Page 20 of Rescuing a Tantalising Heiress
The viscount laughed.
“Women and their maids. I manage well enough with Marston. I had a valet once, but I discovered he was somewhat light-fingered with my cufflinks. I couldn’t prove it, of course—he was too clever for that—but I dismissed him, and I’ve done without a valet ever since,” Edward said.
With breakfast over, Augusta invited Isabella to join her in the morning room.
“You could play the pianoforte, or we could step out into the garden if you like,” she said, but at these words, the viscount shook his head.
“No, not the garden. We still don’t know if the house is being watched. I could show you the library, though. I know you enjoyed seeing it yesterday,” he said, and Isabella smiled.
She thought back to her dream, nodding as she rose to her feet.
“I’d like that very much,” she said.
“I’ll go and see to my roses—they’re just beginning to bud, and I’m expecting them to bloom any day now,” Augusta said, excusing herself from the table.
The viscount invited Isabella to follow him, leading her from the dining room across the hallway and into the library. In her previously exhausted state, Isabella had hardly been able to appreciate the remarkable room into which she now stepped, and she gazed around her in awe, marvelling at the shelves of books and imagining what it would be like to have such a library as this.
“My father’s library pales in comparison,” she said as a set of volumes of poetry by Blake himself caught her eye.
“It was my father who collected most of the books you see here. He was something of a scholar—though not much of a viscount, I fear. The estate was run into the ground when I inherited it, but the library was…as you see it,” Edward replied, rolling his eyes as he spoke.
Isabella smiled. She knew she would be the same—more interested in books than in the practicalities of the estate.
“It’s kind of you to show it to me,” she said, and Edward extended his hand.
“Please, take down anything you wish,” he said.
But as Isabella reached out to take the copy of William Blake’s collected works—just as she had done in her dream—the pain in her wrist smarted, and she grimaced, drawing back with a sigh. The marks where the cords had bound her were still fresh, and they stung with a terrible pain. The viscount looked at her with a concerned expression on his face.
“I’m sorry, it’s my wrists. Augusta had a soothing ointment she applied, but it’s dried now, and the pain’s returned,” Isabella said, feeling embarrassed to admit the pain she was in.
“Please, come and sit down. I’ll ring for Hetty. She can go and fetch it for you,” Edward said, and before Isabella could protest, not wishing to make a fuss, the viscount hurried out into the hallway and rung the bell to summon the butler.
Marston was duly dispatched, and it was not long before Hetty returned with the ointment, a strong-smelling concoction of rosemary and lavender.
“I’ve brought a cloth, too, sir, and I can fetch some warm water if it might help,” Hetty said.
She seemed to have lost her previous suspicion and looked sympathetically at Isabella, who was now sitting on a chair by the hearth.
“It’s all right, Hetty, thank you. We can manage, I’m sure,” the viscount said, and the maid bobbed into a curtsey before leaving the room.
Edward brought the bottle and the cloth to Isabella’s side, and it seemed he suddenly realized the difficulty she would have in applying the ointment herself.
“I can…” Isabella began, feeling embarrassed once again, but the viscount shook his head.
“Please, won’t you let me? You can’t do it yourself. It’ll run all over your dress,” he said, kneeling at her side.
He dabbed some of the ointment onto the cloth, and Isabella held out her hands. Gently, he pulled back the sleeves of her dress, exposing the wounds to her wrists and bathing them gently with the ointment. Isabella breathed a sigh at the relief the ointment afforded her.
It was cool and soothing, and Edward did the same for her other wrist, gently dabbing at her wounds, his expression set in marked concentration as though he were holding something extremely delicate in his strong hands.
“It’s very kind of you,” she said, and the viscount smiled.
“It’s the very least I can do,” he replied.
Chapter 9
The ointment was soothing, and Isabella felt a sense of relief as Edward finished applying it to her wrists. It smelled strongly of lavender, and as she pulled the sleeves of her dress down, he wiped his hands on the cloth the maid had brought and smiled.
