Page 40 of The Duke's Return
Though she wanted to relax there, it was hard to with the storm raging. Or that was her excuse. Truthfully, she had known plenty of storms. This was England weather no matter they were in town or not. But she was out before the water ever grew cold.
She dressed, she dried her hair, and she took herself to the library. It had become her favorite room. There, she was able to mostly relax by writing to her friend Lady Phoebe as well as to all three of her sisters. All of this helped Genevieve pass the time into early afternoon. And it was around then that the storm let up, slowing into a miserable little drizzle.
I am sure by now all is well. Perhaps I should make certain my husband still lives. A break from my writing would be appreciated.
Down the stairs she went to the front hall, where she delivered her neatly prepared letters to be sent out when possible. Hopefully tomorrow. Perhaps in a week. They might not even be sent to arrive before she returned to London, but at least she had tried. Her friend and family would appreciate the letters no matter the time they arrived.
Then the front door banged open so suddenly that she jumped.
Whirling around with her hand over her heart, Genevieve stared as a man entered the hall. He was hunched over and stumbling until he suddenly straightened. Though his golden hair was dark with rain, those bright blue eyes could not be mistaken for anyone other than her husband.
“Julian! Good Lord! What the devil happened to you?” Hurrying forward, she closed the door behind him so the drizzle couldn’t follow him in. Then she moved to his side, hovering a hand over his shoulder to see what had happened. “Are you injured?”
“Hello, my dear.” His cheery voice didn’t match up with the man covered in filth. She noticed a severe tear in his jacket. Why he didn’t have a proper coat for this weather, she didn’t know. There had to be plenty of them here. “Were you waiting here to welcome me home?”
Her lips curved downward. “You aren’t answering my question.”
“And neither are you. It’s hardly time to be shy, dear wife.”
Huffing so she wouldn’t be tempted to smile, Genevieve shook her head. She started studying and poking at his body to see through all the dirt on him. “This is hardly a time to flirt. Oh! That is blood. That is not dirt.”
“No, I’m afraid your perception is entirely accurate.”
“So youareinjured!”
His smile widened before faltering into a wince when she grabbed his forearm. “I didn’t lie to you.”
“No, you merely didn’t give me the time to answer,” Julian teased and then let out a short hiss. “Do be mindful, would you?”
“I cannot believe… whatever happened?” She gaped with dread at the severe cut on his hand. It had been wrapped at some point, but the handkerchief was too damp to do any good now. Just glimpsing the injury made her sick to her stomach. A tumble in the mud, a bite from an animal… poison could easily enter the bloodstream and kill a healthy man in a matter of days. And here was Julian, making jests. “We must call a physician at once.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that serious.”
“But we need to take care of your injury,” she said, tugging him over to the nearest chair in the hall. Her elbow bumped into an empty vase that cracked on the table. She huffed and set it aside, hands shaking, and turned back to her husband while she tried to think. “Fresh water. Hot water, I think, or cold, I can’t recall. We’ll fetch both. Clean linens, of course, and some alcohol I think. Where is Mrs. Waverly? She’ll have to help. My hands are shaking too badly for this. What were you doing, Julian?”
Julian used his good hand to pull his hair back from his face and then wiped off a bit of the mud there. She could see much more of him after those two motions. That smile broadened as he gazed up at her. Resting his injured arm on the table beside the fallen vase.
“Everything will be just fine,” he promised her.
“What is the commotion here? Your Grace! And Your Grace!” Mrs. Waverly appeared, startled and wide-eyed.
The duke nodded. “Might you fetch some warm water, a bottle of brandy, linens, and a sewing needle?”
“Thread too, of course.” The woman immediately departed.
Genevieve’s breathing grew difficult. She swallowed air, trying not to panic. She didn’t understand how Julian could be so calm at a time like this. It didn’t make sense. Where had he been? What had happened? Whyever had he gone alone into danger?
“Breathe, my dear, or else you’re going to have to take the chair.”
“I’m fine,” she snapped and then sucked in a deep breath. Knowing how sharp that sounded, Genevieve skirted a glance about to ensure she was alone before turning to him. “Truly, Julian. You try me. What sort of trouble did you get into? I didn’t agree to this.”
“I was out with the tenants. One of them had a broken wheel on their wagon and I wanted to help. I promise, it’s better than it looks. The blood is dry. I’m only filthy because my horse startled in the rain and sent me flying. I’m hardly bruised, but I did land in a puddle. She’s safe, by the way.”
She furrowed her brow. “The tenant?”
“My horse. Heidi.”
“That’s an odd name for a horse. That is…” she tried to think of something better to say. “Only, I mean…”
