Those last words broke him. A sob ripped out of him, leaving a path of pain and fire across his chest and back. The more he tried to contain his tears, the more they fell. He shouldn’t fall to pieces in front of a stranger. He covered his face in shame, trying to muffle a painful sob in his tattered shirt. Mr. Sharpe lifted him and held him gently without saying anything. For the first time, Keith experienced a father’s hug. He gave up trying not to cry as Mr. Sharpe held him, careful not to hurt him.
“Perhaps my daughter’s recklessness wasn’t a bad thing, but don’t tell her I said that.” Amusement laced Mr. Sharpe’s words. “I gather you wish to stay.”
Keith wiped the tears with the back of his hand. “I do, sir, and I promise I’ll earn my keep.”
“It’s all right. We’ll discuss that later. You have to recover first.”
Keith had been wrong about Violante. She’d told him the truth.
Yes, perhaps the incident at Windy Ridge had been a good thing.
Violante had never beenprouder of her papa. She’d never doubted he would help Keith, but seeing his plan come to fruition filled her with happiness.
As she, Papa, and a very silent Keith waited in the sitting room for Sir Howard to arrive, she couldn’t stand still. She paced from the warm hearth to the window overlooking the front drive to check if Sir Howard’s carriage was in sight. Papa smoked his pipe in the armchair, reading the newspaper. Keith stared at his hot cup of tea as if waiting for a monster to come out of it. His shoulders were hunched, and his head hung on his chest. Why wasn’t he happy? The housekeeper had given him a fresh shirt, a jacket, and a pair of trousers. The cook had prepared a rich broth only for him. Yet he kept staring at everyone with a wary expression.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” she said, jolting him.
Some of his tea spilt, ending up on the floor. He paled further. “Apologies, sir.” He went to wipe the tea with a napkin, but she stopped him before his ribs and back hurt.
“I’ll do it.” She put her hand on his arm.
He withdrew his arm immediately. “I’m nervous,” he said among short breaths.
“You can trust Papa.” She’d said that a dozen times. She cleaned up the floor with a napkin. “He won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I know,” he whispered.
She inched closer. “If anything, I’m more worried about Sir Howard. Papa is an excellent fighter.” She mimicked throwing a punch. “He can knock out an opponent in three seconds straight. He can shoot a target at two hundred yards with his rifle. And he can?—”
“I think Keith got the point, darling,” Papa said.
“I didn’t tell him about your knowledge of gunpowder.” She waved her arms around. “He made fireworks for my last birthday. Beautiful peonies and crossettes. It was the most beautiful birthday party I’ve ever had.”
Keith flashed a fleeting, timid smile. It lasted a moment but brightened his thin face.
“She’s exaggerating,” Papa said from the armchair. “I had help with the fireworks, and I haven’t sparred in a while. I’m afraid I’m rusty.”
She shook her head. “He’s being modest.”
Papa lowered his newspaper, puffing on his pipe. “Your praise won’t distract me from the fact you stole my sledge?—”
She lifted a finger. “Borrowed without permission, Papa.”
“—destroyed it, and injured this young man.” He pointed his pipe at her. “Not to mention that Windy Ridge is too steep for someone as inexperienced as you are, as I told you many times. You explicitly disobeyed me. You could have been seriously hurt. You could have hurt Keith more seriously. If the sledge had hit his neck at that speed, we’d be having a very different conversation now.”
It was her turn to hang her head. There was a serious note in her papa’s voice she couldn’t dismiss. He was right. Sheshouldn’t have taken the sledge. She shouldn't have gone to Windy Ridge.
“I’m sorry, Papa. I really am. Because of me, Keith is injured. That’s inexcusable.”
“I’m glad you recognise your mistakes.” Papa exhaled a puff of smoke. “No dancing for four months.”
What?Her jaw hung open. “Four months? Papa, that’s unfair. Christmas is coming. I want to dance. A new style of gallop is in fashion. I have to practise it before the ball at the town hall. Everyone will be there.”
He arched his eyebrow. His hard features spelt the end of her Christmas dream. “No reading novels for a month as well. You’ll only read books concerning your studies. One more word,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest, “and it’ll be two months. You’ll have time to ponder the gravity of your actions. If you keep complaining, you won’t even go to the Christmas party.”
Tarnation. She folded her arms over her chest, fuming as much as Papa’s pipe. No dancing for four months and no novels for a month. She’d go mad with boredom.
“Sir…” Keith said in a low voice. “I’m all right. I mean, I’m alive. Nothing terrible happened.”
