Page 59 of One Perfect Dance
He shook his head. “No laudanum. I’ll be fine, Ginny. You need some sleep, too. Go to bed.”
She had retreated, and he had not seen her since.
Perhaps he dozed a little in what remained of the night. Since daylight filtered into the room and a maid arrived to stoke up the fire, he’d been awake. He asked for coffee and toast—the pain made him queasy, but he knew from experience that something bland would help to settle it.
The footman who brought it helped him sit up against the pillows and deal with some embarrassing personal business. He’d had worse pain, he decided, as he relaxed back after the ordeal was over, his good hip taking his weight and the cushions readjusted to support the other hip and the knee.
“Anything else, sir? The newspaper? A book?”
“I’d like news of the other patients, and of my good hostess,” he told the footman.
Apparently, they were all still asleep. Ash asked for the newspaper. An hour or so later, Regina had still not woken and neither had Geoffrey or Charles. Ash asked for washing water, and his clothes.
“Mrs. Paddimore said you are to remain in bed, sir.”
The footman would not budge on trousers and boots, but Ash managed to negotiate a wash and a shave, a shirt—the man found him a clean one from somewhere—a neck scarf and a banyan. It would have to do.
The footman left and returned again with a small stack of books.
Two more hours passed. None of the books engaged his attention. The arrival of a pot of tea and a sugar bun gave him something else to do, and the maid who delivered them said Mrs. Paddimore was awake and downstairs.
Surely, she would come up and see him shortly? He waited. And waited.
When the maid returned to fetch his tray, she said that Mrs. Paddimore had gone out to an appointment. No visit from her, then. No personal message. Certainly, no kiss; not even best wishes for his birthday. He wanted to slither down in the bed, turn his face to the wall, and sulk.
He asked for paper and something to write with. Noon was approaching, even if at snail’s pace. Ash should get his ideas in order before Rex arrived with news of their miscreants.
Another ninety minutes crept by. Each time he reached for his pocket watch and saw how little time had passed, he swore he wouldn’t do it again. Only to break his word an excruciatingly long minute or two later. Perhaps he should throw the timepiece out the window.
At last, Rex arrived. He sauntered in with a grin on his face as if he wasn’t more than an hour past his time. “I met Mrs. Paddimore downstairs. She is just going to remove her outdoor clothes and join us. That way, I can give my report to both of you at the same time. What little I have to report. How are you, Ash? Feeling like the devil, by the look of you.”
“It’s just bruising,” Ash grouched. “I’d be fine if I had something to do.”
Rex looked worried. “Do you want me to send for my traveling carriage to fetch you home?”
“No!” That was Regina, rushing into the room with a frown. “Lord Arthur, what are you thinking! The doctor said Elijah was not to be moved at all, for several days, and that he must keep his leg up for a full seven.”
Rex, the traitor, took a step backwards and put both hands up in surrender. “I am sure you know best, Mrs. Paddimore.”
She frowned at him, then turned her attention to Elijah. “How are you feeling today? Have my servants given you everything you need? How can I make you more comfortable, Elijah?”
The concern in her eyes went some way to soothing his bad temper. “Your servants have been a credit to your hospitality, Ginny.” If she could throw away protocol in front of Rex and call him by his personal name, then so could he. “I have been grumbling to Rex because I am bored, but it is uncivil of me, and I apologize.”
“Hates being stuck in a bed,” Rex confided. “Like a bear with a sore head—snap your head off soon as look at you.”
“Not helping,” Ash told him.
“I am sorry I wasn’t here to keep you company,” Regina said, moving closer to the bed. “I woke late and had to rush to a meeting at Cordelia’s. We now have the kitchen organized so Monsieur Fournier and Cordelia’s chef and my cook all have their own spaces to work. And I did two more errands on the way home, so I do not have to go out again today.”
He caught her hand and held it up to his lips. “You do not have to entertain me,” he told her, to expiate his guilt at being so ungrateful.
She graced him with a smile. “It is not a question of obligation,” she assured him, and her blush settled the last of his irritation.
“Right,” said Rex. “Now we’ve cleared that up, would you like to hear about my frustrating morning?”
*
Lord Arthur hadhad a more difficult morning than Regina, though she would not have thought it possible. She had been solving one last-minute problem after another, all the while wishing her ball to perdition. Elijah would not be there. Ever since he arrived home—in some part of her mind, for the sixteen years since her first ball—she had dreamed of dancing, of waltzing in his arms, and now he would not even be there.
