Page 17 of Lady Mary's May Day Mischief
“The ice, the tea, more bandages and brandy await you in Lady Fiona’s rooms, my lord.”
“Well, then.” He rose. “I’m off to do my doctoring.”
“Get to it, Charlton.” He got to his feet. “I’m off to join the party.”
“To explore new possibilities, I do hope.”
I’d like to hope.“We shall see.”
Chapter 5
“When you’re finished, Welles, I’m certain Lady Fiona would like your help sorting her wardrobe.” Though concerned about Fifi and her injury, Mary needed to discuss Blake’s sudden appearance. Just when she’d told herself she applauded the benefits of spinsterhood, she was presented with the man she’d urged herself to forget.
Her maid nodded. “Yes, my lady. I’ll go in a few minutes.”
Mary hurried down the hall to the next room where the door stood wide open.
Inside, Lord Charlton bent over Fifi’s bare foot. Bare ankle. Bare leg…to her knee!
No maid, no footman was in attendance.
“There you are, Mary! Do come in. See what Lord Charlton is doing.” Fifi pointed to her swollen foot. “He claims to be an expert at healing twisted ankles.”
Mary took a position next to Fifi’s chair with full view of her injury, bruising like an eggplant. “Is that so, sir?”
He glanced up at her, a rueful arc to his brows, his hands stilled at his task. “We are—I assure you, Lady Mary—perfectly respectable. Do note the door is open. I have not accosted your friend. Have I, Lady Fifi?”
“Not in the least,” Fifi said, too absorbed in Charlton’s wrapping of her ankle in a strip of flannel to notice his use of her familiar little name.
“You’ve done this often?” Mary inquired of him.
“Battlefield surgeons are few and far between, my lady. A commander must perform as leader, confessor, scribe and doctor.”
“Of course.” She had nothing for it but to join the reception of the rest of the guests downstairs in the main salon. “Will you come downstairs, my lord, after you finish here?”
“I will. So will Lady Fifi.”
“Oh, no, I won’t. I’m not going down there like this.”
“Why not?” He paused in his ministrations and scowled at her. “Does your ankle prohibit you from laughing?”
Fifi glared at him. “Never.”
“Well then.”
“You are irritating, my lord.” Fifi crossed her arms, then met Mary’s gaze. “We’ll adjourn to the salon in a few minutes.”
Charlton looked marginally relieved as he caught Mary’s frown. “A few more minutes, then.”
The man was a bear. Dismissing her, no less! Worse, Fifi was not asking for her to remain.
But Welles appeared. With a suitable chaperone at hand, Mary would have to discuss her thoughts on the comforts of renewing old friendships another time.
Plus she knew when to yield. “I’ll see you both downstairs.”
* * *
Blake found himself ambushed in one corner by two young ladies whom he was informed were former school friends of Mary and Fifi. Lady Ivy or her twin sister, Lady Grace Livingstone, daughters of an earl whom he’d never met, were not only dressed in the same white muslin but possessed the same features save for one. They had the same round faces, the same dimples in their left cheeks, the same bright emerald eyes, same height and dulcet tone of voice. But Ivy had a halo of white blonde hair and Grace a riot of autumn red. Both were eager talkers.
