Page 38 of Good Duke Gone Cold

“Your grace, it all happened so fast. One minute we were traveling along smoothly at a steady pace, the next the carriage flipped over on its side and everyone was thrown out.”

At those words, Gregory studied Roger’s face and noticed a gash edging from the left temple into his hairline, and he also observed how Roger’s left arm was being held slightly higher than his right, as if in pain.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Have your injuries been tended?”

He shook his head, “No, Your Grace.”

“The physician is still here. After this discussion, wait in the parlor and I’ll have him look at you.”

“I couldn’t–”

“I insist, Roger. I’m sure we’ll be needing you at full competency for the future, unless this discussion exposes any nefarious intentions.”

Roger made a puzzled face.

“Sit,” he motioned to the nearest chair. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Roger lowered himself into the chair, placed his hat on his lap, and recapped the events leading to the crash.

As it turned out, it was a series of poorly timed events that intersected with a collision. Apparently the carriage had just crested a hill only to start going back downhill with too much effort and speed, when the overfed horses stumbled on some loose rocks and then tripped on one perfectly placed overly large rock that had likely been leftover from a previous carriage that had to stop at that location.

It was all highly coincidental and terrifying. Gregory pushed his hands through his hair. “Thank you Roger. Have yourself looked at before you leave.” Before Roger could protest, he continued, “It is on my bill. See it done.”

He bowed, “Thank you, Your Grace,” and left.

Gregory went to take another sip from his whiskey without realizing it was empty. He rested his elbows on his bureau and his head in his hands.

He couldn’t bring himself to go in and see Mary in her guest chambers. The physician said she was unconscious.

This was all his fault. How could he let them go alone? Why had he not gone along with them? If he had traveled with them, he likely would have ridden Apollo just ahead of them and would have noticed the oversized stone. He could have given warning.

How was it possible that another person close to him might soon be gone? And after having sour words with him just prior to leaving?

He wanted to drink himself into oblivion. He wanted to pack a bag and head back to the continent. He wanted to be anywhere but here and with anyone who could not get too close to him.

Everyone close to him got hurt.

Of all the things Gregory wanted to do, he chose the most innocuous. He drank until he got properly shot in the neck.

It had been four days since the accident. Gregory had never ridden Apollo as much, forced himself to drink so little, and battled himself so often as he had these last few days.

The only clarity he had was that his mother would be fine, and her expertise in needlepoint was now unsurpassable, and his sister would be fine, but her lady’s maid’s sanity was inversely proportional to Margaret’s sanity. The effort it took to not only keep Margaret in her room but also keep her entertained was enough work for two lady’s maids and three footmen. Fact.

Gregory had been visiting both his mother and Margaret daily. For his mother, he took some time to read to her and even inquired to see her needlepoint, of which she was quietly proud.

When he visited Margaret, it took a little more effort. “Margaret, the doctor has recommended bed rest for several more days. You do know what that means, don’t you?”

At the moment, she was attempting to push herself off the bed using one arm. “Nevermind that. Just come help me.”

“Heaven help me help you,” he muttered as he walked over and put his arm around her waist. “Where to?”

“I just need a change of scenery, please!” she huffed. “To the window.”

Together they hobbled over to the mullioned windows, and he gently lifted her to the window seat.

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