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Beatrice half expected him to hold out a gentlemanly elbow to assist her. However, she forgot that this was Ben, the man who seemed inclined to want to carry her everywhere. The effortless way he hefted her into his arms and swept her up the flight of stairs left her amazed, and rather delighted that he could manage to climb stairs with her weight in his arms.
“Which way?” He asked and tried desperately to ignore the fact that she was staring at him again.
“Second door on the left,” she replied with a shiver.
She could only hope that there was no hint of the emotions that had begun to unfurl deep within her written on her face. It felt rather intimate to have this man; this wonderfully handsome, charming man, carry her to her room, and she tried not to wonder what it would be like if this was for real.
“I will wait out here until you are ready to go back downstairs,” he whispered huskily once he had deposited her in the doorway.
“Thank you,” she replied, and watched him close the door with a soft click.
She stared at the wood panelling for several moments before the need to see him again propelled her into motion. She hurriedly changed out of her clothes and put on a blessedly dry dress, and accompanied it with not one, but two of her thickest shawls. Now that she was fairly dry and warm, she realised how cold she had been, and just how foolish she was for not getting out of her wet clothes as soon as she had arrived home.
While she re-pinned her hair, she heard him putting more water on to boil downstairs but, by the time she opened her bedroom door, he was back in the hallway with his shoulders propped against the wall directly opposite.
“You are not going to carry me downstairs,” Beatrice declared firmly as she hobbled out of the bedroom.
He rolled his eyes. Although he wanted to, even he wasn’t that brave. He held his elbow out to her instead. “Use the wall and me to steady yourself, and shuffle along beside me. Put most of your weight onto me.”
They made their way back to the sitting room without too much trouble. However, once there, he waited until she had taken a seat on the couch and then knelt at her feet.
“Let’s take a look at this boot, shall we?” he murmured gently and began to untie her laces.
It felt terribly scandalous to lift her skirts out of the way and allow him greater access to her ankles, but she could hardly refuse now that he had already started to pull the first boot off. That was fine, but then she hadn’t injured that one. However, as soon as he started to remove the boot from her injured foot, the aching increased with a vengeance and continued to grow steadily worse, to the point that she had to grit her teeth to withhold her cry of pain. Even from a distance, her ankle looked bruised and swollen but, luckily, now that it was free of the confines of her boot, she could at least move it.
“I don’t think it is broken, but you do need to rest it for a while,” Ben murmured and placed her foot on the table before them. Once he had put more logs onto the fire, he took the tray of tea things and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Thank you for everything you have done for me today,” Beatrice said as she handed him his cup of tea from the fresh tray of tea things he had placed before them. “I feel awful that you are the one doing everything that I should be doing. It is not very good of me to allow my guest to make his own tea.”
“I am perfectly capable of making a cup of tea Beatrice,” he smiled at her. “Besides, you have a very good reason for not being able to, so I am sure that I can forgive your lapse.”
His smile dimmed as he looked deeply into her eyes. The atmosphere between them shifted; softened a little, and drew them ever closer.
“I am really glad that I am here, Beatrice,” Ben confided quietly, and meant every word. “I am going to keep an eye out for that carriage driver, and will give him a piece of my mind if I see him again, I can assure you. The reckless idiot could have caused you considerable harm today. You are lucky that ankle wasn’t broken. It could very easily have been, and I might not have been able to rescue you. The consequences don’t bear thinking about. I am so very glad that I was there for you; that I am here for you now.”
“I am glad that you are here now too,” she whispered. She really couldn’t argue with him because he was right. Ben had been her saviour this afternoon. If he hadn’t come back for her in the lane, heaven only knew where she would be right now.
They sat back to enjoy the companionable atmosphere that had settled over them while they drank their tea. Now that Ben was beside her, she had the courage to take a look out of the window behind her, but was unsurprised to find nothing but sky visible through it.
As if to prove the storm was still a threat, a loud rumble of thunder reverberated around the house and was accompanied by a jagged streak of lightning that lit the room.
“While we are waiting for the storm to pass, let’s take a look through these books.” He lifted one off the pile between them and handed it to her before he picked up a second book for himself.
Silence settled over them while they began to search for the name of the plant.
An hour later, rain still pelted down outside with ferocious determination but inside Brantley Manor, Beatrice and Ben were safe, warm and blessedly dry. The tea pot was replenished and amply supported by several large slices of fruit cake and, in spite of the rather restricted choice of food on offer, it really was rather delightful. The ambience within the room had settled into something that was comfortable and relaxed, and it helped them both take the time they needed to forget the troubles that had brought them together only hours earlier.
Ben closed his third book and placed it on the floor by his feet with a sigh. The thought of having to trawl through all of the books in the study horrified him, but he seriously couldn’t even begin to consider leaving Beatrice to do it by herself.
He studied the packaging paper on the table and picked it up. It had been cut a little too big for the parcel because it had been folded while being wrapped, but it was rectangular and a fairly nondescript kind that could be purchased anywhere. He carefully pulled the paper flat, and smoothed out the crumples so he could study the whole sheet carefully. Apart from the smudged address on one side, it was just an ordinary piece of packaging paper. However, when he turned the paper over, it became evident that something out of the ordinary was going on.
There, barely visible in the crease lines was a single line of neatly penned script.
“Beatrice.”
“What’s that?” Beatrice murmured and peered over his shoulder when he pointed to the tiny writing.
He tipped the paper toward the candle beside him so he could read the words more clearly. “It says: Caelestia Perfectionis. Extremely rare; water sparingly, keep away from drafts. Needs warmth and sunlight. Do not pass on to anybody. B. Mottram.”
