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And then the ladder jolted, one of the legs giving way—or maybe sinking. She couldn’t tell.
Alarm rattled through her. Pain seared her hurt foot. She let out a shriek and knew she was lost as the ladder dipped to the side and she started to fall.
Except she didn’t fall.
Because Rafe somehow reached deeper. He reached and he caught her, his hand grasping her wrist at the last possible second. She grabbed on, too.
And then she was rising, moving up and up and into the light.
Geoffrey was shouting. “You got her, you caught her!”
And then she was blinking at the brightness of the afternoon sun. Tears streamed down her face as Rafe’s big, hard arms gathered her close.
* * *
Rafe carried her back on the front of his horse.
They met the others on the lake trail. Rafe gave orders that they should put warning signs around the well and secure the cottage gate. Then he took her the rest of the way home to Hartmore, with Brooke and Geoffrey following behind.
He carried her up to the East Bedroom in his arms, calling for Eloise to send Dr. Eldon.
When he closed the door to the hallway and they were alone, she told him, “I’m filthy.”
He carried her to the bathroom, drew her a bath and took off her torn, muddy clothes. The left shoe was the hardest. Her foot was swollen, her ankle black-and-blue. With such tender care, he lowered her into the warm, lovely water and he washed her, careful of her cuts and scrapes and bruises, so gentle with her swollen foot.
“You should stay off ladders, I think,” he teased as he used tweezers to get the slivers from her palms.
They shared a look. She said, “Are you remembering that night at the villa, too?”
“Yes, I am.”
She smiled at him. “I’m also going to try to avoid falling down wells.”
“A fine plan.”
He got her a soft, old nightgown from the dressing room and helped her put it on. Then he carried her back to the bedroom and tucked her into bed.
She was starving, so Frances brought up a tray of eggs, juice and toast.
Eloise came in a moment later and reported that her parents had arrived.
Rafe said, “Tell them she’s all right and so is the baby. Let her eat and see the doctor before they come in.”
“One thing more. The sergeant has returned to the village. He said he’ll want a concluding interview. It’s a formality. He asked if you would call him tomorrow.” She kissed Genny on the forehead. “I’m so glad you’re home, dearest girl.”
“Oh, Eloise. So am I.”
Eloise left them alone again. Genny filled her empty stomach, and then Dr. Eldon appeared. He examined her, declared her ankle badly sprained and started giving her instructions for its care.
By then, her eyes just wouldn’t stay open. “I can’t...stay awake....”
Dr. Eldon nodded. “Sleep, then. Rest is the best healer. I’ll tell His Lordship what to do for that ankle.”
With a contented sigh, she closed her eyes. Her ankle throbbed. But not enough to keep sleep from settling over her.
* * *
When she woke, it was ten in the evening. Her injured ankle was outside the covers, in a soft brace. It ached, but not as bad as it had before.
Her mother was there, at her bedside. Her father and Rory sat in the two slipper chairs near the dark window.
They told her they loved her, that they were so glad she and the baby were safe and well. She explained how Rafe and Brooke and Geoffrey had saved her.
Her father said, “So, then. You’re happy, here at Hartmore, with the DeValerys?”
She laughed. “I am a DeValery now, Papa. And there is no place I would rather be than here at Hartmore with them.”
“But are you happy?”
She answered, “Yes, I am,” without even having to stop and think about it. All right, there were...issues. Things she and Rafe did need to talk about. But being lost at the bottom of a well overnight had put it all in perspective for her somehow.
She and Rafe would work it out. There would be truth and it might be difficult. But she’d chosen her life with him and she would fight tooth and nail to keep it.
“Do you love him?” her father asked. “Are you in love with him?” Somehow, he always knew how to hit to the heart of the matter.
“I do and I am.”
He laid his warm hand on her brow. “Then I think you’ll manage.”
“Papa,” she said fondly. “You know that I will.”
They talked a little more. She learned that her brother Damien and his fiancée, Lucy Cordell, were getting married in Las Vegas at the end of the week. Lucy was studying fashion in New York. They had planned originally to wait until she graduated.
“But they don’t want to wait any longer,” said her mother.
