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I dropped my battledore and ran to him. “Oh, dear. I am sorry, James! I am not to be trusted with battledores and shuttlecocks!”
“You did not say so.” His voice was partially muffled by the hand which still covered his eye.
“I believed you would surmise as much when I was very clear that I am no good at games or sports of any kind.” Though I should have said something this morning. This could have been avoided if I’d been honest—but I had not wanted to ruin his fun.
He gave an exasperated chuckle and turned toward the house. “I cannot open my eye.”
“Oh, James!” I gasped. “It hit your eye?” I’d assumed the bird had made contact with his eyelid.
“With the hard tip of the feather, I believe. It does not feel so good.”
For a man in such pain—or so I assumed—he sounded remarkably calm. “Shall I call for the doctor?”
“That would be wise, yes.”
His ready acquiesce could not be good. I took him by the elbow, fearful that he would hurt himself by attempting to walk straight with only the one eye to see by, and directed him into the house. We walked along the corridor, and I had a thought. I led him to the drawing room. “Wait here.”
He looked at me, his one visible eye widening. A cold compress was just the thing. I left him behind and made my way to the kitchens to locate a cloth and water, when a sound in James’s study caught my attention. Perhaps someone was inside, and I could send them for the doctor.
I opened the door and froze, unsure that I wanted to see what was before me. Molly stood at the desk, her body bent over the open drawers she was currently rifling through. She glanced up, caught my eye, and the color bled from her cheeks.
Drat. I had clearly made the wrong call in regards to the maids.
“Mrs. Bradwell, I can expl—”
“Hush. I do not wish to hear another word. Ring that bell, please.”
She seemed frozen.
“Ring the bell!”
Molly jumped, then moved toward the hearth and tugged on the bell rope. I went to James’s desk, the contents of his drawers now in utter disarray. Foolish, foolish girl.
“Did you expect that he would not notice his things all moved about?”
“I planned to put them back in order,” she said quietly, her gaze trained on the floor. A hardness edged her words, and I felt the animosity snaking from her in waves. “You do not know what it’s like to be hungry, to not have nice things. You have so many nice things, you aren’t even aware when something goes missing.”
“You’ve taken other things, then?”
She seemed to sense her mistake and shook her head, her eyes widening.
“It hardly matters whether or not the Bradwells appreciate their wealth, Molly. It is theirs. If you were in true need, you should have gone to Mrs. Prescott, not taken it upon yourself to correct the perceived imbalances. Stealing is always wrong.”
Molly kept her gaze lowered, her eyebrows pinched in anger. I was the first to admit that the level of wealth at Chelton was far above what I was accustomed to, but that did not make it right to rifle through drawers and secret away small trinkets.
I shuffled the items in James’s drawer into a semblance of order and paused when something in the back corner caught my eye. I pulled the drawer open until I could read the full title and confirmed what I’d believed it to be.
James was reading The Mysteries of Udolpho. Either that, or he was hiding it so I would not further frighten myself by reading it again.
It was much more likely to be the former. My heart fluttered. Had he done so for me? Though I could not see how or why his reading a novel would benefit me, it warmed my chest all the same. For a man so opposed to reading for enjoyment, finding a book in his possession was a mystery I wanted answered.
Another time, though, after his poor eye and this ridiculous maid had both been dealt with.
A footman entered the room, and I shut the drawer. “I need a basin of cool water and a clean cloth sent to the drawing room quickly. There has been an injury.”
“Right away, ma’am.” He turned to go.
“Wait, please,” I called.
