Chapter 19

19

Dougald stood in his bedroom in his stocking feet and glared at his tardy valet. "If it is your desire that I sport a properly tied cravat, then I would suggest that you arrive in a more timely manner to assist in my dressing."

Several of Charles's sparse hairs floated about his head in a haphazard manner, his coat gaped open and his own cravat moved as he swallowed. "My lord, there's been an accident."

Dougald's focus narrowed on his man. He had never seen Charles agitated before. Nothing ruffled his tedious French composure. Certainly not an accident occurring to any of the workmen. Picking up his coat, he shrugged it on. "What kind of accident?" Then he realized—"One of the aunts?" Alarm raced through his veins, unanticipated and disagreeable. "Not one of the aunts!" And why did he care so much? They weren't really his aunts. They were nothing but a bother and a responsibility.

"No, my lord. Madame…Miss Setterington…she fell through the floor."

Stunned, Dougald spoke without thinking. "That's impossible. She left here only—" He caught his breath. He shouldn't say that, but it was true. She had left him less than an hour ago, not long enough to get dressed and into trouble already.

But Charles was nodding and even dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief.

Dougald strode forward and grabbed his shoulders. "Is she alive?"

"Oui, my lord, but I fear her leg—"

"What?"

"May be broken."

"Good." No, it wasn't good, but Hannah would recover from a broken leg. Damn her, she would recover.

"Where is she?"

"They are carrying her to her bedchamber."

Dougald started into the corridor.

"Please. My lord. Your shoes!"

"Blast my shoes." But he might need them when he kicked some arse. "No, bring them."

He met the little procession almost at once. Mrs. Trenchard was in the lead. A serving maid walked beside her, lugging a black satchel. Hannah had her arms over the shoulders of two burly footmen. She hopped along, her skirt torn, her lips tight and a militant light in her eyes. When she saw Dougald she launched into speech. "Lord Raeburn, you must make it clear to the workmen that, before they leave at night, everything relating to the aunts is to be safe and secure. If I hadn't gone up to the workroom before the aunts arrived, one of them could have been badly hurt."

Dougald's heart resumed beating. She was injured, but if she was scolding, she was unscathed.

He retained the good sense not to sweep her into his arms. "Where were you hurt?"

"On my foot," Hannah snapped.

Yes, she was going to be fine.

"I was on the landing leading to the aunts' workroom," she continued. "A board collapsed under me."

Dougald jerked his head toward Charles. Charles handed him his shoes, eased past the little group, and headed toward the scene of the accident.

"I was mindful as I climbed the stairs, but the carpenters weren't doing work on the landing."

Dougald realized with surprise that her voice was wobbling.

"My foot went right down. Then the whole board gave way and I fell through"—she blinked rapidly—"and if I hadn't grabbed the handrail I would have fallen all the way and I couldn't pull myself back because the board had splintered downward—"

To hell with good sense. His indomitable wife was weeping.

Dougald dropped the shoes, pushed the footmen aside and tenderly picked her up. The footmen fell back and none dared look surprised. Hannah shoved at Dougald for only a moment, then she clutched him as if he were her port in the storm. In other circumstances, he might have enjoyed her neediness. Used it. But right now, it seemed right.

Hannah whispered, "If Mrs. Trenchard hadn't found me, I don't know what I would have done."

Dougald noted that he owed his housekeeper a generous gratuity.

"My lord, bring her in here, please." Mrs. Trenchard stood on the threshold of Hannah's bedchamber.

He carried her to the bed, scowling all the time. What had he been thinking to put her in such a place? With sunshine streaming in, the room looked even shabbier than at night. If Hannah had to spend time recovering, this was a poor place to do it. And why was she even having to recover? When he was done speaking to the carpenters, they would wish they had chosen gardening as a profession. To Mrs. Trenchard, he said, "Call the doctor."

"The doctor's a drunk." Mrs. Trenchard motioned the serving maid forward and took the satchel. "I'll care for Miss Setterington myself." She glanced at Dougald's dubious expression. "I assure ye, my lord, my mother was the midwife for most of the district as well as Miss Spring's nurse, and she taught me well. Miss Setterington is in good hands."

Dougald hesitated, but Mrs. Trenchard seemed quite sure of herself as she opened the satchel and removed a series of clay jars. With a curt nod, he gave permission. "Very well."

Mrs. Trenchard arranged the jars on the small end table beside the bed, then stopped and stared around her. In a scandalized tone, she said, "Miss Setterington, you've already burned your week's supply of candles!"

"Who cares about…her week's supply?" Dougald didn't know what the housekeeper was talking about.

Mrs. Trenchard removed a roll of white cotton cloth. "I allow the lesser servants eight candles a week. That's one a night and two on Sunday, but they sleep four in a room, so that's plenty. If they're wise with their light, they can take candles home to their mums. I allow the upper servants fifteen candles a week. That's two candles a night and three on Sunday. Miss Setterington has exceeded her limit."

"Yes," Hannah said. "I…I've been reading late."

A lie. She and Dougald had burned the candles during their nights together.

"I was afraid of this," Mrs. Trenchard said. "That's what comes of having them books. Well, I'm sorry, Miss Setterington, but you can't have any more candles until Sunday."

"Of course she can," Dougald interposed.

"Please, it doesn't matter." Surreptitiously, Hannah thumped his thigh with her fist. "I'll do better next week."

As was proper, Mrs. Trenchard ignored her and responded to the master. "As ye wish, my lord, but 'tis yer tallow I'm seeking to save, and 'twill set a bad example for the other servants."

"I can afford the tallow." He glared down at Hannah.

She glared back.

Her damp eyes spoiled the effect. Women. Their tears weakened a man. If he were truly a man like his father, he wouldn't care if his woman cried. He would stand strong against every unruly emotion she engendered and every appeal she might make. If Hannah had remained away a little longer, he could have achieved that level of detachment. As it was…"Miss Setterington is more than just an upper servant."

"Please, my lord, would you just leave?" It was clear Hannah didn't want him interceding on her behalf.

He handed her his handkerchief.

She used it liberally.

Mrs. Trenchard passed the roll of cloth to the serving girl, and said, "Start tearing this into bandages." She lifted Hannah's chin and examined the bloody scrape on her chin. "Pardon me, my lord, I misunderstood. Before Miss Setterington arrived, you made it clear she was to have no special privileges."

In fact, he remembered, in a moment of excessive drink he had been rather slanderous of his wife. Not that he'd spoken of the marriage to Mrs. Trenchard. That he most certainly had not done, but she had probably wondered about the reason for his vitriol. "Miss Setterington may be wakeful because of discomfort from her wounds." Recalling Mrs. Trenchard's dedication to Aunt Spring, he added, "She did, after all, save the aunts from injury."

Mrs. Trenchard nodded. "That's as may be, but I can't approve of bending the rules. Next thing ye know, ye'll be banishing the curfew."

Dougald sometimes wondered if he knew what went on in his house. "What curfew?"

"For nine o' the clock. Gets the servants in their rooms and no one gets hurt…in the dark."

He didn't understand this at all, but the serving girl who assisted Mrs. Trenchard was staring at him like so many of the serving maids did—with trepidation bordering on hysteria. With a jerk of his head, he indicated the girl. "Does she think I'm going to kill her?"

The silly female nodded. Actually nodded.

"For God's sake, girl, I don't care about you at all."

His impatient snarl didn't seem to reassure her. In fact, her eyes widened and she shrank from him.

"That's the way to hearten her," Hannah bit out.

Mrs. Trenchard patted the girl on the shoulder. "Go on, now. I don't need you anymore."

"Wait!" Dougald tried to plump the thin pillow beneath Hannah's head. "Go into my bedchamber and bring one of my pillows for Miss Setterington."

The girl swallowed and stared.

"No, don't." Hannah lifted herself onto her elbow. "My lord, I don't need any special privileges. What I need is to have Mrs. Trenchard look me over so I can get back to the aunts. They need my help to finish the tapestry."

Dougald pushed her down. "We'll worry about that later." She needed a dose of laudanum, and he exchanged a significant glance with Mrs. Trenchard.

Mrs. Trenchard nodded at him, then spoke to the uncertain maid, who ran to do her bidding.

"Now, my lord, if ye would just step out…"

"No." He planted himself on the far side of the bed.

"I'm staying."

"Nonsense," Hannah said. "You cannot stay."

He motioned to Mrs. Trenchard to proceed.