Page 46 of Counting on Love

Chapter Thirteen

Reginald trudged into his bedchamber and shut the door firmly before stripping off his gloves and jacket. A bowl of water had been set on the dresser, so he dunked his hands, then pulled them out and plunged his head in. The cold was bracing.

Behind him, the door opened and shut. Barclay exclaimed, “My lord! There is warm water on the way, if you would be patient.”

Reginald lifted his head. Water ran off his hair and down his shirt. Barclay dropped Reginald’s best boots, freshly blackened and oiled, to fetch him a towel. “Was it a successful hunt?” Barclay ventured.

“No,” he said, rubbing himself dry. “One of the Willowsetts took a tumble. Broke his leg and rattled his brains.”

“Ah. That explains the hullabaloo downstairs.” He nodded at Reginald’s riding boots. “May I help you with those?”

Reginald glanced down. They were caked with dirt and there were bits of hedge stuck on. He hoped he hadn’t tracked all that up the stairs.

“Yes.” He sat down and let his valet pry off his boots, then set them outside the door to tend to later. He was still motionless, staring vacantly at the wall, when Barclay offered him his banyan.

“No. Tea clothes, I’m afraid.” He scowled. “I don’t think I’ll survive two weeks of this. God forbid three.”

“I don’t suppose Lord Taverston will require three,” Barclay said wryly.

Reginald lifted his chin and stared. It was not the farthest step over the line he had permitted his valet, but it rankled. Barclay turned hastily to the clothes trunk to find suitable tea wear.

“Trousers rather than pantaloons,” Reginald suggested, injecting enough warmth into his voice to counter the stare. He said nothing further while Barclay tended to him—undressing, shaving after the warm water arrived, dressing. He was oppressed by his thoughts.

That horse! What a waste of a noble animal. Inviting the Willowsetts was a mistake. The two brothers had been making cakes of themselves over Olivia for months. And now farce had turned to tragedy.

Jeremy would recover, so long as his head had not been thumped more severely than Adam suspected it had. They would have to see what Dr. Haraldsen thought. But it might have been a worse tragedy. Indeed, for the first few minutes, Reginald had worried the boy had broken his neck.

He shuddered. Too much illness and death. He didn’t know how Crispin stood it.

Of course, the looming storm of grief hanging over them all kept death at the forefront of Reginald’s thoughts. He kept pushing it back and pushing it back, but it hovered, nevertheless.

And Lady Georgiana. He had determined to avoid her as much as possible. He would not make a cake of himself. Not over Jasper’s intended.

But God. The way she had gone straight to Jeremy’s side, heedless of her dress, unfazed by all that blood. Unbothered by Crispin, who must be cool as ice in battle. And she had, with tender mercy, attempted to comfort him as well, yet he had not dared even acknowledge her kind-heartedness.

He hoped he hadn’t looked like a fatwit.

Barclay put the last twist in his neckcloth and knotted it.

“There you are, sir.” He still sounded contrite. “Is there anything else? More cologne?”

“The devil! There is more than enough in the neckcloth. My eyes are watering.”

Alarmed, Barclay leaned toward him and sniffed. Then he chuckled, sounding relieved. “Very funny. I didn’t use even a drop. Hardly a dab.”

Reginald stepped away. “I’m going to go sit with the Earl for a bit. I’m not ready to return to the crush that our drawing room has become.”

*

Father was awake, sitting in his chair by the window. He wore a nightshirt and bed jacket and had a blanket over his knees. His eyepatch had slipped down his cheek. His nurse puttered around the room but didn’t appear to be doing anything of note.

Reginald said, “If the Earl is set for now, you may go have your tea. I’ll be here for a while.”

“Very good, sir.” She wiped her hands on her apron and shuffled out.

“How are you today, Father?” he asked, dragging a chair over beside him.

“Bored.” He sighed. “Hell of a thing.”