“How can you make jokes at a time like this?”
“It is rather easy, considering I wasn’t the one who was shot,” Clara quipped.
“I should dismiss you.”
Clara grinned. “You could, but you would be lost without me.”
Despite herself, Elsbeth laughed. “I would,” she admitted. “Very well. I won’t dismiss you, but can you stop making jokes?”
“I will stop, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking them.”
“You are insufferable,” Elsbeth retorted.
Clara held the damp cloth up. “Brace yourself, my lady. This will sting,” she warned before pressing the cloth to the wound.
Elsbeth let out a soft cry as the cool water touched her wound. The pain was sharp and relentless. She turned her face away, breathing through it. “Do you have to scrub so vigorously?”
Clara paused for only a moment. “Would you rather it fester and take your arm?” she asked. “That is what happens to unattended wounds.”
“You are far too morbid,” Elsbeth muttered.
Clara finished cleaning the wound and secured a fresh bandage around her arm. Sitting back with a sigh of relief, shestudied her handiwork. “It looks better than I feared, my lady. You will heal. Though you will have a scar.”
“A scar is the least of my worries,” Elsbeth murmured, her mind drifting back to her stepfather. Alfred was hiding something, but was that something worth risking her life to discover? She wasn’t quite sure how she should proceed.
As Clara began gathering up the used cloths, she glanced over at Elsbeth. “I still cannot believe that Lord Westcott tricked you.”
“Can we not talk about him?” Elsbeth asked. “I have had quite enough of Lord Westcott and I do not want to think of him a moment longer than I have to.”
Clara straightened. “I will change the subject, then. Your cousin, Lord Bedford, and Mr. Strother are waiting for you in the drawing room.”
Elsbeth’s stomach dropped. “Why are they here? Today, of all days?”
“I did not ask,” Clara said with a shrug. “But you might want to hurry before they come searching for you.”
Gesturing towards her bandaged arm, Elsbeth asked, “How am I to explain this?”
“I thought of that,” Clara replied, crossing the room to the wardrobe. She pulled out a pink gown with oversized puffed sleeves and held it up. “These sleeves will hide the bandages.”
Elsbeth frowned. “That gown is hopelessly out of fashion.”
“Perhaps, but it is very practical right now,” Clara remarked.
“You make an excellent point,” Elsbeth said, resigned as she allowed Clara to help her dress.
A short time later, she emerged from her room and descended the grand staircase. The pain in her arm pulsated with every step, but she kept her expression composed. At least the pain reminded her that she was alive.
Elsbeth entered the room and saw her tall, dark-haired cousin, Charles, rising from his seat beside her mother, hisarms outstretched in greeting. “Cousin! You look as lovely as ever,” he said in an overly cheerful voice.
She accepted his brief embrace before stepping back, fixing him with a wary gaze. “What brings you to our quiet village?”
“Why, I came to see you, of course,” Charles replied.
Her mother interjected, her lips pursed in disapproval. “Dear, why are you wearing that gown? It is an interesting choice to meet callers.”
She smoothed down the gown. “I was rushing to see Charles and it was the first gown that I came across in the wardrobe.”
“Perhaps next time, you might take a little more time to make yourself presentable,” her mother remarked.
