Page 30 of The Ones Left Behind
Hornsby poured some oil on to his hands, then rubbed them together. He held his hands up and sniffed. “It tingles,” he remarked in wonder before rubbing the potion over Matthias’s leg.
“It does,” he agreed, through clenched teeth. “It also hurts when you clamp down on my leg like an adder trying to kill its prey!”
“Oh, beg pardon, my lord, but she did say to rub it deep into the muscles.”
“To relieve pain, not cause it.”
Hornsby shrugged, but did ease the pressure of his ministrations.
It was still not comfortable, but Matthias allowed Hornsby to do as Kitty had instructed for a few minutes. Hornsby then placed a poultice of cool, wet herbs over the healing wound and allowed him to rest.
Matthias had just closed his eyes, tired enough to slip back into oblivion, when Hornsby made a noise.
“What is it?”
“Some lady leaving the house in high dudgeon.”
“How do you know she is in a huff?” Matthias asked. It was an odd way to describe someone.
“Her back is as straight as a board, her nose is up in the air, and her feet are stamping with every step making them stupid feathers in her bonnet bop up and down like a chicken pecking at its feed.”
Matthias frowned. What lady would be calling, alone, on him? It must be to do with Kitty. “Will you go and see what it was about?”
“I thought that was what butlers were for,” Hornsby muttered under his breath, but having put away the towels and shaving supplies, departed on the errand.
There were few ladies in the county who Matthias could imagine calling at the Close, especially if they knew he was wounded. He wondered if perhaps the visitor had just left her calling card with good wishes, but no, he recalled that Hornsby had said she looked upset. Matthias groaned. It was very likely Fanny Gordon, come to harass Kitty.
Why could people not mind their own business? He wanted to wallow in his misery in private, for Kitty’s presence had already destroyed any peace of mind he’d had remaining.
But he had not known it would be thus.
Much though he wanted to sulk in his room, he knew that would never do. He also knew that this state of affairs could not endure. If only she would give him some sign of encouragement, he would press his suit. Did it not matter to her that she was under his roof and compromised? She clearly thought she was an independent widow and could recover her reputation with the passage of time.
Would it help smooth ruffled feathers if everyone knew he had proposed and she had refused? No, for she would be branded a jade and having his rejection the subject of idle gossip would certainly not help his pride.
His brethren were all finding wives and settling down—the ones who still lived. He swallowed hard. At this point he was still not certain which was preferable. For some reason, God had chosen for him to live and who was he to nay-say the Lord above?
“I would like to beg a bit of assistance in the way of pain and healing, if you will,” he muttered, in case anyone in the heavenly realm was listening.
He took his crutch and hobbled pitifully over to the window. He felt no relief from Kitty’s efforts, but it was early yet. It was too much to hope for that anything would bring the instant relief afforded by brandy. He pulled the flask from his pocket and took a deep drink, relishing the immediate alleviation of his hurts.
He took another and then another, and slid down to the floor with his broken leg out in front of him. He had not drunk so much that he failed to be protective of that. Who knew how long it would be until someone came to administer to his needs? He suspected it would be an hour or two at the least. Hornsby had left his correspondence on the bed, but could he read it from here? Matthias flapped at the edge of the counterpane. A couple of letters fluttered to the ground but only one fell within reach unless he shuffled on his rear or began to crawl. He was not yet ready to stoop to that indignity.
Settling for the one he could barely reach with his fingers, bit by bit, finger by finger, he slid it close enough that he could reach it.
He opened it and though the words were somewhat blurred, he immediately knew Henry was causing trouble again. He had become all too familiar with the Dean of his younger brother’s Oxford College.
Henry was being expelled. Again.
How much would it take to convince them to keep him this time? Would, perhaps, an appeal from a wounded soldier, accompanied by a generous donation, put them off for a bit longer? He could not bear to deal with Kitty, his wounds and his rapscallion excuse for an heir all at the same time.
Dunford would have to deal with the letter whenever he arrived to go through the estate books. It seemed, however, that by that juncture Henry could have built and paid for his own separate college at the place of the hallowed white stones.
There was little else Matthias could do without pen and paper, or two good legs to distract him from the ever-present pain. He drained the dregs of the flask and leaned back against the wall in light-headed bliss, having not a care now for his woes. Smiling foolishly, he allowed his mind to go back to those days when they had all been happy; when he thought Kitty felt the same as he.
He had thought back so many times, to seek what he might have done differently…
On this occasion his thoughts took him to the night of the midsummer ball. The night had felt magical: warm and fragrant, the time of year when the sky was never darker than dusk due to the stars twinkling down on them. They had danced and laughed, and made promises that neither of them could keep. After the ball they had sneaked out to the lake and had lain on a blanket under the sky, talking and kissing for hours. On their return, the Earl had been waiting for them, and had accused Kitty of countless horrible things—to include seducing and trying to entrap Matthias so she could be a countess. Even though he had assumed the worst, he had no thought to preserving Kitty’s honour. The look on Kitty’s face that night still haunted Matthias. Her disappointment in him was worse than any other punishment could have been. The more Matthias protested, the angrier his father had become. He’d sent Matthias to his chambers, and Kitty had been banished from the house.
