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“Mrs. Monteith is chatting with one of her friends in the parlor. It’s Lord Lacey I’ve come about, miss.”
“Lord Lacey?”
“H
e was thrown from his horse. He’s not badly injured,” she hastened to add, seeing Olivia’s eyes widen, “but his lame leg was twisted. He’s having trouble walking. Abbot thought you might like to know.”
“I did. I do. Thank you, Estelle.”
She wanted to go to him and see for herself that he was all right, but Olivia knew that even if she could, she wasn’t up to visiting yet. This was her first day outside in a week.
“Can you tell Abbot to inform Lord Lacey that I wish him well,” she said, calming herself. “Very well.”
Estelle smiled. “I’ll tell him, miss.”
“How—how did it happen?”
“Lord Lacey was on his way home from calling on you, miss. Some creature frightened his horse, and he was thrown. He lay there for an hour or more before he was discovered and help was sought.”
It sounded appalling, and Olivia was only glad that Nic hadn’t been killed. As it was, Estelle said he was having trouble walking, and Olivia wondered if his injuries were permanent. She had a momentary image of herself gravely nursing him through his pain. She could straighten his pillows and lift his head so that he could drink, and spoon thin beef broth into his mouth when he was hungry. Olivia pictured him gazing at her in earnest adoration and declaring how wrong he had been to reject her.
It was nonsense and she knew it, but sometimes it was pleasant to tell oneself fairy stories. In reality Nic Lacey was far more likely to curse his leg, and her, than obediently take his medicine and suck broth from a spoon. He’d probably send for some of his lady friends to cheer him up.
Her smile faded.
Nic Lacey might be a rake with a string of women in his past, but Olivia was determined that once she caught him there would be only one woman in his life.
And that was Olivia.
In Castle Lacey gardens, Nic sat gloomily in the chair Abbot had set for him, his leg resting on a mountain of cushions and the damnable walking cane close by. The scent of flowers was pleasant, the sun was warm, and the drone of bees made him sleepy. But he chafed against his forced inactivity. He was being made to feel like a cripple and he loathed it, but he’d been warned of the consequences if he didn’t do as he was told.
“Rest or you may never walk again,” the doctor had told him with chilling bluntness.
“I’m sure you can get me on my feet again,” Nic retorted, gritting his teeth as the physician poked and prodded at him. “You’ve done it before.”
“I can only do so much, my lord. Your leg never set properly after you broke it the first time. I warned you then that if you didn’t go to London for the best possible treatment you’d always have trouble with it, but you chose to ignore my advice.”
“Yes, yes, so you’ve reminded me innumerable times before.”
“And you never take the slightest bit of notice. Well, this time, my lord, you will listen to me or I will wash my hands of you.”
Nic ground his teeth. Even he knew the doctor was right, but he hated to admit it. “I will take your advice and rest,” he bit out. “Now leave me alone, devil take you!”
“Very wise, my lord.” Unperturbed, the doctor gave him one more stern look, clicked his bag shut, and left.
After several dreary days confined to the house, Nic was finally allowed to begin to exercise. Just a few minutes at first, until now he could walk about the garden, with the help of his cane, and without having Abbot hovering over him like a demented nursemaid. It still hurt, of course. Sometimes the pain left him faint and his breathing ragged, but he refused to let it beat him. And he refused to contemplate turning down his invitation to this year’s demimonde ball, as Abbot was hinting he should.
They’d had another to-do earlier, before Abbot put him out there in the garden and left him to his own devices. Abbot seemed to be prone to the sulks these days, but Nic wasn’t going to let it spoil his day. He’d go to the ball and find some smiling beauty to take to Paris with him, and they would have a splendid romp.
Until it was time to come home again.
Nic’s mood turned even gloomier, and he sat contemplating his leg, and remembering the day he had broken his thigh bone. The pain had been excruciating. He remembered the doctor telling him to get specialist help in London, but at the time it’d been impossible to leave the castle. Even though he was damaged and in agony, there was no one else to take charge with his father dead and his mother half mad with grief. He shivered, as if a cloud had slid over the sun.
Those days were some of the worst ones of his life, and being here at the castle was a constant reminder. Another reason to get away as soon as possible.
The sound of voices drew his attention and he looked up. Abbot and two women were standing at the end of the long walk. As he watched, Abbot and one woman walked away, and after a moment’s hesitation, the second woman began to come toward him.
Nic shaded his eyes.
