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Chapter Eight
The carriage shook under them as they made out of the rough streets of the slum. Edward leaned on his seat as a wave of exhaustion shook him. He had barely made it down the flight of stairs, all the time wondering how Ariadne had managed to save him from the ditch and carry him up there. She was far stronger than she let on—both in her character and her resolve. He had never met a woman like her and he doubted if he ever would again.
His father, Roger Remington, the Duke of Bromswell sat opposite him, his face gritted in displeasure as they rode on through the rough tumble of the streets. “This place is nothing short of hell.”
Edward agreed. This was no place for any human to live—rich or poor. Unfortunately, when his father spoke, he thought only of himself and not the others out there starving and overlooked. Edward hadn’t given much thought to them either until about two days ago.
“How did you even find yourself here? Were you looking for some sort of business?” he continued.
Edward looked at his father and immediately understood what he was trying to say. “No, Father I didn’t come here looking for a prostitute.”
The Duke harrumphed under his breath. “There are far more discreet ways to go about this.”
Edward wondered if his father had ever sought out a woman like that. They never had a discussion like this and he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know. They were the picture of a perfect family and it would only take a little to break that facade.
“As soon as we reach home, I’m going to call on a physician,” the Duke said. He had insisted on examining his wounds the moment his footman had helped him into the carriage. When Edward reluctantly opened the buttons, the Duke had hissed at the state of his wound. “It looks hideous.”
Edward knew that wasn’t the case. “Ariadne stitched me up. She did a good job of it.” Despite his weakness, he didn’t have a fresh bout of fever and he was already feeling much better. And guilty. God, he remembered the way Ariadne had looked at him, recoiling away from him in the wake of his betrayal. He knew that his deception had been his greatest mistake. What must she be thinking of him?
The tragic thing was that he had grown to trust her and was about to reveal his truth when his father had barged in, effectively taking the choice away from him.
“The girl is an illiterate hack who didn’t know what she was doing. I’m surprised and grateful that you haven’t caught a worse disease.”
“She knew what she was doing,” Edward said. His father didn’t reply. Edward looked out of the window, watching as the dirty streets and the alleys changed to posh houses and well-trimmed bushes in neat lawns.
The carriage deposited them in front of Grosvenor Square. The footman came around to help him out of the carriage but this time Edward waved him away and decided to walk to the doorsteps on his own. As soon as they entered the foyer, two female voices gasped and there was a rush of skirts as his mother and Maisie came to him.
His mother clasped his arm and led him to the divan in front of the fireplace. “Edward, you poor dear. You look as pale as a ghost. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Mother. Well, I’m fine now.”
“Let’s take him to his rooms,” Maisie suggested. “He needs to be on the bed, resting.” They insisted on helping him to his rooms even though Edward knew he was perfectly able to do so on his own. Any argument on his part would be futile. The wound had begun to protest greatly at all the movement and Edward was relieved to find himself in his bed again even though strangely he missed Ariadne’s small home. His sister and mother fussed around him, bringing him hot tea and lemon cakes to eat.
The physician came in a short while and the family watched tensely as he examined Edward’s wounds. After a while, he said, “You will be fine, my Lord.”
Edward nodded. He already knew this. “The wound isn’t that deep, is it?”
“Thankfully no, the knife missed any important organs,” the physician said, nodding in affirmation. “Do you want any laudanum for the pain?”
Edward shook his head. “I think I can do without it.”
“Give him the prescription for it,” Judith, Edward’s mother, her voice heavy with fear and worry. “He might need it later.”
“Mother, I’m fine. I already told you.”
“Who stitched you up, my Lord?” The physician frowned as he examined the wound again.
“The girl who rescued me. She found me on the streets and took me back home to treat me.”
The physician looked surprised. “Your father told me you were found in Clerkenwell.”
Edward nodded. Dr. Walton was a family doctor and had taken care of their family for years. He could be discreet when it came to it. “Was the girl a nurse?”
“Actually no, but she seemed proficient enough with the needle and thread.”
“The wound appears clean and the stitches are efficient. Whoever she is, she’s very good at her job.” Dr. Walton turned to the family who was watching from the bedpost as they let the doctor work peacefully. “She saved Edward’s life.”
“Pfft, I’ve seen the girl. She’s uneducated and lives in a slum. Our Edward just got lucky.”
