Page 11 of The Moonstone Major
Chloe shook her head. “Constable Angel took care of that. I’m sure Dr. Hewitt will stop in once he is through at the Harbison farm.”
“Ah, good. In the meantime, stop putting up a fuss when it is obvious you are hurt.” He next turned to his butler, who was also fretting over her condition. “Melrose, lead the major upstairs. I’ll send Lady Burness up right after you. Then show him into one of the unoccupied guest chambers so he can wash up and change into clean clothes. Gunyon will see to whatever else he needs.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Fionn followed Melrose, his entire body in a tight coil as he entered Chloe’s bedchamber and set her down on the little chair beside her vanity. The room was not quite as large as he expected, although he had not really had any idea what to expect. There was no denying its elegance.
The drapes, her counterpane, and the bed’s canopy were of a cheerful yellow silk, and the exquisite floral rug picked up the light hues of the room. The wallpaper had small flowers on it, yellow roses with green leaves and stems.
The furniture was also light in color, the same delicate shade of ivory as the wallpaper. All in all, the room had a breezy feel about it, perhaps enhanced by the windows being open and a gentle wind blowing in the scent of roses from the garden and a salty tang from the sea air.
His life and Chloe’s could not have been more different. She had grown up amid this splendor.
He had spent most of his childhood sleeping in a box in a London alleyway. If not for the kindness of Viscount Brennan, a man who had rescued him off the streets and taken him home instead of turning him over to the authorities for vagrancy, he would have ended up imprisoned.
He shook out of the thought and returned his attention to Chloe. Her clothes were muddied. For this reason, he had not set her down on the bed.
Mother in heaven.
The thought of Chloe in bed.
With him.
He ached to hold her, run his fingers through her vibrant curls that were a magnificent blend of fiery colors, sometimes a flame-tinged, dark gold and sometimes more a dark amber-honey. It depended on how the sun struck her hair.
She also had the loveliest eyes that always seemed to sparkle like the deepest green emeralds.
At times, he felt as though they sparkled just for him.
He dared not allow himself to think so. Courting Chloe was out of the question and something that would never be. Indeed, it was the last thing he ever wished to happen. It would be disastrous if she were to fall in love with him, for he would never propose to her.
How could such a marriage ever work?
He drew over another small chair, grabbed a decorative pillow from her elegantly decorated window seat, placed it on the small chair, and very carefully propped her foot on it. “Keep it elevated.”
Chloe’s sister, Phoebe, soon hurried in, along with her maid.
Fionn gave her quick instructions regarding Chloe’s ankle sprain and then allowed himself to be bustled off to another of the elegant rooms in Westgate Hall.
Melrose spoke to the Burness housekeeper, Mrs. Norman, who in turn ordered one of her maids to bring up fresh water, soaps, drying cloths, and light refreshments for him. Then Melrose and the marquess’s valet, Gunyon, fussed over him, assisting him out of his uniform. While Melrose took his attire downstairs to freshen, Gunyon brought in several garments for him to try on. “I am certain these will fit you, Major Brennan.”
“Thank you, but none of this attention is necessary.” He had never in his life worn clothes so fine or had anyone pamper him in this fashion, even in the years when he was with Viscount Brennan.
Yet this was how Chloe was used to being treated.
To their credit, she and her sisters did not behave as spoiled princesses. In truth, they were remarkably kind and did not shirk hard work. Their husbands were honorable men and quite valiant. Both of them had faced deprivation and hardships on the battlefield. The marquess had lost an arm for it. But even they had now returned to lives of privilege and given their wives every benefit the wife of a duke or marquess could have.
How could he ever offer this to Chloe when he had nothing to his name?
“Thank you, Gunyon,” he said when the valet finished assisting him with the cuffs of the shirt and handed him a vest of dark gray silver to put over it. He had also borrowed a pair of black breeches.
Fortunately, the attire for Imogen and Ella’s celebration was informal, no jacket or cravat required, since they were to remain only among family. The marquess had not even bothered to don a vest, preferring the comfort of just a casual shirt.
Gunyon was about to hand him back to Melrose to be escorted downstairs when he heard chatter emanating from Chloe’s bedchamber. “Am I permitted to look in on her? I want to be certain her ankle is properly bound and left elevated.”
Melrose nodded. “Give me a moment.”
He fetched Mrs. Norman, who then went to knock at Chloe’s open door. “Yes,” he heard Phoebe say. “Of course, bring him in.”
