Page 98 of The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere
“It must have been handsome once.” Benedict blinked up at the house, eyes narrowed against the glare of the early morning sun. “It could be again, with a family to breathelife into it.”
Georgiana glanced up at the glassy windows peering down on them from above like a dozen sightless eyes. Lord Draven was behind one of them, lying still and lifeless in his bed. Would he or Clara Beauchamp ever get a chance to live a life here, after what Kenilworth had done to them?
She tapped her heels into the horse’s flanks, breaking free of the tree line. They wouldn’t get the answer standing here. “Shall we leave the horses with Peter?”
Benedict followed her toward the stables, but Peter was nowhere to be found. It was as clean and organized as ever, with every shred of hay in its proper place, but the few horses there were whinnying and tossing their heads.
“I don’t like this. The horses are agitated. We need to get up to the house.” Benedict leapt from the saddle and strode over to an empty stall, leading his horse behind him, but when he tried to swing open the stall door it refused to budge. “It’s stuck.”
“Is something blocking the door?” Georgiana dismounted and hurried over to Benedict.
He scaled the stall door and was about to drop down the other side when he froze, sucked in a breath, then let it out with a curse that made Georgiana stop in her tracks. “Jesus.” His face paled as he stared down into the stall below. “Quickly, Georgiana. It’s Peter.”
Georgiana rushed forward as Benedict dropped down to the floor, dread pooling in her stomach. The stall door was too high for her to see over it, but she could hear Benedict dragging something across the floor. A moment later the door flew open, and what she saw on the other sidemade her gasp.
Peter was crumpled on the floor, blood running down his face. His white shirt was splattered with it, and it was pooling in the hay beneath him.
“Oh, no. No. Peter?” Georgiana darted forward and landed on her knees on the floor beside him. “Peter, can you hear me?”
Benedict caught Peter under his arms and heaved him to a sitting position, bracing his back against the wall. He tapped Peter’s cheek until the boy’s eyes fluttered open. “That’s it. Wakeup now, Peter.”
Peter stared at them for a moment, his gaze unfocused, then he let out a low moan and raised his hand to the back of his head. “My…my head hurts.”
“Don’t touch it, lad. Let me have a look first.” Benedict caught Peter’s hand and lowered it to his lap, then brushed aside the blood-soaked hair at the back of his head and prodded gently at the injury. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” His face was grim as his eyes met Georgiana’s. “Bad enough, though.”
Peter winced. “Something hit me. Back of my head.”
“Not something.Someone.” Benedict shoved the scattered hay aside with his boot, reached down and plucked up a shovel. “There’s bloodon the blade.”
“It has to be Kenilworth.” Georgiana scrambled to her feet. “Clara, and Mrs. Ellery and Martha. We need to go to the house at once, Benedict.”
“I’m coming with ye, my lord.” Peter braced his hand on the wall and tried to rise, but he only made it as far as his knees before dizziness overtook him, and he crashed back down to the floor.
“No, Peter. You’re in no shape for it. Here.” Benedict snatched off his cravat and handed it to Georgiana. “Stay here, and bind his wound asbest you can.”
“No!” Georgiana shot to her feet, her throat closing. “You’re not goinginside alone!”
Benedict grabbed her by the shoulders. “Yes, Georgiana, I am. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind. You only waste time quarreling with me. Stay here and tend to Peter. I’ll be back out to fetch you soon.”
Georgiana stared up into those flashing dark eyes and could see at once arguing with him was pointless. So, she took the cravatwithout a word.
Benedict, who knew her well enough by now to be suspicious of such silent obedience, peered at her from the door of the stall, eyes narrowed. “I mean it, Georgiana. Stay here. Promise me.”
Georgiana gave him a brief nod, but she said nothing. If Benedict had returned by the time she was finished binding Peter’s wound, then she’d do precisely as he asked, and they wouldn’t have a problem. If he wasn’t backby then, well…
The less she said about what she’d do then, the better it wasfor them both.
Benedict hurried from the stables and Georgiana turned to Peter with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. She lowered herself to the floor beside him, folded the cravat into thirds, then pressed the thick pad of linen over the injury at the back of Peter’s head. “Here. Hold that to your wound while I fetch some water.”
She left Peter propped against the wall and searched the stables until she found a bucket half-filled with fresh water. She dragged it back to the stall with her and busied herself with cleaning and then wrapping Peter’s wound. Benedict was right—the wound was nasty, but not life-threatening, and by the time she’d finished, Peter was breathing evenly and he’d regained some of his color.
But Benedict still hadn’t returned.
“You’ll have a nasty cut and a knot the size of your fist, Peter, but you’ll be fine.” Georgiana rose to her feet and dusted the stray bits of hay from her skirt. “Keep the linen pressed to it. I’ll be back in a moment.”
“Nay, miss.” Peter shook his head. “His lordship said as you’reto wait here.”
“His lordship isn’t here, Peter.” Georgiana gave the boy a sweet smile. “Just stay here and rest. Iwon’t go far.”
