Page 64 of The Major's Mistake
“Aye. And her knowing more about healing arts that any sawbones I ever met.” He looked down at Julian’s injured leg once more and pursed his lips. “Perhaps I shall ride over to Lady Thornton’s today and ask her advice on this.”
In truth, the spot in question was, at worse, only a trifle redder than the surrounding areas, but Sykes was not adverse to a bit of exaggeration if he could contrive for Miranda to feel compelled to make a visit. For he sensed that it wasn’t mere confinement that was driving the marquess to distraction.
And Sykes was quite sure Miranda felt the same.
Every few days he had stopped in at Lady Thornton’s to keep the two ladies informed on Julian’s condition, and while Miranda had questioned him concerning the injuries and provided medical suggestions with a cool efficiency, she couldn’t quite hide the true depths of her emotions from his keen gaze. It was clear she would have liked to hear of more than the medical details, though she held back from asking anything of a personal nature. Still, he noticed how her hands stopped whatever they were doing when he repeated some little anecdote concerning the marquess and how he had passed his day.
Giving a slight shake of his head, he wondered if ever the erstwhile couple would admit to what was really ailing them.
“Hmmph,” remarked Julian after some thought. “Perhaps it is time to give the good doctor his notice.” Another silence followed as Sykes straightened up the marquess’s dressing table. “You are going to visit the Hall?”
“I could do with some fresh air—that is, unless there is something you’d rather have me attend to.”
“No, not at all,” answered Julian quickly. “You will of course give my regards to my aunt and tell her I look forward to her next visit, though I don’t intend to let her win another fortune at cards.” He cleared his throat. “My regards to Miranda, too.” After a fraction of a pause he added rather self-consciously, “She is ... well?”
Sykes couldn’t resist. Repressing a grin, he turned to rearrange the set of silver-backed brushes. “Your aunt is in fine fettle. I should say she’s as sprightly as a lady half her years.”
Julian’s face fell ever so slightly.
The valet relented. “Lady Miranda appears quite fine as well, and shows no ill effects from her ordeal.” He dusted a bottle of bay rum on his sleeve. “That’s a very brave lady, guv. All courage and heart. Why, if you could have seen the way she took aim at that bastard when he threatened to go at you again.”
The Marquess murmured something unintelligible in reply.
“Well then, if you’re not needing me for anything else, I‘ll be on my way.”
Sykes putdown the delicate china teacup with great care and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I’m not used to having to act the gentleman,” he mumbled, looking around the cozy parlor. “A tin cup is more what I am accustomed to.”
The corners of Lady Thornton’s lips twitched. “Well, I assure you that you show to better advantage than most fellows who can lay claim to the title, Mr. Sykes. Another cake?”
The valet shook his head and stood up rather awkwardly. “I’d best be heading back, ma’am. I like to keep my eye on the guv, seeing as I don’t trust any of the advice given by that Dr.Reynolds. In my humble opinion, he has no notion of what he is about.”
Lady Thornton’s face pinched in concern. “You don’t think my nephew is healing as he ought?”
He gave an eloquent shrug. “Well, I can’t rightly tell, having no skill in these things myself.”
Miranda rose abruptly. “Come along with me, Mr. Sykes. I’ll give you a fresh supply of salve and an herbal tisane that may help His Lordship sleep through the night.”
Sykes followed her through the kitchen to a small pantry near the scullery door that served to hold her stores.
“You say there is a redness around the sutures? What is the physician’s opinion?” she asked as she began to sort through an array of vials and crocks.
The valet gave a snort. “All he wants to do is shut the windows up tight, claiming it is the night air that causes inflammation.”
Miranda’s mouth tightened. “Fool,” she muttered under her breath. “Is the skin hot to the touch?”
“I, er ... I’m afraid I can’t really say.”
For several moments there was only the sound of bottles clinking and jars being uncapped.
“Is there any sign of fever?”
“I don’t think so.”
Miranda went back to filling a small vial with a viscous ointment the color of deep amber.
“I, er, I don’t suppose you might spare the time to look at the leg yourself, ma’am? That way you might tell me what I should do.”
Her fingers froze on what she was doing. “It is not a question of time, Mr. Sykes,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. The matter is a good deal more ... complicated than that.”
