Turk doesn’t seem particularly tired. Why don’t you ride for a while?”
“I don’t need coddling,” he said shortly.
Julia always shrank back when a man was angry with her, but bad temper from someone in pain was a different matter. “It’s not coddling to give an injured leg some rest when it’s having a bad day.”
“There are no good days,” he snapped. “Only bad and worse.”
“Then you definitely need to be riding,” she said mildly.
He scowled at her. “Pray oblige me by minding your own business.”
She had to laugh. “If we are to marry, you are most certainly my business. As you have made me yours.”
After a startled moment, he gave her a reluctant smile. “That’s hard to argue with. Sorry to be such a bear. As you observed, my leg is acting up today, but for now, it’s better to walk so it doesn’t tighten up.”
“What kind of wound was it?” When he glanced at her askance, she said, “For lack of anyone better qualified, I was Hartley’s surgeon and physician as well as its midwife. I’ve dealt with all sorts of illnesses and injuries.”
“I’ve been poked and prodded by experts,” he said without enthusiasm. “The general opinion is that I should be dead, and not losing the leg borders on the miraculous. I doubt you could do anything to help.”
She gave him a cheerful smile. “Probably not. I’d just like to satisfy my ghoulish curiosity since disease and injury have always interested me.” That had been true even when she was a child. In a better world, she would have been able to study medicine rather than marrying too young.
“Since you put it that way…” Another brief smile. “I was chewed up by shrapnel at the Battle of Albuera. The surgeons did their best, but there are still bits of sharp metal moving around in appalling and uncomfortable ways.”
She supposed that was all the explanation she was likely to get from a military stoic. “That’s the wound that sent you to Daventry’s attic?”
He nodded. “Heavy bleeding, infection, fever. I was out of my head when someone decided I should be sent back to my uncle’s tender mercies. My batman, Gordon, would have stopped that if he could, but he was wounded, too.”
“That battle was in May last year, wasn’t it?” At his nod, she said, “Wasn’t that about the time Daventry’s younger son died?”
Randall sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. The boy had always been sickly, and he died of a fever just before I landed on Daventry’s doorstep. My uncle was wild with grief. I suspect that’s why he sent me to the attic to die—because I was alive and his sons weren’t. He’s never liked me, but he wasn’t murderous.”
Julia winced inwardly at Randall’s flat acceptance of an appalling situation. “Since you were the heir, one would think he would want you to survive.”
“At the time, there was still a cousin or two in line, so I wasn’t needed.”
“I hope you’re right that he’ll find you more valuable now that you’re the last heir,” she said dryly.
“He does now that he’s had time to recover from the loss of his son.” Randall replied. “I never even met the boy. He was born after you ran away. His mother, the second countess, died a few days later.”
“Your uncle has been unlucky in his children and wives,” Julia observed. “I never met the current countess, but I was told the first two endured numerous miscarriages and stillbirths.”
“His third wife is a widow who had three healthy sons with her first husband. My uncle must have hoped that would guarantee fertility, but it didn’t. So if he wants the Daventry title to continue, he’s stuck with me.” He glanced at her. “And with you.”
Who would be another Lady Daventry who would produce no heirs. Perhaps the title was fated to become extinct. “It will be interesting to see how this family drama works out.” Julia studied her future husband’s face. He looked gray, and was obviously in pain.
“I don’t need coddling,” he said shortly.
Julia always shrank back when a man was angry with her, but bad temper from someone in pain was a different matter. “It’s not coddling to give an injured leg some rest when it’s having a bad day.”
“There are no good days,” he snapped. “Only bad and worse.”
“Then you definitely need to be riding,” she said mildly.
He scowled at her. “Pray oblige me by minding your own business.”
She had to laugh. “If we are to marry, you are most certainly my business. As you have made me yours.”
After a startled moment, he gave her a reluctant smile. “That’s hard to argue with. Sorry to be such a bear. As you observed, my leg is acting up today, but for now, it’s better to walk so it doesn’t tighten up.”
“What kind of wound was it?” When he glanced at her askance, she said, “For lack of anyone better qualified, I was Hartley’s surgeon and physician as well as its midwife. I’ve dealt with all sorts of illnesses and injuries.”
“I’ve been poked and prodded by experts,” he said without enthusiasm. “The general opinion is that I should be dead, and not losing the leg borders on the miraculous. I doubt you could do anything to help.”
She gave him a cheerful smile. “Probably not. I’d just like to satisfy my ghoulish curiosity since disease and injury have always interested me.” That had been true even when she was a child. In a better world, she would have been able to study medicine rather than marrying too young.
“Since you put it that way…” Another brief smile. “I was chewed up by shrapnel at the Battle of Albuera. The surgeons did their best, but there are still bits of sharp metal moving around in appalling and uncomfortable ways.”
She supposed that was all the explanation she was likely to get from a military stoic. “That’s the wound that sent you to Daventry’s attic?”
He nodded. “Heavy bleeding, infection, fever. I was out of my head when someone decided I should be sent back to my uncle’s tender mercies. My batman, Gordon, would have stopped that if he could, but he was wounded, too.”
“That battle was in May last year, wasn’t it?” At his nod, she said, “Wasn’t that about the time Daventry’s younger son died?”
Randall sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. The boy had always been sickly, and he died of a fever just before I landed on Daventry’s doorstep. My uncle was wild with grief. I suspect that’s why he sent me to the attic to die—because I was alive and his sons weren’t. He’s never liked me, but he wasn’t murderous.”
Julia winced inwardly at Randall’s flat acceptance of an appalling situation. “Since you were the heir, one would think he would want you to survive.”
“At the time, there was still a cousin or two in line, so I wasn’t needed.”
“I hope you’re right that he’ll find you more valuable now that you’re the last heir,” she said dryly.
“He does now that he’s had time to recover from the loss of his son.” Randall replied. “I never even met the boy. He was born after you ran away. His mother, the second countess, died a few days later.”
“Your uncle has been unlucky in his children and wives,” Julia observed. “I never met the current countess, but I was told the first two endured numerous miscarriages and stillbirths.”
“His third wife is a widow who had three healthy sons with her first husband. My uncle must have hoped that would guarantee fertility, but it didn’t. So if he wants the Daventry title to continue, he’s stuck with me.” He glanced at her. “And with you.”
Who would be another Lady Daventry who would produce no heirs. Perhaps the title was fated to become extinct. “It will be interesting to see how this family drama works out.” Julia studied her future husband’s face. He looked gray, and was obviously in pain.
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