Page 77 of Duke of Diamonds
“I think I may be able to help him,” Fiona stepped forward with her arms outstretched, her posture unwavering
Mr. Colton shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze flicking to her gloved hands before returning with a look of uncertain deference, glancing at her gloved hands. “I wouldn’t want Your Grace soiling your hands.”
But Fiona only lifted her chin, the set of her shoulders firm. “I believe I shall survive it.”
She reached forward, undeterred, and the groundskeeper lowered his head slightly in acknowledgment before extending the bird toward her with great care.
It trembled in her palms, and she cradled it close, careful and calm.
You’re not the only one feeling a little battered,she thought, stroking its feathers softly.
“I wouldn’t want the poor creature dead,” Fiona said, clutching the injured parrot gently against her chest as she turned from the greenhouse.
The bird trembled in her hands, feathers damp and ruffled, eyes wide with alarm. She murmured soft, soothing nonsense to it, her breath low and steady as she moved through the garden path, Mrs. Burton following closely behind.
Inside the conservatory, the air warm with lingering sunlight, Fiona laid the parrot on the small table beside the potted orchids. She brushed back the cloth covering him and winced.
“His right wing is broken,” she murmured after a closer look.
With a briskness that surprised even herself, she turned to Mrs. Burton. “Send to the kitchens for warm water, a clean cloth, and a few strips of linen. And have someone fetch me two slender twigs, dry and unblemished.”
Mrs. Burton offered a small nod and departed at once.
I’ve no idea what I’m doing,Fiona thought, looking down at the helpless bird.But surely instinct counts for something.
She rolled up her sleeves and waited. When the supplies arrived, she set to work with the sort of quiet determination that had come to define her of late. The cloth was warm in her hands as she dabbed carefully at his feathers, removing bits of mud and curled leaves.
The parrot flinched at first, but soon stilled beneath her touch.
“Brave thing,” she whispered.
Once clean, she arranged the twigs beside him and used the strips of linen to fashion a rough brace, binding the wing gently but firmly.
“I shall keep him,” she declared as she pressed a few crushed peanuts into her palm. The bird pecked at them eagerly.
A smile touched her lips. “You see? We’ve an understanding already.”
He nudged her fingertip with his beak, light as a whisper.
Is that gratitude?she wondered.Or simply hunger?
“We’ll move him to one of the unused game rooms,” she said aloud, “just until he’s strong again. After that, he may do as he pleases. Roam the manor. Rule it, if he likes.”
Mrs. Burton chuckled from where she stood by the door. “I daresay Your Grace has a second calling—as a bird physician.”
Fiona glanced up, lips quirking. “Not quite. I’ve always had an affection for plants and creatures. I suppose I’ve picked up enough from my readings to make myself useful.”
She arranged a small basket with bits of cloth and seed, placing it at the edge of the table as a makeshift nest.
The parrot settled into it, eyes half-closed now, the tremble in his body nearly gone.
Satisfied, Fiona straightened.
Later, after dinner, she made her way toward her chambers. The hallways were dim, lit only by the soft flicker of sconces. As she turned the corner, her steps slowed.
There it was again—the door they had passed during her first tour. The one Mrs. Burton had dismissed with a vague excuse.
Unable to help her curiosity, she paused before the door, hand resting on the cool brass handle.
