Page 32 of How Not to Marry a Duke

“Good.” She ignored his response. “Then you can help.”

His gut tightened at her sweet smile. He may be inexperienced when it came to feminine wiles, but he could identify the glint of mockery in her gaze.

To his dismay, it had the desired effect.

…

News of Adeline’s treatment of the blacksmith spread in the village. The next morning, she’d been summoned to help a young mother whose baby suffered from croup, a woman with painful menses, and a man with dysentery. Adeline returned home in the afternoon and was changing into a clean gown when a knock sounded.

Hasmik opened the door and, a moment later, Adeline heard the Duke of Warwick’s familiar masculine voice. The deep, vibrating sound rumbled through her body. He’d arrived earlier than expected. She pressed a hand to her hot cheeks. This wouldn’t do at all. She needed to remember how irritating the man could be. Taking two deep breaths, she smoothed her hair and skirts, then hurried to the top of the stairs as Hasmik led him inside.

“Welcome, Your Grace,” Hasmik said. “Lady Adeline will be just a moment and—”

“Tell His Grace I’m ready.” Adeline clutched the banister as she descended when a frantic knocking echoed in the parlor.

“Now who could that be?” Hasmik hurried to crack open the cottage door to find a middle-aged man with wiry salt and pepper hair and a long face, leaning on a younger version of himself. A tourniquet had been applied to the man’s upper thigh, and blood had seeped through the bandages and ran down his leg. A cart had been haphazardly parked in the middle of the yard where the injured man had been transported.

“I was told there is a healer here,” the wounded man said.

Hasmik nodded. “You’ve come to the right place, sir.”

“My name is Max Simmons. I’m the village carpenter and this is my son and apprentice, Jonathan. I cut myself while working.” He was clearly in pain and his face was pale as bone. His brow was furrowed, and his lips were pinched together revealing fine lines around his eyes and mouth.

“Let them inside,” Adeline instructed.

Mr. Simmons leaned heavily on his son as they shuffled awkwardly into Adeline’s kitchen. A chair was pulled out for the injured man, and Jonathan stood by his father’s side.

“It’s my fault, miss.” Jonathan’s voice cracked with strain, and he appeared on the verge of tears. “I distracted my dad, and he hurt himself, he did.”

“Quiet, Jon,” Mr. Turner said, then winced as Adeline crouched down to untie the bandages to reveal an ugly gash across the top of his thigh. His trousers had been shredded where it appeared a saw had made a nasty cut through muscle but hadn’t reached the bone or nicked an artery. She was able to cut the rest of the material away to get a better look at the damage.

“Good God, that’s a bloody mess,” Warwick blurted out.

The duke had followed them and stood in the corner of the kitchen.

Adeline’s patient turned an even more alarming shade of white, and his son started sobbing.

Adeline stood and stared at Warwick. He could be an unwanted distraction. “Perhaps you should come back another time, Your Grace.”

The duke had the good sense to look apologetic. “Please forgive me. How can I help?”

“That’s not necessary and like I said—”

“He may be able to help,” Hasmik interrupted.

Adeline hesitated. She knew what Hasmik meant. If her patient needed to be held down, she couldn’t do it and the son didn’t appear able.

Adeline nodded briskly. “If I need your assistance, I’ll ask.”

The duke nodded his understanding and wordlessly removed himself to the corner of the room.

Adeline turned her attention back to her patient. “Mr. Turner, how did the accident occur?”

“With a saw.”

Her assumption had been correct. The cut didn’t concern her as much as the chance of infection this type of wound could cause.

“It’s my fault, it is!” Jonathan cried out. “Father told me to hold the piece of wood straight, but I was distracted, and it slipped from my hands. That’s why the saw slipped and sliced him open.”