sir. My brother seems to be recovering. The doctors warn that it is far too soon to be certain, but I am optimistic. Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I shall return to Troy’s side and leave you to your conversation.”
Both men bowed. When she left, Ian firmly shut the door behind her. He sank into his chair while Carswell reached for a decanter on the sideboard.
“Don’t say anything. I have already endured a lecture from a jumped-up psalm-spouter.”
“Nineteen?”
“I told you not to say anything, dash it!”
“Good grief, man, what are you going to do?”
“I have already sent for my mother and sister.”
Carswell exhaled in relief. “That’s all right and tight, then. Uh, what psalm-spouter?”
“The young lady’s suitor, it appears, although he’d suit an old crow better.” Ian proceeded to tell his friend about Wiggy, and Carswell related the latest news about town, which, happily, did not mention the Renslows, Lord Marden, or duels. Lord Paige’s disappearance was mentioned in passing, but only when one of the patrons at White’s recalled a gambling debt he would now never recover.
The two friends were about to discuss Ian’s plans for the day, which included checking into the whereabouts of that missing groom, calling on the Admiralty for an expected arrival date for Captain Beecham’s ship, and hanging himself if his mother did not arrive in time.
They were laughing, albeit Ian’s merriment was forced, when the butler, Hull, entered the room. “The young gentleman is asking for your lordship,” he intoned. “As soon as possible.”
Ian was on his feet in a second. “Good grief, where is Attie? Should I send for the surgeon?”
“Miss Renslow is out walking the dog, I believe. And I do not consider a call from the surgeon necessary, or I would have sent for him previously.”
“Quite, quite. I am not accusing you of dereliction of duty, man.” Ian was already out the door and headed for the stairs. “Come on,” the earl called to Carswell, “I might need help bathing him.”
Carswell looked at his silk waistcoat with the delicate forget-me-nots embroidered on it, and his pale blue coat. “Bathe, did you say?” But he followed in the earl’s footsteps, taking the marble stairs two at a time.
When they reached the boy’s room, Troy’s cheeks were flushed and his turquoise eyes had a glassy shine to them, but he did not seem hot to Ian’s admittedly inexperienced touch. The maid put down her mending and curtsied to the two gentlemen, smiled and left. She would not have smiled if the boy was in peril, Ian told himself. She would have been rushing after Miss Renslow, yelling for assistance.
“I am sorry, my lord,” Troy said when he noted that Lord Marden was out of breath. “I did not mean to worry you, but Attie will be back in a minute, and I needed to speak with you.”
Ian let his shoulders sag in relief. Then he stepped aside to introduce Carswell.
“You were at the d—”
“The shooting match,” Carswell put in. “Duels are illegal, you know.”
“Of course,” Troy said, proud to be part of this manly pretense. Then he forgot. “But that loose screw did shoot early.”
“Yes, I saw him, too. It might be better for everyone if you forgot that, though.”
Ian could not approve of asking the boy to lie. He would speak to Troy privately, when he was a bit stronger. Meanwhile, Carswell was going on: “I am delighted to see you in better curl than the last time, sir. You gave us all a scare.”
“Me, too,” Troy admitted. “But Lord Marden knew just what to do. That’s why I had to speak to you while Attie is away, my lord.” He glanced uncomfortably at the other gentleman.
“I’ll station myself out in the hall, shall I, and whistle if she comes back too soon,” Carswell offered.
Troy nodded gratefully, and Ian advised his friend to duck into the next room if he heard the scrabble of claws, if Carswell valued his boots.
“What, you are
Both men bowed. When she left, Ian firmly shut the door behind her. He sank into his chair while Carswell reached for a decanter on the sideboard.
“Don’t say anything. I have already endured a lecture from a jumped-up psalm-spouter.”
“Nineteen?”
“I told you not to say anything, dash it!”
“Good grief, man, what are you going to do?”
“I have already sent for my mother and sister.”
Carswell exhaled in relief. “That’s all right and tight, then. Uh, what psalm-spouter?”
“The young lady’s suitor, it appears, although he’d suit an old crow better.” Ian proceeded to tell his friend about Wiggy, and Carswell related the latest news about town, which, happily, did not mention the Renslows, Lord Marden, or duels. Lord Paige’s disappearance was mentioned in passing, but only when one of the patrons at White’s recalled a gambling debt he would now never recover.
The two friends were about to discuss Ian’s plans for the day, which included checking into the whereabouts of that missing groom, calling on the Admiralty for an expected arrival date for Captain Beecham’s ship, and hanging himself if his mother did not arrive in time.
They were laughing, albeit Ian’s merriment was forced, when the butler, Hull, entered the room. “The young gentleman is asking for your lordship,” he intoned. “As soon as possible.”
Ian was on his feet in a second. “Good grief, where is Attie? Should I send for the surgeon?”
“Miss Renslow is out walking the dog, I believe. And I do not consider a call from the surgeon necessary, or I would have sent for him previously.”
“Quite, quite. I am not accusing you of dereliction of duty, man.” Ian was already out the door and headed for the stairs. “Come on,” the earl called to Carswell, “I might need help bathing him.”
Carswell looked at his silk waistcoat with the delicate forget-me-nots embroidered on it, and his pale blue coat. “Bathe, did you say?” But he followed in the earl’s footsteps, taking the marble stairs two at a time.
When they reached the boy’s room, Troy’s cheeks were flushed and his turquoise eyes had a glassy shine to them, but he did not seem hot to Ian’s admittedly inexperienced touch. The maid put down her mending and curtsied to the two gentlemen, smiled and left. She would not have smiled if the boy was in peril, Ian told himself. She would have been rushing after Miss Renslow, yelling for assistance.
“I am sorry, my lord,” Troy said when he noted that Lord Marden was out of breath. “I did not mean to worry you, but Attie will be back in a minute, and I needed to speak with you.”
Ian let his shoulders sag in relief. Then he stepped aside to introduce Carswell.
“You were at the d—”
“The shooting match,” Carswell put in. “Duels are illegal, you know.”
“Of course,” Troy said, proud to be part of this manly pretense. Then he forgot. “But that loose screw did shoot early.”
“Yes, I saw him, too. It might be better for everyone if you forgot that, though.”
Ian could not approve of asking the boy to lie. He would speak to Troy privately, when he was a bit stronger. Meanwhile, Carswell was going on: “I am delighted to see you in better curl than the last time, sir. You gave us all a scare.”
“Me, too,” Troy admitted. “But Lord Marden knew just what to do. That’s why I had to speak to you while Attie is away, my lord.” He glanced uncomfortably at the other gentleman.
“I’ll station myself out in the hall, shall I, and whistle if she comes back too soon,” Carswell offered.
Troy nodded gratefully, and Ian advised his friend to duck into the next room if he heard the scrabble of claws, if Carswell valued his boots.
“What, you are
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