Page 73 of His Forgotten Bride
Dr. Barnes cleared his throat, but otherwise elected not to remark upon the clear tension in the room. “What seems to be the trouble today?”
“Nothing,” Claire replied. “Just a twinge.”
“A twinge,” Dr. Barnes repeated, his brow furrowing. He turned to Gabriel. “You summoned me in all haste for atwinge?”
“My—Mrs. Hotchkiss,” Gabriel growled, “fell from a tree, at an alarming height. Not being a trained medical professional myself, I thought it best to have a doctor examine her, to ascertain the extent of the damage before allowing her to resume her duties.”
“What rubbish,” Claire said. “I just had the breath knocked out of me, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with me otherwise.”
“Except,” Dr. Barnes said, in a voice that suggested he was torn halfway between annoyance and unwilling amusement, “for atwinge.”
“Avery minorone,” Claire said defensively, her hand cupping her shoulder, loath to admit that the pain was indeed vexing.
“I’d like your professional opinion on how long she ought to remain in bed, doctor,” Gabriel said, bracing his palms on the dresser.
“In bed!” Claire gasped. “There is nothing at all wrong with my legs. There’s no reason for me to stay in bed.”
“That,” Gabriel announced flatly, “is for thedoctorto decide.”
Matthew tugged at the voluminous folds of Claire’s nightgown. “Mama, yousaidwe must always listen to the doctor.”
Tactfully, Dr. Barnes ventured, “Mrs. Hotchkiss, I find quite often that gentlemen become a trifle overwrought when the, er…ladies in their lives are injured.”
Claire gave a delicate, derisive sniff. “He’s not overwrought. He’s simply overbearing.”
Throwing up his hands in aggravation, Gabriel snapped, “Yourprofessional opinion, if you please, doctor.”
With a brief but thorough examination, the doctor had Claire move her injured arm through a variety of motions, taking note of those which provoked pain. At last he announced, “A minor overextension.”
Vindicated, Claire shot a triumphant glance at Gabriel.
“It shouldn’t require more than three days of bed rest,” the doctor continued. “I’ll leave you a vial of laudanum for the pain, which will no doubt make itself known in greater strength within a few hours or so.”
“Three—threedays?” Claire asked. “But it’s just a twinge!”
“It’s a twingenow,” the doctor said, rifling through his bag for the promised vial. “In all honesty, Mrs. Hotchkiss, it’s not so much the overextension that concerns me. You’ve clearly overextendedyourself. The fact of the matter is that yourequire rest.” Reaching for the tray on the bed, he poured a cup of tea, measured a half-dozen drops of laudanum into it, and plunked in a number of sugar lumps. “Laudanum has a rather unpleasantly bitter taste, I’m afraid,” he said apologetically. “The sugar will help mask it.” He set the vial of laudanum on the bedside table alongside her hairpins. “This ought to see you through. No more than two doses a day, mind you. Laudanum can have certain adverse effects if its use is not carefully controlled.”
“I remember,” Gabriel said tersely. And then, “Matthew, will you show Dr. Barnes to the door, and then ask Bradshaw to have lunch sent up as soon as it is ready?”
Eager to be helpful, Matthew launched himself over Claire and scrambled to the floor. It was doubtful that Dr. Barnes would have required assistance to let himself out, or that Bradshaw would have required reminding that lunch would need to make its way to somewhere other than the table, and so Claire surmised that Gabriel had only wanted to occupy Matthew for a few minutes of privacy.
Holding the cup of tainted tea in her hands, Claire accused, “You paid the doctor to say that.”
“I might have mentioned to him in private that you frequently rise at dawn and do not retire until past midnight,” Gabriel replied. He took a seat in the chair the good doctor had vacated. “Drink your tea, Claire.”
“If Imustbe consigned to my bed, I would prefer it to bemine.” But she took a sip of the tea anyway, making a face at the bitter aftertaste left behind by the laudanum.
“If I didn’t think you would find more comfort sleeping on a slab of granite, I might let you,” he said, and nodded to indicate the teacup in her hand. “The rest of it, if you please.
She didnotplease, but she also didn’t think she could put it past him not to pour it straight down her throat if she elected not to drink it, and so she dispensed with what seemed to be a futile argument and drank the rest of it down.
A muscle ticked in his jaw, as if he had stifled an excess of nervous energy by sitting and it expressed itself in other ways. “I remembered something,” he said at last. “You fell before. From my horse, years ago.”
Her heart gave a queer little flutter in her chest, like a bird struggling against the bars of its cage. “That was—I wasn’t—” She hadn’t beenhurt. She had simply had the misfortune, not having been a horsewoman herself, to have lost her balance and slipped out of the saddle. It had been a long, bruising fall, but even at the time he had made more of it than had been justified.
“You weren’t injured. I recall.” He sighed, bracing his palms on his knees. “But when I saw you fall, I remembered it. It was like being terrified twice over.”
“I don’t want to speak of it.” Her voice had come out grittier than expected. At a loss for something to do with her hands, which wanted to move, she worried the ribbon binding the end of her plait between her fingers.
