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Reluctantly, Isadora got to her feet and allowed the coachman to assist her to solid ground. She wavered slightly as her boots sank into the mud, but he was there to keep a steady hand on her. As the three men immediately started to work on removing her husband, she looked at the wreckage, realizing now just how fortunate they were to be alive. One of the wheels had broken off completely and pieces of it were scattered down the sodden road, along with various bits of the coach. The horses that had been pulling the conveyance were tied to a nearby tree, the ruins of their harness lying on the ground next to them.
A shiver passed through her that had nothing to do with the fact that her gown was soaked almost completely through.
The coachman gave a weary sigh from beside her. “I just don’t understand how this could have happened. I checked everything before we headed out from Gretna. I certainly wouldn’t have put either of you in danger. The marquess paid me handsomely for the journey.”
“And I will ensure your carriage is repaired and the bill is sent to us.”
He glanced at her with a wide expression. “But my lady—”
“I insist,” she said. “You went for assistance, and I am indebted to you. No one can predict this sort of accident. They happen without any warning, even if you imagine you are prepared.”
He nodded somberly. “Thank you, my lady. You and the marquess are very kind.” He glanced in the direction where Remington was being carried out and over to the new coach thevillage men had brought. “I hope he makes it through without any lasting effects.”
“So do I,” Isadora said. She stiffened her spine. “But I have every confidence he will. Remington is strong and determined.” She smiled lightly. “He married me, after all. It wouldn’t be just any man that could coerce me to the altar.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Isadora was grateful for the kind consideration from the people in the town of Bedford. They ensured that Remington was taken directly to the doctor’s cottage. The doctor’s wife invited Isadora to stay there instead of being forced to rent out a room at the inn, which Isadora accepted with gratitude, considering she didn’t wish to leave her husband’s side.
While the doctor examined him, with the assistance of his wife, Isadora waited in the parlor with a change of clothes provided by the lady of the house, along with a cup of hot tea as she anxiously awaited news. She had been about to demand that she be present with Remington as well, but since the doctor’s wife had suggested she depart the room and offered her something to soothe her nerves, Isadora didn’t want to be disagreeable when they had been nothing but hospitable.
However, the moment the doctor appeared in the doorway, she scrambled to her feet. For someone who had always prided herself on her calm demeanor, she was far from that now. “How is he?”
“Resting comfortably.” He smiled at her. “I see nothing more damaging than a concussion, although we will have to watch himcarefully for a few days to ensure there isn’t any swelling, which would indicate something more severe.”
“When do you think he’ll wake up?”
“It’s difficult to say. When it comes to head injuries, each patient is generally different regarding their recovery time. However, the marquess appears to be quite healthy. He might wake as early as tomorrow.”
Relief poured through her.
“However,” the doctor added, and immediately her heart sank. “He does have some bruising on his back, which may indicate a broken rib or two. I wrapped his midsection, just to be cautious. It wouldn’t do for him to move about too much and cause further injury.”
“Yes, you are quite right,” Isadora murmured. “May I see him now?”
“Of course. Although, I gave him some laudanum to help ease any discomfort. If I were you, I would try to get some rest while you wait for him to wake, which might not be until morning, if we are fortunate.”
Isadora nodded. Now that the shock of the accident had worn off, and she knew that Remington would survive, exhaustion had started to settle in. A quick glance outside showed that dusk had fallen as well, but then, she had no idea how much time had passed from the accident until now. It could have been minutes or hours. She had been focused solely on her husband’s welfare.
She had to shake her head, as it was almost ironic that she had eschewed anything to do with marriage after the baron’s rejection, and yet, it hadn’t taken her long at all to absorb Remington into that role once the vows had been said.
A strange warmth had started to bloom within her, but she didn’t want to put a name to anything just yet. She needed to be sure, and the main way to do that was to return to Broxbourne and confront the ghosts of her past.
However, when she walked in the door of Remington’s room,her breath caught in her chest. She raised her hand to rub the pressure there, but it didn’t go away. The single thing that eased her discomfort was knowing he was still breathing steadily. However, seeing the white linens around his upper abdomen and the slightly stained covering on his head made her throat tight.
Isadora gingerly moved toward the side of the bed and pulled over a nearby chair. She sat down and then took his hand in hers. There didn’t appear to be a response, but she recalled that the doctor had given him laudanum to ensure he could rest easy. She took heart when his fingers flexed slightly, as if even unconscious, he knew that she was there.
“I shan’t leave your side,” she whispered.
Cotton.
That was Remington’s first thought when he started to regain his facilities. His mouth felt as though it had been filled with cotton.
He moved his lips slightly to test if that was the case, but to his satisfaction, it appeared to be clear of any foul material. It might be fine for clothes, but it wasn’t pleasant to ingest.
He cracked open an eyelid and had a brief moment of panic. He thought he might be blind, but then it registered that he was merely in a dark room when the dim light from a lantern began to take focus. He breathed a sigh of relief.
He tested his extremities to ensure that they were all still in good working order. His toes seemed to be fine, but when he moved his fingers, he realized that his left hand was a bit sluggish to respond. He dared to move his head but had to grit his teeth at the stabbing pain that shot through his skull. It was then that he recalled the carriage incident and—
