A Dangerous Nativity

Chapter 5, Scene 3

His Grace, in Catherine's opinion, looked rather too stunned to mind, if the awkward boy next to Chadbourn was, indeed, the new duke.

"Miss Wheatly, it is my privilege to present His Grace, the Duke of Murnane, Charles Wheatly. Charles, may I present Miss Catherine Wheatly?"

"I'm honored, Your Grace." Catherine curtseyed to the boy properly. Through lowered lashes, she watched his uncle whisper in his ear. The duke looked at Chadbourn in question before he turned back to Catherine. What on earth?

The young duke looked uncertain. "Chadbourn suggests you should call me Charles, since we are cousins. Are you really my cousin?" he asked.

Or something very like. "Of course, if your uncle says it. You may call me Catherine, if you like." His returning smile looked more shy than haughty. Catherine warmed to the boy immediately.

"Cath, His Grace likes birds," Randy broke in. "Can I show him the owl in the woods? He don't even know it's there, even though it is practically on his land," Randy enthused.

"That would be 'may I' and 'he doesn't...'" She caught the earl's eye. "I need to discuss it with His Lordship." She couldn't decide if Chadbourn's welcome of her brothers boded good or ill. The damned man seems amused.

"Famous," Randy said to Charles, "Cath will talk him round. She likes the owl, too. My father is an expert on birds. Would you like to see his books?" The two boys moved toward the rails, talking a mile a minute, but Catherine quit listening. Chadbourn's eyes held hers.

"When would you like him?" Chadbourn asked with a grin.

"Beg pardon?" Catherine shook off the stupor his gaze had engendered.

"My nephew. Nothing for it. He has to visit."

"I'm sorry, my lord. This is all too much. We don't 'visit' with Eversham Hall."

"And that's a damned shame. The boys are good for Charles, and he would be good for them."

Catherine searched her brain for a riposte. Her hard-won contentment lay on the ground. This interfering earl plans to upset everything.

"You said yourself, you would only be here until the New Year. You don't—"

"They are only boys, Miss Wheatly. Whatever lies between Songbird Cottage and Eversham Hall need not color their lives."

She frowned but had no reply, because in her heart she agreed with him.

"The horses alone would enrich Freddy's life, and his example might—"

Whatever the earl meant to say was cut short by a screech from farther down the paddock fence. Charles lay half-suspended on a fence rail inside the paddock. Both adults took off at a dead run. Randy had his arms around the young duke supporting his weight. A nasty slice that cut through his trouser leg oozed blood.

"I'm bleeding, Uncle Will," the boy cried.

Chadbourn called out to Freddy, "Help Reilly get the horses out of the paddock!" He lowered his nephew to the ground and tore back the cloth around the duke's thigh. The earl looked frantic. Freddy dropped to the ground and led the horse away, while Reilly ran to help.

"Am I going to die?" the boy asked. His clenched teeth looked like they held back a cry. Catherine guessed he couldn't bear to show weakness in front of other boys.

Before the earl could answer, Randy piped up. "No, but you may get an interesting scar from that one. I sliced my arm on a broken branch last year. Hurt like the Devil, but I got the best scar." He started to roll up his sleeve.

Catherine thought about the days she spent dreading infection, and dropped down beside the earl.

"It doesn't look so bad," she said soothingly, but whether she meant to reassure the boy or his uncle, she couldn't say. "It will need some attention, though. Cleaning and bandaging. An application of honey may be in order."

"Honey?" the earl and the duke asked in unison.

"It aids healing. I don't know why, but it makes infection less likely. Dark is best if you have it. I can send some, if you don't."

"I saw a surgeon use it in the Peninsula once. Does it work?"

She cast him a sardonic eye. Of course it works, you looby.

"Ever so well," Randy interrupted. "And Catherine will give you a spoonful when she's finished dressing the cut. That's the best part."

Catherine did not intend to dress it. "Not I, the earl. We're going home. Now."

"You can't. I need your help." Chadbourn lifted his nephew into his arms, and Catherine rose to her feet. "Come along." He started for the Hall, but Catherine stood fast. She stared up at the imposing façade of the old house and felt her stomach clench. The earl turned to see why she didn't follow.

"Miss Wheatly, we need your help. You obviously know more about cuts than I."

Don't these people have servants for that?

"You know more about boys, too, I think," the earl went on.

A boy needs more than servants and bandaging when he's been hurt.

She turned to her brother. "Randy, fetch Freddy, and the two of you go directly home. I expect to find you there shortly, and I'll be wanting an explanation for what happened."

"There's nothing to explain. His Grace climbed the fence after me, and he slipped. It wasn't my fault."

"Home. Now." He left, head hanging.

Catherine took a steadying breath.

"Will you come now, please?" Chadbourn urged. She fell into step beside him, feeling like a cow in the vicar's parlor in her plain dress.

I don't belong here.