Page 5 of To Heal a Broken Earl
“When I came in earlier to lay out your clothing, Finn got the scent of something our Mrs. Peppers was baking for tomorrow morning, and took off for the kitchen,” Hastings said. “Last I checked, she was baking scones and biscuits. I imagine Finn is huddled at her side, and we both know Mrs. McDonaldcan’t resist those big brown eyes. No doubt he’ll gobble up as much as she gives him. They’ve bonded over her cooking.”
“Traitorous dog,” Michael murmured fondly.
“There’s no need for you to subject yourself to being in pain all the time. It’s all about your pride, my lord,” Hastings said. “The stuff works. At least allow me to massage it into your leg at night. No one will be around to smell it.”
Hastings cared. He’d been with Michael for nearly ten years. Since serving as his batman during the war, he’d continued at his side, assisting him in his work for the Crown. They were more than lord and valet; they were friends. Michael didn’t always like what Hastings said, but he listened.
“I understand, my lord,” Hastings said as if reading his thoughts. “Had the second injury not happened on that special assignment, you might only be dealing with the limp.”
“Yes, I know what you are going to say…again. Had I allowed you to accompany me on the assignment, this might not have happened. You keep reminding me,” Michael ground out. “But as I’ve told you many times, that wasn’t an option.”
“No. I was going to add that Dr. Bianchi’s salve is a tried-and-true remedy. When you used it those first few times, it gave you relief. And as you are aware, you might have lost your leg—nay, your life—had your good friends not taken you to Lord and Lady Romney’s residence. And I don’t have to remind you that Lady Romney—who grew up in America’s Louisiana bayou country and learned herbal medicine from her aunts—saved your life with her expertise.”
“Your point?” Michael huffed.
“My point, my lord, is that you are fortunate, and owe much of that good fortune to these herbal remedies. Yes, it smells abominable, and no, we’ve no idea what’s actually in the concoction—but it does work."
“Fine. I’ll allow it,” Michael reluctantly agreed. Since returning to England, he had become more isolated. His life had changed. He kept to himself more, unaffected by the winsome smiles of young ladies who tried to capture his attention at social gatherings. He reclined back, adjusted the towel over his frame, and extended his leg for Hastings’s ministrations.
Afterward, as he lay there with a scented handkerchief over his nose, doing everything he could not to breathe in the pungent odor, the door burst open, and his butler swooped in.
“Damn and blast! Doesn’t anyone knock anymore?” Michael said, trying to sit up, while at the same time keeping the smelly salve from staining his coverlet and holding the handkerchief over his nose.
“My lord…forgive the intrusion, but we have a situation,” the butler said, breathing hard.
“Stanhope, this better be good,” Michael said, tossing the useless handkerchief aside. He could still smell the salve anyway.
Stanhope took one sniff and immediately pinched his nose. Michael bit back a chuckle at the hilarious look on the older man’s face. Stanhope could barely tolerate any strong aromas; even a lady’s perfume brought a pinched look to his face that made him resemble a cat that had just tasted soured milk. The foul smell of the salve might give him a fit of the vapors.
“My lord, forgive me, but there’s an emergency at Lady Beadle’s. There’s been a fire, and Lady Beadle needs you right away.”
My God! She’s like an aunt to me. I must get there as soon as possible.
“Have my horse brought to the front, Stanhope,” Michael said.
“Yes, my lord,” the butler said, his eyes watering and his finger still pressed beneath his nose as he hastily left the bedchamber.
A moment later, a footman entered, leading Finn on a leash—just as Michael stood and tossed the towel on the bed, exposing himself to man and beast. Michael heaved a beleaguered sigh. His bedchamber was beginning to resemble a public house.
The footman’s eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed scarlet. Turning his gaze away, he cleared his throat. “My lord, Mrs. Peppers said to tell you that Master Finn has had his fill of sausage rolls, scones, and biscuits, and asked that I escort him to your rooms.”
Snatching the towel back off the bed, Michael wrapped it around his lower torso. “Thank you, Thomas,” he muttered.
Finn made a strange noise as he sniffed the air. With a sudden yelp, he jerked the leash from the footman’s hand and bolted from the room. The footman exclaimed and chased after him.
~*~
Chapter Three
No. 25 Curzon Street
Near Shepherd’s Square, Mayfair
London, England
The whole night felt like a scene from one of the Gothic novels Emma loved to read. But there was nothing to love about her sister’s home burning to the ground at the hands of an evil arsonist. She closed her eyes and counted to ten before opening them, praying that when she did, she would find herself back in her room, with Katie tucked safely next to her, and a storybook in her hands. But when she opened her eyes, she was still in the drawing room at Lady Beadle’s, with Katie perched on her lap, giggling as she watched the dowager’s cats bat paws at each other and meow.
Had it been three hours since they’d left their home and arrived at Lady Beadle’s doorstep? It felt like a lifetime.
