length of the earl’s unconscious form, noting the dirt and blood, the awkward angle of his left arm.

“Retrieve my leather satchel from inside the carriage,” Ian barked at the nearest pale-faced footman. The lad appeared almost grateful for the task, at being allowed to leave the room filling with the metallic stench of blood and sweat. The men with stronger stomachs would be needed for what Ian must do.

∞∞∞

Juliette watched with numb amazement as Ian examined her brother. Refusing to be ushered from the room, she made herself as unobtrusive as possible and held Ethan’s gloved hand in her own. He was so pale, so mortal. His dark curls were plastered to his head, matted with mud and twigs, and blood so dark it didn’t appear real.

In addition to his broken arm, that shoulder was badly dislocated and the cut inflicted by the rock on the side of his head ran jaggedly from his left temple back through his hairline.

Though her brother’s care absorbed Ian’s attention, Ian must have seen the color drain from her face because he still did his best to reassure her. “Even superficial headwounds bleed profusely.” He moved to the hearth where a pot bubbled away with water and dropped his metal instruments into it.

Quickly, her brother’s clothing was cut from his body until he was bare from the waist up to reveal the lean length of his torso. Ian proceeded to scrub his hands with hot water and the clean-scented cake of soap he carried in his medical bag. He moved around the room with grace and poise, deftly instructing two strong footmen to help him set Ethan’s shoulder with brute force.

The loud pop that followed made Juliette nauseous, but she refused to leave even when she felt the burn of Ian’s eyes upon her. She knew he hadn’t liked it when she’d refused to abandon her post before the procedure. Though Ian had given her an out, suggesting she wash up and he would retrieve her when he was done, she’d refused and he had allowed her to remain where she was. More than her brother, Ethan was her twin. She hurt when he did. And if the worst happened…she would lose a part of herself as integral as an eye or a limb. She wouldn’t know how to function without Ethan, so she simply had to stay.

Ian proceeded to clean Ethan’s head wound after setting and splinting the arm and fashioning a sling. She watched in morbid fascination as Ian, using a sterilized needle and silk thread, closed the gash in her brother’s temple with stitches so fine they would put many young ladies to shame. A poultice was then applied, followed by a bandage wound around his head. Ian murmured to her as he worked, telling her that he hadn’t felt any cracks in the skull, so her brother’s recovery depended upon whether or not there was swelling of the brain. The next day or two would be integral. Though she and Ian didn’t touch or speak with one another much, they worked together to oversee Ethan’s transfer from the kitchens to his private rooms and the changing of his clothing as he was settled into his bed.

“I have something I can give him for pain, but we must refrain from drugging him too much,” Ian said softly, evenly when they were alone with Ethan’s still form. He looked so young, so pale nestled among the pillows and deep blue coverlet. “We need him to regain consciousness, not sleep more deeply.”

Juliette smoothed Ethan’s freshly washed blue-black hair back until she encountered the stark whiteness of the bandage Ian had so skillfully wound around his head.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from emotion and disuse. “Thank you, Ian.”

A heavy silence stretched out between them until Ian finally spoke once more. “His lordship likely won’t care for it, but I can stay on until he wakes—”

“Stay.” Juliette tempered her next words when she realized how abrupt her outburst had sounded. “Please, stay.” She met his eyes and her entire body began to ache from fatigue and the onslaught of emotions that had been churning within her throughout that day. “I would not want anyone else treating him.”

She noticed a twitch of a muscle in Ian’s jaw before he inclined his head and replied, “As you wish.” He then excused himself to tidy the mess in the kitchens and clean his utensils, leaving Juliette to turn back to her brother and clasp his hand in both of hers.