Page 39 of The Scoundrel of Drury Lane
She followed Kit into the room. “What about you?” she asked as he set Henry gently down on the bed.
“That coachman needs help, and the authorities must be informed of the situation. The man from the other carriage died tonight, and that must be dealt with.” Kit cupped her face in his hands. “Be strong just a little bit longer for me, darling,” he said, then he kissed her hard and desperate, as though that kiss alone would have to be enough to last him a lifetime. It was over before she could even kiss him back or realize that he had called her darling. It took her another painful beat to collect herself after that. Then she headed for the townhouse across the street to fetch the Duke of Tiverton.
A middle-aged man answered her frantic knocking and stared down at her in shock.
“Please, I must speak to Lord Tiverton. I have an urgent message from Lord Kentwell.”
At the mention of that name, the butler seemed to snap to attention and went to fetch his master. A moment later, a tall dark-haired man with the clearest blue eyes Suzannah had ever seen stood before her.
“I am Lord Tiverton.”
“Please, Your Grace, there’s been an accident. We need a doctor. It’s urgent.”
The duke stared past her into the stormy night. “Is Kit hurt?”
“He’s fine. It’s my friend Henry who’s broken his leg. We need a doctor. Kit said to tell you.”
The man nodded and yelled back into the house, “Chelsea, have my horse brought round immediately!” The butler hastened away to have his horse saddled. He grabbed his cloak from a footman. “Tell Kit I’m fetching the doctor.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
She sprinted back through the rain to Kit’s home. Palmer met her at the door. The old butler escorted her to a bedroom down the hall from Henry’s.
“His lordship’s valet brought these for you to wear. I’m afraid it will have to do until we have a chance to dry your clothes. We only have one maid, and she’s too large for you to wear anything of hers.” He left her alone to change.
She’d been given a man’s shirt and a heavy banyan robe. Both looked as though they were brand new and barely worn. She stripped out of her wet clothes and draped them over the fire grate to dry. She donned the shirt, feeling naked beneath it, but the strange thing was that she didn’t truly mind. She then put on the robe and tied the belt tight by her waist.
She was wearing Kit’s clothing. They even smelled faintly like him. She closed her eyes and hugged herself, embracing the idea of him holding her, making her feel safe and warm. Did wives who loved their husbands wear their shirts and robes sometimes and feel comforted? If Kit was hers, she would relish this.
Then reality intruded. Henry needed someone to be at his bedside, and she couldn’t stay here living in a fantasy that would never be.
Suzannah hastily padded to Henry’s room on bare feet and pulled up a chair to sit by his side. She touched the boy’s forehead and grimaced at how cold and sweaty his skin was. She took his hand and wrapped it in her own, squeezing it. She tried not to let her own worries show, lest he sense them.
“You’ll be all right, Henry.” She hoped that hearing his name would make him feel better, let him know he was safe.
She wasn’t sure how long it was before the doctor arrived, accompanied by Lord Tiverton. After one look at Henry’s leg, the doctor insisted that Suzannah leave the room while he set the broken bone.
“I should stay with him,” she said. “He needs me—”
The duke placed a hand upon her shoulder, his blue eyes soft and gentle. “Please, Miss Townsend. This will be terrible to witness, and I do not want that image in your thoughts as you care for him. We will bring you back in the moment we can.”
Lord Tiverton ushered her into the hall. A few minutes later, an agonized scream tore through the air. The sound dug into Suzannah’s skull, reminding her of the horses’ screams when they died. The boy quieted, and an awful silence smothered the house. She clenched her hands tight until the pain provided her some clarity as she considered what she was going to need to take care of Henry. Once he was well enough to move, she’d take him home and use the extra money from painting Kit to provide for Henry until his leg was mended and he could return to the theater.
The door opened, and Lord Tiverton came to see her, his face somber. “You may come in again, Miss Townsend.”
She stepped back into the room and saw that Henry was once again unconscious. She sank into the chair, her legs suddenly weak. The doctor put a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Are you well, my dear?” the doctor asked.
“Yes, I’m just... not used to seeing someone in such pain,” she admitted.
“Ah, yes, it is why we asked you to wait outside. The sight of a nasty break can leave even a person with the strongest constitution weak.” The doctor packed up his black bag and told Tiverton he would speak with Mr. Palmer before leaving.
Tiverton crouched down beside her. “Where is Kit?”
“He is just down the road. The coach was hit by a curricle. The man from the curricle died, and Mr. Samuels’s horses died too.” Flashes of the crash tore across her eyes. “Oh...” She covered her face in her hands, trying to quell the harsh shaking that followed. She felt as though she would fall to pieces on the floor.
Tiverton placed a hand on her shoulder, and the shuddering eased a little.
