Page 31 of To Heal a Broken Earl
“Good. Glad we cleared that up.”
“Now, how about you show me this game room that you were bragging about?”
Michael nodded and led the way. The gaming room was connected to the study and did not have a direct entrance from the hallway; one gained entry from a wood panel in the study that you tapped on the upper-right side of the panel, triggering a hinge that made it slide open. “I didn’t notice this at first. It was Finn who saw it, sniffing at the wood paneling, scratching and whimpering until I investigated,” he said.
Wright whistled in appreciation as they stepped into the room.
“My Uncle Robert, my mother’s brother, inherited the title from my grandfather. Based on the fabrics and style of the furnishings, I think he must have created this room. It’s a long story, but my mother married my father, a vicar, which displeased her father. For a while, my grandfather cut off communications. But when my sister, Lizzie, was young, Grandpapa and Uncle Robert became part of our lives. When Grandpapa died, Uncle Robert inherited, and we never heard from him again—until I was notified that I had inherited his title.”
“How did your uncle die?” Wright asked.
“We’ve heard it was a carriage accident, and I’ve seen nothing to say otherwise. His solicitor told me he found out weeks after Uncle Robert’s passing that he had died, and he needed to provide familial information to assist investigators in locating me. This inheritance is still new to me. I learned about it shortly after leaving Romney’s—after the rescue.”
“Well, whoever designed this hideaway did an outstanding job,” Wright said.
“What did I tell you?” Michael said, pleased at his friend’s reaction. The entire room seemed to have been a more recent addition, with almost-new furnishings. The walnut cabinets built into the wall at the end of the room were well stocked, housing an abundance of liquor, and the green card tables gave room for a large party—perfect for the holidays, he thought. “And the centerpiece,” he said, pulling off a linen cover from the top of the billiard table, “is my favorite. The table does not look worn in the least. Cue sticks are over there.” He pointed to the wall adjacent to the table.“I had the room cleaned, but that was all.”
A knock on the sliding wood panel preceded Stanhope’s entry. “My lords, I would be happy to bring you some food,” he said.
“Would you like anything, Wright?” Michael asked.
Wright gave a sheepish look. “I broke my fast early this morning, so if there’s anything light, I’d not complain.”
“That sounds like something I could get behind, too. Stanhope, ask Mrs. Peppers to prepare a few sandwiches and a platter of fruit and cheese.”
“Consider it done, my lord.” Stanhope turned to go, but then turned back, his face reddening. “I almost forgot what else I came here to tell you,” the butler said. “Mr. Hastings has asked that I let you know Dr. Enzo Bianchi will be here tomorrow to examine your leg. The good doctor has an office in Amberley and several patients in the area. Mr. Hastings apologized for not having informed you about it earlier.” He sniffed.
At the mention of the physician’s name, Michael felt a wave of irritation wash over him. The last thing he wanted was the Italian physician insisting on slathering that nasty-smelling salve on his leg.
“Well, the good doctor can examine my leg, but there’ll be no talk of applying concoctions,” Michael said. He had no interest in smelling like a rotting animal’s carcass, especially with Emma and Katie staying there. The salve smelled horrible, and it had been bad enough to subject his servants to it; he wouldn’t do that to his guests.
“Yes, my lord,” Stanhope said before retreating.
“What’s this about concoctions?” Wright asked after the butler had left.
Michael pointed sourly to his leg. “Dr. Bianchi, who is from Italy, has certain notions that he can help heal the scarred tendons in my leg. And Hastings believes him. He concocted a salve that he insists needs to be applied morning and night everyday. I admit, it does take the ache out, but the smell is a whole new kind of punishment.” Although Michael had to admit—at least to himself—that his limphadbeen improving. That was before the journey from London and the recent mishap in the library. Although the kiss was worth the pain he’d experienced in his leg.
Wright laughed. “I can appreciate that. But if it helps you, don’t mind us. I’m sure I’ve smelled far worse on board a ship that has been at sea with a crew full of men who haven’t bathed in months.”
“Even so, I doubt you’ve ever encounteredthisparticular smell before—a cross between dead fish and dog excrement. I would have to be in agony before I would subject my guests to that odor,” Michael said with a laugh.
“Methinks you would not be so opposed to it if the lovely Lady Emma were not one of your guests.” Wright grinned. “Shall we play?”
Michael frowned as Wright passed him a cue stick. His friend was right, but he refused to admit it. “Given that you’re my esteemed guest, you may go first.”
“Thank you. Red ball, back-left corner,” Wright said, tapping the white ball and easily sinking the intended target.
Michael shook his head at the smug grin Wright threw his way. His friend was a self-proclaimed lifelong bachelor. One day, he would meet a woman who would tie him up in knots as Emma did with him. And when that happened, he would relish teasing Wright.
~*~
Chapter Thirteen
That evening
“I’m afraid that while the master would normally allow Dr. Bianchi to attend him, he refuses to see the doctor because the doctor will want him to use his special salve, and the master refuses to use it—at least while he has guests. And it is that salve that helps his leg and eases his pain,” Stanhope said to Hastings, as the two men sat at the table in the kitchen.
Emma stepped completely into the kitchen. She’d overheard the tail end of their conversation and was determined to find out more. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I was walking in and overheard you say Lord Wilton is refusing a doctor’s visit. Is it for his leg?”
