At least the outrageous behavior of her maid had brought a smile to Lady Cordelia’s face.
Lynette gave him one final push into the corridor. “Thanks much!” she said, and slammed the door in his face.
Percival sighed. That was the last of the lady he would see tonight. All he could do now was wait for the doctor to do his assessment and hear the report.
Please God let it only be a sprain. Else, Lord Popinjay might discover that Lord Harveston was the new murderous whale in his life.
*
After Lynette hadthrown Lord Harveston from the room, Cordelia had smiled ruefully at her aunt and said, “Not the tableau we were hoping for.”
“That Lord Poppin is a confounding sort of creature,” Miss Mayton said.
Indeed, he was very confounding. All would have gone smoothly if he had not pushed that ottoman into her path. She had a book in hand and glasses on and was feeling very scholarly.
Though, her aunt’s glasses were rather stronger than she’d imagined they’d be. They’d turned the whole room into something that looked as if it were being viewed inside an aquarium. Everything had been blurred and wavy.
Even so, she’d mapped out her marks, just as if she were on the stage, and had been poised to pass close by Lord Harveston so he might view the tableau.
“I don’t see why the housekeeper couldn’t have carried you up,” Lynette said. “Or I could’a done it.”
“Do not be ridiculous, Lynette,” Cordelia said. “There was no impropriety in Lord Harveston carrying me up and neither you nor Mrs. Blowton would have made it up two steps before dropping me.”
Lynette shrugged, as she knew that was perfectly true.
And how lucky it was true. How interesting it had been to be carried by Lord Harveston.
He had very strong arms, as it happened. She was not certain she would have thought it, but he’d picked her up as if it were nothing at all.
It really had been rather glorious.
After a half hour of considering Lord Harveston’s arms, there was a sharp rap on the door. Mrs. Blowton bustled in with an older gentleman following her.
“We were in luck,” Mrs. Blowton said. “Mr. Graves recalled that Doctor Raythorn was to be at a card party at the Hendersons’ not a half mile down the road. Lady Cordelia, this is Doctor Raythorn.”
The doctor came forward. “Let us see what has torn me away from a winning hand. It’s the ankle, is it?”
Cordelia nodded and said, “I am very sorry to hear of that, Doctor Raythorn. I suppose you are a very good card player?”
This little bit of soothing seemed to go a long way in Doctor Raythorn’s books. As he examined her ankle, feeling along the bones and then moving it this way and that, he said, “Well, there will be other card games, I suppose.”
“Is it broken?” Lynette whispered. “Will you have to set it while my lady screams?”
Doctor Raythorn knit his brows at Lynette. “I cannot tell if you are horrified or interested in the idea. No matter, it is not a break. It is a bad sprain, though.”
He turned back to Cordelia. “I am afraid it is bedrest for the next few days, at the very least. Keep it elevated as you have done.”
While Cordelia was grateful that there were no broken bones, she was less grateful over the idea of staying abed. How was Lord Harveston to say anything, to declare anything he might be thinking of, when she was abed?
“Mrs. Blowton, I will leave you a poultice for the injured area. First, bathe it in cold water, ice if you have it. Then the poultice.”
The housekeeper nodded.
“For all that, Lady Cordelia, the only real cure is rest. Do not fool yourself into thinking you can get on your feet for at least three days.”
Three days!
“Oh dear,” she said, “I shall miss the duke’s regatta.”
