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Gratitude, of course, that Robbie was mostly hale and whole.
Dread, because Nathaniel could never become Robbie’s jailer, but wandering down to the river again had proven unsafe and must not continue.
Resentment, because the whole deception was spinning beyond what was manageable.
Andprofound relief, because somebody competent was taking matters in hand at Rothhaven Hall, solving problems, and dealing with an unforeseen difficulty, and for once—for bloody damned once—that somebody was not Nathaniel.
He closed the door behind himself and went to fetch the tea.
Who are you?
Althea could not ask her patient that question. Whoever Robbie was, he was clearly dear to Rothhaven, vulnerable in some way, and dependent on the duke. He was too old to be Rothhaven’s son, though the resemblance between the men was strong.
She finished wrapping Robbie’s foot, an ordeal he bore with stoic passivity. “There,” she said, rising and placing a pillow on the hassock. “You should keep that foot up. Another application of salve and a cold wrap before bedtime ought to see the swelling reduced by tomorrow.”
“You know what you’re about,” he said, wiggling his toes. “The bandage is snug but not tight. The salves are helping, and the pain is already subsiding. How does a duke’s sister know her way around an injury?”
Althea gathered the medical supplies, taking a seat to roll up a bandage she hadn’t used. The salves also reminded her of Stephen, of the years when they’d been too poor to afford even the cheapest balm for his aches.
“I wasn’t always a duke’s sister. For most of my childhood, I was one of those filthy, pathetic children you see begging all over the streets of York. Physicians are mostly for the rich. The rest of us make do with herb lore and common sense. My brother’s injury inspired me to learn what I could, not that I was ever any use to him.” Althea had tried, though, and perhaps that counted for something.
“I can’t picture you as a feckless urchin.”
She stuffed the rolled bandage back into the basket. “While polite society can’t see me as anything but.”
Robbie regarded his bandaged foot. “Polite society. Was there ever a greater misnomer for a bunch of judgmental hypocrites?”
Who are you?“Probably not, though I am the sister of a duke now and I am grateful for that. But for my brother’s good fortune, I’d likely be dead or wishing I were dead.”
Robbie sat up a little straighter. “Instead you are free to wander the beauteous Yorkshire countryside where you can make the acquaintance of tall, dark, handsome strangers.”
Rothhaven chose that moment to appear bearing the tea tray and a thunderous scowl. “Are you flirting with Lady Althea, Robbie?”
Althea rose, setting the medicinals aside. “I believe the tall, dark, handsome comment referred toyou, Your Grace.” Or it should have. Robbie was good-looking, but Rothhaven wasattractive. “I will happily pour out if you’ll join us.”
Her motivation had nothing to do with propriety—propriety be hanged when illness or injury came to call—but rather, with a pathetic yearning to simply spend time with Rothhaven. He looked tired and out of sorts, and when was a hot cup of tea ever a bad idea?
He set the tray on a second hassock and took the chair behind the desk. “Will you be missed at Lynley Vale?”
Althea fixed him a cup with milk and sugar. “Not until supper time. I often hike the property on my own when the weather is fine. Today I thought to visit my sows, and that requires a chat with Mrs. Deever at the home farm. She makes the best bread, and insists I have mine with our own butter and honey. This invariably involves a protracted visit.”
Mrs. Deever was lonely—many farmers’ wives were lonely—and Althea hadn’t the heart to refuse her.
“You should stay for luncheon,” Robbie said. “I take my tea with just a drop of honey. A literal drop.”
A man of particulars. Why didn’t that surprise her? She served herself last and took a slice of buttered cinnamon toast as well. Cinnamon toast was an odd choice for a tea tray, but appealing.
“How is your head, Robbie?” Rothhaven asked, setting his empty cup on the tea tray.
“Aches a bit,” Robbie said. “Just a bit. Don’t be waving the laudanum at me, Nathaniel.”
Perhaps they were brothers, for they bickered like siblings, or maybe Robbie was a by-blow or a cousin raised at the family seat.
“I believe His Grace was expressing concern for your welfare,” Althea said. “You made your sentiments regarding laudanum plain enough before we’d left the river.”
“I did?”
Rothhaven collected Robbie’s cup. “You did. More tea?”
