Page 43 of Finding Hope
“You do not need to carry me,” she protested weakly.
“You will be examined by Dr. Cafferty at once. When he says I have nothing to fear, then I will stop worrying.”
Hope would have smiled at his protectiveness if her head did not hurt so much. A tight bandage had been wound around her temple, so she must look ridiculous, as well. At the moment, she was too tired to care.
“Brosner, help me lift her into the back of this cart,” she heard Rotham order.
She was passed to a different set of hands and carefully lowered onto the bed of the vehicle. Then Rotham’s arms were around her again. “Drive slowly. I do not want her to be jostled.”
“Why is she losing so much blood?” Grace asked. “It does not look to be deep.”
“It must have hit an artery,” Patience answered.
“We must go at once,” Rotham said. “We will meet you back at the house,” he said to her sisters as they moved back.
The cart moved forward and Hope decided it was more comfortable to close her eyes and rest against Rotham than stay awake and endure the pain. When she woke again, she was being carried up the stairs into the house.
“Perhaps the blue drawing room, my lord?” the butler suggested. “It has been made ready for the Duke to use if needed.”
Rotham placed her gently on a sofa, and her sisters soon crowded into the room to wait with her for the doctor’s arrival.
Slightly dizzy, she tried to sit up and feel her head. She did not think she had been gravely injured.
“What are you doing?” Rotham asked.
“I am attempting to assess my head. I do not need everyone fussing over me.” The last thing she wanted was to draw more attention to herself! Not that she could help being shot. If it had been an accident, then she had been very lucky.
“How is your arm, Rotham?” Grace asked.
Guiltily, he met Hope’s gaze.
“Oh, yes. I forgot you were also hit! You had no business carrying me so!”
“After the bullet hit him, it lodged in your bonnet!” Grace said, holding up the evidence.
Hope felt a wave of nausea at the realization of how close she had been to a worse fate, and began to tremble.
Rotham attempted to soothe her, and covered her with a blanket.
Dr. Cafferty arrived shortly thereafter and stopped with surprise when he saw he had different patients. “My lord, I thought I had been called here for Miss Joy. What has happened?”
“A stray bullet from a poacher scratched my arm and then hit Miss Whitford. The bonnet and my arm seem to have slowed the trajectory a little.”
The doctor set down his bag on a nearby table, then sat beside Hope on the sofa. He removed the bandage and surveyed the damage. “The bleeding has slowed. I do not think there will be much of a scar as long as the wound does not fester. The injury was not far above her eye, near her temple, as you can see. You are a very fortunate young lady. Half an inch to the left, and it could have gone into your brain.”
Hope sat still, feeling numb, while the doctor cleaned and redressed the wound before standing and turning to Rotham.
“Now, let me have a look at your arm, my lord.”
“I need nothing. ‘Tis but a scratch.”
“I will be the judge of that. Scratches can also fester. I will look now.”
Hope was mildly amused at the doctor’s tone with Rotham. Even though the doctor was half a head shorter than his lordship, he appeared to be looking down at him. He had probably been the family physician since before Rotham was born. They went to a different room and Hope’s sisters crowded around her.
“Do you think someone tried to shoot Rotham on purpose?” Patience asked, sitting beside her on the sofa and taking her hand.
“Why would anyone wish to kill him? We should not let our imaginations carry us to nonsensical places. It could have as easily been intended for me, if that is the reasoning.”
