asked. Lady Chetfern pointed to one across the hall from Gabriella’s. She hurried in and was glad to see that Molly had beaten her to it and had already pulled down the sheets and counterpane. The men laid Nick down on the bed and backed away to look at the damage.
Apart from the blood running down his cheek from the head wound and a red mark on his jaw which would likely be a bruise within a few hours, she could see no real signs of damage. Though that was not to say he had not been hurt. She pulled back his greatcoat and coat, relieved to see no signs of a stab wound.
“Nick, where does it hurt?”
“Head and knee,“ he groaned.
“Which knee?” She placed a hand on his left knee and he howled in pain.
“I’ll take that as an answer,” she said as much to herself as to anyone else. She raised herself onto tiptoes to look down at his head wound. The blood was congealed, which meant the wound had likely stopped bleeding and was therefore not particularly bad, especially since head wounds tended to bleed like the very devil.
She turned to the earl and the butler. “I think his head wound is small. I suspect it only needs cleaned up. I need to inspect his knee but for the sake of propriety I should get dressed. I can take care of him, but you need to check his body for any other injuries. Check his back, his chest and stomach and his thighs. Remove his clothes down to just his breeches and shirt. His stockings need to go too. Molly, bring up water and cloths. Lady Chetfern, I know it is not the done thing but can you help me into my gown while Molly goes down for the water?”
“Yes, of course dear,” said the countess, shaking her head as if coming out of a trance. Tears streaked her cheeks and her hands shook. Gabriella guided her out of the room and across the hall. Within minutes, Gabriella was looking respectable in a yellow day dress. And she had managed it largely without the help of Lady Chetfern who had sat on the bed, wringing her hands and gazing worriedly at the door despite Gabriella’s assurances that Nick would be fine.
Her stays were far from tight enough, but she did not have time to wait for her maid. She grabbed a fischu from a drawer, tucked it into her not so well-covered décolletage and walked out the door.
She arrived back in the room and her heart almost stopped. Nick was propped up in bed, his shirt open, showing part of his chest with a smattering of springy black hair. His legs were bare to the knee too and her belly seemed to go warm suddenly. What was happening to her?
“He has a few nasty red marks on his torso which I imagine will turn into bruises but nothing seems broken. His knee is pretty swollen and I suspect you are right about the head wound,” declared the earl. “Do you think this is proper for you to tend him?”
Gabriella shrugged. “If it is inappropriate, feel free to force us to marry on Christmas Eve.” The earl barked out a laugh. “I have helped our housekeeper tend the wounds of many men who work the estate. I married none of them. Stay if you feel it appropriate, but I have Molly. Besides, he looks in no state to ravish me. Would you not agree? He is pretty battered but he shall be fine. I have no doubt about it.”
The earl smiled at this. “I shall go and force my countess to drink some brandy for her nerves. I’ll send up some laudanum for my son.”
“No laudanum,” came a loud grunt from the bed. Both Gabriella and the earl turned to Nick. His eyes seemed to blaze with fire for a moment. “Please. No laudanum.” Gabriella swallowed hard and nodded.
“All right. We will not give you laudanum unless you ask for it.”
“Good.”
“It’s odd,” said the earl gazing at his son, his mouth twisting. The older man then pointed at a money purse sitting on the bedside table. “The footpads never robbed him.”
“Not footpads,” declared Nick scowling. “They were gentlemen.”
“Joseph?” asked Gabriella, her heart
Apart from the blood running down his cheek from the head wound and a red mark on his jaw which would likely be a bruise within a few hours, she could see no real signs of damage. Though that was not to say he had not been hurt. She pulled back his greatcoat and coat, relieved to see no signs of a stab wound.
“Nick, where does it hurt?”
“Head and knee,“ he groaned.
“Which knee?” She placed a hand on his left knee and he howled in pain.
“I’ll take that as an answer,” she said as much to herself as to anyone else. She raised herself onto tiptoes to look down at his head wound. The blood was congealed, which meant the wound had likely stopped bleeding and was therefore not particularly bad, especially since head wounds tended to bleed like the very devil.
She turned to the earl and the butler. “I think his head wound is small. I suspect it only needs cleaned up. I need to inspect his knee but for the sake of propriety I should get dressed. I can take care of him, but you need to check his body for any other injuries. Check his back, his chest and stomach and his thighs. Remove his clothes down to just his breeches and shirt. His stockings need to go too. Molly, bring up water and cloths. Lady Chetfern, I know it is not the done thing but can you help me into my gown while Molly goes down for the water?”
“Yes, of course dear,” said the countess, shaking her head as if coming out of a trance. Tears streaked her cheeks and her hands shook. Gabriella guided her out of the room and across the hall. Within minutes, Gabriella was looking respectable in a yellow day dress. And she had managed it largely without the help of Lady Chetfern who had sat on the bed, wringing her hands and gazing worriedly at the door despite Gabriella’s assurances that Nick would be fine.
Her stays were far from tight enough, but she did not have time to wait for her maid. She grabbed a fischu from a drawer, tucked it into her not so well-covered décolletage and walked out the door.
She arrived back in the room and her heart almost stopped. Nick was propped up in bed, his shirt open, showing part of his chest with a smattering of springy black hair. His legs were bare to the knee too and her belly seemed to go warm suddenly. What was happening to her?
“He has a few nasty red marks on his torso which I imagine will turn into bruises but nothing seems broken. His knee is pretty swollen and I suspect you are right about the head wound,” declared the earl. “Do you think this is proper for you to tend him?”
Gabriella shrugged. “If it is inappropriate, feel free to force us to marry on Christmas Eve.” The earl barked out a laugh. “I have helped our housekeeper tend the wounds of many men who work the estate. I married none of them. Stay if you feel it appropriate, but I have Molly. Besides, he looks in no state to ravish me. Would you not agree? He is pretty battered but he shall be fine. I have no doubt about it.”
The earl smiled at this. “I shall go and force my countess to drink some brandy for her nerves. I’ll send up some laudanum for my son.”
“No laudanum,” came a loud grunt from the bed. Both Gabriella and the earl turned to Nick. His eyes seemed to blaze with fire for a moment. “Please. No laudanum.” Gabriella swallowed hard and nodded.
“All right. We will not give you laudanum unless you ask for it.”
“Good.”
“It’s odd,” said the earl gazing at his son, his mouth twisting. The older man then pointed at a money purse sitting on the bedside table. “The footpads never robbed him.”
“Not footpads,” declared Nick scowling. “They were gentlemen.”
“Joseph?” asked Gabriella, her heart
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