Page 25 of Beneath the Beastly Duke's Mask
"This was recently aired, and the linen changed," Mrs. Cooper informed him.
“Please turn down the bedding,” Henry instructed.
Mrs. Cooper nodded and hurried to do as he asked, even fluffing up the pillow. “The bed is ready, Your Grace.”
“Mr. Thornton, please provide Mrs. Cooper with any instructions concerning Arabella's well-being,” he asked, placing Arabella on the bed. “She will be the main person overseeing her recovery.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” the physician replied.
“May I organize a tea tray in the meantime, Mr. Thornton?” Mrs. Cooper asked. “I'll set it up in the parlor.”
“A little tea wouldn't be unwelcome,” Mr. Thornton said. “Arabella needs some rest before we begin the recovery process. Will you join me, Your Grace? You can have a servant watch over Arabella while we talk.”
Henry didn't want to leave Arabella's side, but it wouldn't be right for him to remain by her side. People would talk.
“I'll be right with you, Mr. Thornton,” said Henry.
The physician nodded and followed Mrs. Cooper out, leaving Henry alone with Arabella. He gazed at her sleeping face, glad she didn't have to be awake and experience any pain. He couldn't help but touch her brow again, his finger trailing down her soft cheek. Henry wanted her to get well and have her smile at him again.
Actually, he wanted more than that, but he didn't wish to acknowledge those other emotions that made him want to remain by her bedside. It was just too soon… and unacceptable.
***
Arabella jerked as she came awake, her eyes wide as she looked around the room. Memories of the fall sprung to mind as she realized the room she was in wasn't the attic. It was one of the guestrooms. Trying to sit up, Arabella winced as her injuries protested the movement. She lay still and did a quick test of her mobility. She had done her best to protect her neck and spine, but sometimes, such injuries were simply unavoidable.
Arabella moved her fingers, followed by the rest of her hands and arms. Her toes and feet were next before she bent each leg. Just for extra measure, she rocked her body slightly from side to side, moving her neck with the motion.
“Oh, thank goodness!” she cried.
She wasn't lame, just terribly bruised with possible broken ribs, judging by how painful they felt. Not wanting to be in the guestroom any longer, she slowly sat up, wincing at the pain. However, she could walk, so there was no reason to stay in the room. Whoever had put her there in the first place had been silly. Arabella was a servant! She could only guess what Mirabel was thinking.
Her eyes widened as she remembered that she had seen the maid at the top of the stairs. Mirabel had seen her fall—the woman must have been surprised. Part of Arabella believed the maid might be satisfied that she took a tumble, but that was a rather dark thought. Surely, Mirabel would not go as far as to make her fall down the stairs and possibly kill her—that was simply too drastic.
Each footstep sent shards of pain up Arabella's body, but she was determined to leave the room and go up to her own. She didn't need any of the servants to assume Mirabel's accusations were true. Usually, she didn't care what people thought about her, but false rumors could quickly destroy a work environment. Arabella liked working at Euston Hall and didn't want to leave because of something silly.
“I feel like I was run over by a carriage,” she complained, hunching over.
She just wanted to get to her room and lie down. She doubted anyone would begrudge her if she took the rest of the day off. Judging by the position of the sun, it was late afternoon. Hours had passed since she left the library with the...
“Books!” she cried with a groan.
She had flung them in the air as she had gone down. Arabella hoped none of them were damaged as two had been at least a century old. The duke would probably not make her pay for the damages, but Arabella was taught to own up to her mistakes and make them right where possible. She could afford it, after all.
She had the money from the house sale and her inheritance waiting for her in the bank should she need it, but the wages she received were enough for the moment.
A shadow fell over the doorway, making her slowly straighten. “Oh!” she cried. “Your Grace.”
He didn't look impressed. “What are you doing out of bed, Arabella?” he asked. “You should be resting. Mr. Thornton is coming again tomorrow, but until then, you need to stay in bed.”
“I have every intention of resting,” she assured him, suddenly feeling a tad faint. She needed to sit down. “But in my bed. There is no reason to sit here. Would you please excuse me, Your Grace?”
She stepped forward, hoping he would move aside, but he didn't move. Perspiration beaded her brow and upper lip, making it harder for her to stand.
“Please, Your Grace,” she begged before she sagged.
“Arabella!” the duke cried as he caught her.
He picked her up and laid her on the bed, his worried gaze traveling over her face. Arabella's cheeks warmed with embarrassment, her eyes unable to meet his.
