Page 12 of Wit, Wiles and Courtship

“You ought to see the view,” Joanna exclaimed as she arrived with Evo, flushed with good humor.

“We will walk over and see it after we eat,” Camilla said, wanting to make sure everyone was cared for. They had had a late start, and it had been some hours since everyone had eaten breakfast.

“Hand me another sandwich, will you?” Evo coaxed, bumping Tilly’s arm with his plate.

“Leave off, Evo,” she retorted. “I want to make sure everyone has been served first.”

Camilla smiled at her sister. This confidence was new. “Well done, Tilly. That is how you must keep him in line.”

“Your sister knows best about such matters, Lady Matilda,” Pembroke said at her side.

Camilla turned to him with an amused glance but the distraction was ill-timed, for she had been bearing down with the knife and felt a sharp pinch in the palm of her hand.

“Oh,” she cried out, then hissed as the pain began to pulse. The yellow skin of the pear grew red, and she dropped it.

“Camilla!” Lord Pembroke whipped the handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and wrapped it around her palm and applied pressure, then looked at her in concern. “Are you well? Can you bear it?”

She nodded, though she didn’t feel well at all. When he opened the handkerchief to examine the wound, she saw the beads of red before he quickly applied pressure again.

“Sit back,” Evo urged, as he sat facing the other way, presenting his back and adding, “Lean against me.” She obeyed and realized she was trembling.

Tilly had begun to cry, and Sophia went to sit beside her and offer comfort. The others had gathered around Camilla in concern, and she was thankful for Evo’s slender, solid back which kept her upright without effort. Although the edges of her vision seemed hazy, she was more conscious than anything of Pembroke cradling her hand in his large, warm palm as he applied pressure to the cut with his other.

“I don’t suppose you have any spirits with you? Something strong?” Miles asked Felix, who was now sitting beside Sophia, supporting her as she tended to Tilly. He shook his head.

Pembroke tilted his head in the direction of his horse. “I’ve a flask of Highland Scotch in my saddlebag. I had forgotten about it. Downing pressed it upon me when I was leaving his estate in Lancashire. Said it’s a Glenlivet, and I should appreciate it.”

“I had thought to use it to clean the wound,” Miles said hesitantly. “I suppose it won’t do.”

“No, fetch it. This is more important.” He brought his gaze to Camilla. “You are not feeling faint, are you?” She was, but she shook her head.

Miles brought the flask over and unscrewed the cap. “I am sorry for your Highland whiskey, Rock. I’ll try not to use it all.” Taking Camilla’s hand from Pembroke’s he added, “I am afraid this will burn.”

She was unable to speak and just nodded to tell him to proceed. Pembroke lifted the handkerchief, which was now more red than white, and Miles poured the Scotch over the cut. She cried out as fire seared through her palm, stealing her breath.

“Use this.” Miles pulled out his own handkerchief and tossed it to his cousin, who caught it.

Pembroke reapplied the pressure to her palm with the clean handkerchief, and Camilla squeezed her eyes shut, though tears leaked out.

“I believe you should lie down,” Pembroke said. “You are looking pale. Evo, help your sister.”

With an alacrity Camilla had not thought possible, Evo turned and helped her gently to lie down. The sight of his face full of concern made the tears well up again. Then she looked on her other side and saw a similar look of worry in Lord Pembroke’s and fought to keep her emotions from flying out in all directions. She sniffed, then reached for the usual habit she employed for coping—besides cake.

“Evo, I think I need my legs raised. Do you think you could go on all fours and serve as a footrest?”

He almost obeyed, but the sight of Camilla’s lip twitching—and truly she was astonished that she could find anything funny at that moment—brought him up short. He sat back on his heels and looked down at her, his face resuming a more normal expression of haughty irony.

“I have done more for you than you deserve already. And you forget yourself, for⁠—”

“‘I am the head of this family,’” Tilly finished quickly, causing everyone to laugh and breaking the spell of anguish that had been cast over them.

Camilla was beginning to feel better in a prone position with the breeze skimming her cheeks. The worst of the pain had subsided in her palm and Lord Pembroke had not released her hand but still held it with both of his own, creating a cocoon of warm comfort. He lessened the pressure of the handkerchief just slightly and looked at the wound again. Daring herself to look, Camilla brought her eyes to it as well. The cut was not as big as she had feared. Blood beaded along its edges but did not come out as quickly as before. He showed it to Miles.

“What shall we do? We will need to get her to a surgeon for stitches.”

Miles cast a quick glance. “I suppose we will.”

“Stitches?” she asked in trepidation, seeking reassurance from either of them. Pembroke reapplied the pressure.