end up with a scarred man. In his drunken rage, he had reasoned that she needed to be left with a scar as bad in some respects as those on the man she intended to marry.
A scar that she would carry for life.
And judging from Joshua’s reaction and the earlier reaction of the house maid who had helped her undress for her bath, the wound was worse than she thought – one that would probably be visible on her back for many years to come. She reached up and wiped tears from her face, determined to stop crying.
“Be that as it may, you do realize that the betrothal was made on behalf of my older brother, who has ... died? ” he reasoned, wondering if such an arrangement transferred much like the lands and title had to him.
Charlotte nodded. “I am so sorry for your loss, Your Grace. So sorry for what happened to your entire family,” she said quietly. She took a deep breath, overcoming a sob. Straightening her torso while still holding the towel against the front of her body, she stated, “As I understand the betrothal, I am to marry the Earl of Grinstead, and if he has ascended, then the Duke of Chichester, upon my twenty-first birthday.” She wondered for at least the third time if the fire that had destroyed half the house had also destroyed the written agreement between her father and the former duke.
Joshua regarded Charlotte for several minutes, contemplating whether he should change his mind and extricate himself from the betrothal, and then wondering how he could extricate himself out of the awkward situation he found himself in at the moment – in a lady’s bath kneeling on the floor next to the tub in which an injured, nude lady was supposed to be bathing.
He was saved from having to make an immediate move when the village doctor appeared in the bathroom doorway, a black leather bag in one hand and his other at his waist as he bowed. “Your Grace. Please forgive the delay. I came as soon as I could secure a saddled horse,” the rather tall man said, his eyes darting between the duke and the woman in the tub whose back was to him.
Charlotte stiffened at the sound of the voice, recognizing it from her time in Kirdford the days after the fire. Its owner was the stubborn village doctor who insisted he could see to Joshua’s wounds even as she arranged to move the badly burned Joshua to London. On the third day following the fire, the man had relented and allowed his patient to be taken away in a hammock secured in the back of the finest wagon she could hire. Charlotte was sure it was only because the doctor, who had used up every drop of morphine he had in treating Joshua, had decided Joshua would not make it through the night.
His death would then be on her.
But Joshua did make it through that awful day and night, his body suffering fever and chills and all manner of torturous pain. Once at hospital in London, the doctor she arranged to provide his care said it was due to the medical attention he’d been provided those first two days that ultimately saved Joshua Wainwright’s life. The old village doctor had known what he was doing. As she sat at Joshua’s bedside on the fifth day, she wrote a note to Dr. Regan, thanking him for his work and asking that he forgive her stubbornness in insisting that Joshua be treated in London.
If the doctor sent a reply, she did not receive it.
Joshua got to his feet in a fluid movement that belied the tightness in the left side of his body. “Thank you for coming, Doctor Regan,” he said with a nod. My ...” Betrothed , he started to say, “... Guest, Lady Charlotte, has a rather nasty wound that I believe may require some stitches,” he said, getting right to the point as he indicated the red slash across her back. The wound was quite visible over the top of the water as Charlotte leaned forward in the tub, mortified that not just one man, but now two, were seeing her uncovered back.
The doctor cocked a shaggy eyebrow as he took a look from where he stood
A scar that she would carry for life.
And judging from Joshua’s reaction and the earlier reaction of the house maid who had helped her undress for her bath, the wound was worse than she thought – one that would probably be visible on her back for many years to come. She reached up and wiped tears from her face, determined to stop crying.
“Be that as it may, you do realize that the betrothal was made on behalf of my older brother, who has ... died? ” he reasoned, wondering if such an arrangement transferred much like the lands and title had to him.
Charlotte nodded. “I am so sorry for your loss, Your Grace. So sorry for what happened to your entire family,” she said quietly. She took a deep breath, overcoming a sob. Straightening her torso while still holding the towel against the front of her body, she stated, “As I understand the betrothal, I am to marry the Earl of Grinstead, and if he has ascended, then the Duke of Chichester, upon my twenty-first birthday.” She wondered for at least the third time if the fire that had destroyed half the house had also destroyed the written agreement between her father and the former duke.
Joshua regarded Charlotte for several minutes, contemplating whether he should change his mind and extricate himself from the betrothal, and then wondering how he could extricate himself out of the awkward situation he found himself in at the moment – in a lady’s bath kneeling on the floor next to the tub in which an injured, nude lady was supposed to be bathing.
He was saved from having to make an immediate move when the village doctor appeared in the bathroom doorway, a black leather bag in one hand and his other at his waist as he bowed. “Your Grace. Please forgive the delay. I came as soon as I could secure a saddled horse,” the rather tall man said, his eyes darting between the duke and the woman in the tub whose back was to him.
Charlotte stiffened at the sound of the voice, recognizing it from her time in Kirdford the days after the fire. Its owner was the stubborn village doctor who insisted he could see to Joshua’s wounds even as she arranged to move the badly burned Joshua to London. On the third day following the fire, the man had relented and allowed his patient to be taken away in a hammock secured in the back of the finest wagon she could hire. Charlotte was sure it was only because the doctor, who had used up every drop of morphine he had in treating Joshua, had decided Joshua would not make it through the night.
His death would then be on her.
But Joshua did make it through that awful day and night, his body suffering fever and chills and all manner of torturous pain. Once at hospital in London, the doctor she arranged to provide his care said it was due to the medical attention he’d been provided those first two days that ultimately saved Joshua Wainwright’s life. The old village doctor had known what he was doing. As she sat at Joshua’s bedside on the fifth day, she wrote a note to Dr. Regan, thanking him for his work and asking that he forgive her stubbornness in insisting that Joshua be treated in London.
If the doctor sent a reply, she did not receive it.
Joshua got to his feet in a fluid movement that belied the tightness in the left side of his body. “Thank you for coming, Doctor Regan,” he said with a nod. My ...” Betrothed , he started to say, “... Guest, Lady Charlotte, has a rather nasty wound that I believe may require some stitches,” he said, getting right to the point as he indicated the red slash across her back. The wound was quite visible over the top of the water as Charlotte leaned forward in the tub, mortified that not just one man, but now two, were seeing her uncovered back.
The doctor cocked a shaggy eyebrow as he took a look from where he stood
Similar Books
