Page 28 of The Major's Mistake
She cleared her throat and went on. “I had wanted to ask you about … the marquess’s leg. Has he seen a good physician?”
Sykes scratched at his chin. “Hates them,” he answered. “Ever since that first night, when I had to hold the sawbones off with my pistol. Wanted to cut it off, they did. The guv won’t have any truck with ‘em—any of them.”
Miranda’s face paled. “Cut it off? My God.” She walked on a few paces. “Are the tendons severed in his knee?”
“I don’t rightly know about anything like that, ma’am. But I do know there are still a goodly amount of splinters left in there. I could see—” He stopped. “It’s not something bears describing.”
She bit her lip. “Does he take laudanum for the pain?”
“We try to avoid it—I imagine with your knowledge of such things, you’re aware of what prolonged use does to a person.”
She nodded. After another moment, she dug into the pocket of her gown and withdrew a small vial filled with a brownish powder which she thrust into his hand. “Two teaspoons in aglass of warm water. No more than three times a day. It may help, and has none of the side effects of opium.”
Before he could utter a word, she quickened her steps and turned off onto a narrow dirt path that led into the woods.
The dark smudgesunder the marquess’s eyes, coupled with the lines etched deeply at the corners of his mouth told Sykes that the evening was not a good one. Unaware of his valet’s presence, Julian attempted to shift his outstretched leg on the hassock, stifling a groan at the stab of pain that even such a slight movement caused.
Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, and his hand groped for the glass of brandy sitting next to him on the sidetable.
Sykes walked quietly to the fire and stirred the logs into a cracking blaze. “Bad tonight, is it, guv?”
Julian took several long swallows of brandy. “Bring me the bottle,” he said in a rather unsteady voice.
“No. I’ve a better idea.”
“What the devil?—”
Sykes had already left the library before the marquess finished speaking. He returned a short while later with a glass of steaming liquid whose color was not so very different from the spirits clasped in Julian’s hand. Julian wrinkled his nose at the pungent, woodsy aroma that filled the air.
“What in the devil’s name is that?” he demanded.
“Drink it.”
Julian’s face took on a mulish expression. “I’ll be damned if I will!”
“No ill effects, I promise. What do you have to lose?”
He eyed it with lingering suspicion. “Where did you get it?”
“Come on now, trust me, guv.” The marquess still hesitated. “Or would you rather I take hold of your jaw and dump down your throat? It’s your choice,” he growled.
That drew a grudging bark of laughter from Julian. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Aye. Because I think it will help.”
Julian drained the contents and set the glass down with a thump. After a moment, he made a show of examining the palms of his hands. “Well, I haven’t started to sprout fur or claws, so perhaps there is hope.”
He settled back deeper into the soft leather of the wingchair and rearranged the knitted throw that covered his legs. Then he picked up the slim volume of poetry he had set aside earlier and found his place. “You needn’t hover over me,” he murmured from behind the pages. “If I am about to expire I will let you know.”
When Sykes poked his head into the room a short while later, he was greeted by a most unusual sight. The book had slipped from the Marquess’s fingers, and his chin had fallen down to rest on the folds of his cravat. The easy rise and fall of his breathing gave further testimony to the fact that he had actually fallen asleep.
He carefully slipped a pillow behind the marquess’s head and straightened the blanket as he regarded Julian’s face, the tension ebbing away with every restful moment.
“Thank you, milady,” he whispered as he extinguished the candle.
Light was streaming in through the tall mullioned windows before Julian awoke. Sykes stood in the doorway, watching as the marquess gingerly flexed his leg and rose with a bemused smile.
“Awake, are you?” he asked softly. “Thought you might stay here snoring the whole morning. How do you feel?”
