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“At least it doesn’t appear to be a very bad break,” he said. “Here, we’ll find a way to stabilize your ankle, and then I shall see to getting you home. Do you live nearby?”
She sobbed and pointed to the property on the other side of the stile.
“Alderwood?” he asked.
She nodded and kept sobbing.
“Blast,” he muttered.
He stood and walked away from her for what felt like an eternity before eventually returning. “I found some fairly smooth sticks I can use to help stabilize your ankle,” he said, then pulled a folding penknife from his pocket and whittled away the roughest parts on them. “Now we’ll need something to tie them into place. Do you have anything in these packages that would work?”
She fought through the pain and tried to think. “Stockings,” she said at last.
“Excellent,” he said. He located the paper package with the stockings and opened it. “Only two stockings? We need more than that to secure this splint. Hmm.” He tugged his tucked shirt out from beneath his breeches and cut a few inches up from the hem with his penknife, then tore it from the hole he’d made down to the hem and all the way around the shirt. “Perhaps we can spare your stockings after all.”
Right now, Rebecca didn’t care about her stockings. Why would she even need such lovely stockings now? She knew deep in her heart that if her ankle were truly broken, she wouldn’t be dancing at a ball,anyball, in London or anywhere else this Season. She would not be strolling through gardens or London townhouses or watching the grand celebrations of victory over France.
She would not be going to London at all.
She hiccupped, and tears began rolling down her face.
The stranger looked at her with concern. “I’m sure it hurts. I promise I’ll be as careful as possible.”
She nodded and fumbled in her pocket for her handkerchief. At least she was successful inthat. She dabbed at her nose, feeling hopeless, watching as a complete stranger placed sticks on either side of her leg, ankle, and foot and then proceeded to tie strips of his shirt around them until the makeshift splint was securely in place.
“You’re going to need to hold tightly to my shoulders while I maneuver us over the stile,” he said. “After that, the going will be much easier.” And then, without any additional warning, he placed his hands under her arms and hoisted her to a standing position.
Rebecca was greatly relieved when she didn’t black out again.
* * *
This is one devil of a way to introduce oneself to one’s neighbors, Benjamin Fortescue, the Earl of Winton, thought as he steadied the pale young lady before attempting to assist her over the stile. He’d learned in the papers informing him of his bequeathal of this property, previously belonging to his great-uncle, that his neighbor was the local squire, a Viscount Thurlby, and if the young lady’s home was Thurlby’s home, then, based on her finely made clothes, she was undoubtedly the viscount’s daughter.
“Place your arm around my shoulders so I can support your weight,” he said. She tentatively complied, which allowed him to move his arm down to encircle her waist. “Now, rest your weight on me while you use your uninjured foot to take the first step up the stile.”
She hiccupped and nodded, her face contorted with pain, and then managed to hop onto the first step of the stile. She whimpered.
Ben felt like a beast for having startled her in the first place. That she’d been injured this badly made everything worse. “Steady now,” he murmured to her, hoping to sound reassuring. “One more step and you should be able to use the fence for additional support.”
She nodded again, and he watched her grimace as she readied herself, and then he braced as she heaved upward, hopping onto the next step. The effort made her breathing labored, and she swayed a bit, so he tightened his arm about her.
“Well done,” he said. “Now, if you can sit on the top step and remain steady, I’ll cross to the other side of the stile, and then the most difficult part will be behind us.”
She turned and looked at him with big, blue, woeful eyes. It was clear she didn’t believe him for a moment. She was undoubtedly correct; it would seem they still had a ways to go, for he couldn’t see the house through the foliage, and truthfully, she would either need to hobble or he’d have to carry her.
He sighed inwardly. Of course he’d have to carry her.
Still, he needed to reassure her. He cracked the tiniest of smiles. Anything more than that would appear dishonest.
His arm was still about her waist, so he moved it so both of his hands were beneath her arms again. “Here we go now,” he said. “One, two . . .” He hoisted her up the remaining couple inches to where she could sit, in a manner of speaking, atop the narrow top step, and then he proceeded to maneuver around her and cross the confounded thing himself. “Now, let’s rotate you around so we can get your legs on the other side of the stile,” he instructed, standing on the first step on the other side. Today, he was particularly grateful for his additional height.
The young lady clutched the fence post and obediently attempted to turn herself enough to get into a position where she could lift her legs over the stile. Ben watched her carefully as she began to raise both legs. If she could get them near the top of the stile, he could take hold of them and assist her the rest of the way.
“Oh,” she moaned.
Ben glanced at her face. It had gone ghostly white, and her eyelids fluttered. She began to slump toward him.
“No!” he cried out as he simultaneously dove to put one arm back around her and grab her knees with his other hand. At least she’d managed to get her knees high enough for him to do that much before she’d fainted. His chest heaved from alarm and exertion, but he was grateful he’d kept her from falling off the fence and injuring herself further.
