Incomparable Lord Meath Novella: A Rebellious Sons prequel (Rebellious Sons .5)(5)
“But she’s not a sister, and you don’t appear to be starving. You need an heir. It’s time to give it some thought.” Curtly, she opened one of the doors without waiting for him to do so.
Why the devil had he enjoyed her candor so much in his youth?
Miss Hoyt strutted into a parlor adorned with a marquess, an earl, and a viscount as if she were the queen herself and immediately arranged the scene to her satisfaction. “Lord Meath, perhaps you should arbitrate the discussion of how my uncle’s party may recompense Lady Isabell and her family for their losses today. I must attend the patient. If you need me to act as witness to Harrow’s stone-throwing, I stand ready.”
The devious wench had obviously planned that battle cry to stun her uncle into silence. The marquess spluttered into his whiskey while his defiant niece crossed to another set of doors and shut them behind her, leaving Evan stranded with a thunderstruck Lord Belden and a drunken Wexford.
With a shrug, Evan tossed the pouch of gold to the earl and lied. “I wagered on the stallion to drive the odds up. This was not how I was prepared to win. It’s little in comparison to your loss, I fear. What will you do if you must sell your stable?”
Wexford tried to hand the purse back. Ignoring the offer, Evan limped to the fireplace, where a maid was adding more coal and a footman handed him heated whiskey. Miss Hoyt knew how to manage a household.
She also knew how to manage men. Recovering from the lady’s direct blow, her powerful uncle now looked thoughtful. And Wexford appeared ready to slide under the table. Miss Hoyt was leaving him to bring the two together. Damn the interfering woman, but he mentally girded his loins and prepared for battle.
“Well, gentlemen,” Evan said genially, pulling up a chair near the fire to warm his leg. “Why don’t we start with horses while we wait to hear if Lady Isabell dies from a carelessly flung stone?”
Chapter 2
The physician packed his bag as he gave instructions. “Lady Isabell will need rest for at least the next twenty-four hours. The blow to her head could be a concussion. The longer she is unconscious, the worse it could be, so she must remain under observation. The wrist appears to be a simple fracture and should heal well. The bandage should not be disturbed for two weeks, at which time I’ll need to see it again.”
“Will she be able to travel to her own home if she regains consciousness?” Honora asked, more disturbed than she let on at the pale silence of the girl in the bed. There but for the Grace of God. . .
“I would wait a few days to see if infection sets in or the head swells. I’ve left something for the pain. And knowing the lady, I’d tie her up and make certain she cannot find a horse and saddle. Riding is definitely out of the question until the wrist is healed.”
Honora thought the patient scowled, but she ushered the physician out to the men and let them discuss the cost of services it was apparent that the earl could ill afford to pay.
When the door closed, she said to the young, presumably unconscious, lady, “We have plenty of beds. You may stay in this one for as long as you like. But there are gentlemen in the next room concerned about your well-being. What shall I say to them?”
The patient grimaced, then tried to push into an upright position. Sally, Honora’s maid and companion, helped her to sit against the pillows. When she was settled, Lady Isabell opened her enormous, long-lashed green eyes and regarded Honora with hostility. “Who are you?”
“Honora Hoyt, interfering nuisance, managing hen, and general factotum for my uncle, the marquess of Belden. And Lord Meath informs me you are Lady Isabell Boyle, daughter of the earl of Wexford and owner of that lovely mare.”
“How is Little Dream?” the girl asked anxiously, storm clouds rising over the unfocused brilliance of her eyes. “She’s never shied from mud before. Is she hurt?”
Feeling it unnecessary to stir the lady’s anger just yet, Honora did not correct her assumption. “We’ve not had word yet. Our main concern was for you. Your father is outside. I’m sure he’ll know whom to consult about the horse. Would you like some of the pain medication?”
She shook her head, then winced. “No, I must go to Dream. Where are my clothes?” She looked down at the long billowing night shift she wore with dismay. Since Lady Isabell was considerably taller and more slender than Honora, there had been nothing suitable for her to wear. Sally had offered her shift.
“Your. . . breeches. . . were torn, and your jacket quite filthy. We’ve sent them for cleaning and mending. Do you have a maid we can send for?” Honora suspected not, but the polite thing to do was ask.
Lady Isabell shook her head, then put her fingers to her temple, apparently to hold back the pain. “I rode here this morning. I need to go back this evening to see the girls are fed. A little dirt won’t hurt.” She closed her eyes as if in pain and whispered sadly, “I promised them plum cakes.”
Her anguish and the children’s plight tore at Honora’s heart. “You will not be riding anywhere for weeks, I fear. Your father will have to arrange for the care of the children. Would you like water or tea?” Honora didn’t know how to be soft and soothing. Brusque and efficient was the best she could manage.
“I can’t leave them alone with Dolly. She’s likely to give them chicken feed for dinner. Please, may I talk to my father? How is he faring?”