Page 48 of A Courtesan Countess Worth the Scandal
A dull ache throbbed up and down her injured leg as she put weight upon it properly, for the first time in five days. The physician had essentially told her that he did not need to visit again, for she would fully recover in her own time, and the fever was almost gone. To her, that meant she was perfectly capable of wandering around the townhouse, keeping herself occupied as chaos reigned across London.
I wonder if it has been published in the scandal sheets yet—
The editor-in-charge of said sheets had informed her that it would be this week, and they were eager to receive as many as she was willing to give, for a small fee each time, though she was not sure whether to leave a gap between tales for the sake of anticipation. Moreover, she did not yet know how the latest story would fare.
“If Lord Westleigh comes to my door in a rage, thenhewas the one who tried to kill me,” she said grimly, donning her housecoat and limping for the door.
After all, the culprit had to be aware of where she lived. The spies who had evidently been keeping watch over her would have informed the wretch of her whereabouts. By the end of today, or perhaps tomorrow, she would know whether or not she could remove Lord Westleigh from her list of suspects.
“What are you doin’ out of your bed, eh?” Donovan appeared in the hallway beyond her bedchamber door, his hobble slightly less pronounced.
Nora smiled. “I’ll take leave of my senses if I have to stay in there a moment longer.” She nodded to a letter in his hand. “Is that for me?”
“How did you know?” Donovan chuckled.
“Was it Lord Keswick again?” Nora had not yet written her reply to him, though she had that earmarked for this afternoon’s task.
Donovan shook his head. “No, it came from Mrs. Davers’ errand boy. He just left after Mrs. Moston stuffed him full of jam tarts. I’ve never seen a lad so happy.”
“I imagine I’ll need a stiff drink after reading it.” She held out her hand to take the letter, figuring it was either a message of insult from a disgruntled former client, or an offer of payment to buy her silence.
Donovan gave her the letter and stood awkwardly for a moment. “I thought I’d go back to me own home today, if you don’t mind? I’m awful grateful for you givin’ me a room and that, but I don’t want anyone worryin’ about me. I’ve got friends who’ll end up goin’ to Bow Street if I don’t go back soon.”
“Are you sure?” Anxiety shivered through Nora. “There might be people looking for you.”
Donovan shrugged. “I’m used to runnin’ away from folks and keepin’ my head down. I promise I’ll be careful. I just… can’t stay here forever. I’ve got work and stuff to get done, and I don’t want to be losin’ my employ because some folksmightbe chasin’ me.”
“I understand,” Nora replied sadly. “But if you’re ever in trouble, you know you can come here and there’ll always be a place for you.”
His smile widened. “Thank you, Nora. And you take care of yourself, an’ all. I’ve always said you could do with a husband or somethin’, to be here to protect you when you need it.”
“I don’t need the added trouble.” Nora laughed, but it echoed hollow. “Anyway, if anyone comes close to the house, Mrs. Moston will beat them to within an inch of their lives with her rolling pin.”
Donovan gave a funny little bow. “Well then, I’ll be leavin’ this afternoon, but I’ll say goodbye before I go. I can’t leave ‘til I’ve had my lunch anyway, or Mrs. Moston will beatmewith her rolling pin.”
Parting ways, Nora walked uncomfortably down the hallway until she reached the top of the stairs. Grimacing, she gripped the banister and limped down the steps until she reached the bottom, where she unleashed a mighty sigh of relief.
“What are you doin’ out of your bed?” Mrs. Moston suddenly appeared from the right-hand corridor, as though summoned.
Nora rolled her eyes. “Is everyone going to ask me that today?” She softened her expression into a smile. “I thought I smelled chicken roasting, and thought I’d come and see if I could get those little shoulder medallions. They’re the best bit, as you well know.”
“I ought to carry you back up to your chambers and smack your arse for gettin’ out of bed while you’re still poorly,” Mrs. Moston scolded, though not unkindly. “But I suppose chicken will do you some good, too. Especially mine. Come on, I’ve just sliced out those little medallions, so you’re in luck.”
Nora was about to follow Mrs. Moston toward the kitchen, when a loud knock resounded through the house. The two women stopped in their tracks, both of them turning slowly toward the front door.
Mrs. Moston groaned. “It’ll be that Lord again; you mark me words! He hasn’t been this mornin’, so he’s expected.” She glanced at Nora. “What do you want me to tell him? If you’re well enough to be amblin’ about, are you well enough to speak with him, and tell him to stop comin’ here?”
Nora hesitated, her eyes fixed on the door. She had made the decision to write him a letter so cold and dismissive that he would never want to speak her name again, let alone visit her townhouse. And yet, as she thought of him standing there, on the front steps, waiting for someone to answer… she found that she wanted to hear his voice again.
Just once more. Just one proper goodbye.
“Bring him to the drawing room,” she instructed.
Mrs. Moston gasped in horror. “But you’re in naught but your housecoat!”
“I’m sure we’ll all survive the vulgarity, and let’s just count our blessings that I didn’t come downstairs as naked as the day I was born. The scandal would ruin an innocent, wholesome creature like me.” Nora flashed the older woman a wink and hobbled off toward the drawing room.
Settling down into one of the two, bottle-green leather armchairs that sat beside a roaring fire, Nora was glad to relieve the pressure from her leg. It was not as bad as it had been, but she had, perhaps, been a touch premature about mastering the stairs again.
