“Would you like me to take him, your lordship?”
Ethan felt the puppy’s wet tongue lap at his wrist. “No, Mr. Shepherd. I’ll take him with me.”
Francesca didn’t look up when he opened the door to the hospital. The red-haired boy had just arrived with the hot water, and the stocky Nat held the bunny motionless while she cleaned the dirt and blood from its injured leg.
She dipped a clean strip of cloth into the steaming bowl of water and drizzled the liquid over the wounded leg. Rivulets of red flowed onto the table, dripping onto the floor and staining it as well as her shoes and dress. She didn’t seem to care.
“Peter, hand me the alcohol and a clean strip of muslin.” Her voice was full of authority.
The footman went directly to one of the cabinets, withdrew a bottle of liquid, and placed it on the table within her reach. Next he pulled a few strips of cloth from a neat pile on the shelf behind him and put those on the table as well.
“Do you want your needle and thread, miss?” the boy asked.
“Not yet, Peter. Let me see what needs to be stitched first.” Her voice was muffled as she leaned close to the injured rabbit, inspecting the crushed limb.
Ethan set the dog he was carrying down, and the puppy, seeming to sense the mood of those in the hospital, curled up in a corner next to the hearth. Ethan stood awkwardly in front of the door and tried to stay out of the way.
He watched Francesca’s efficient movements as she reached for the bottle of alcohol, pressed a strip of cloth over the top, thoroughly wetted it with what smelled like whisky, and began to dab it over the animal’s wound. The animal bucked then lapsed back into shock.
“That woke her for a moment,” Francesca commented, keeping her attention focused on the wound. Silenced hovered as Francesca worked over the rabbit, Nat holding the creature still, and Peter building a fire in the hearth. Ethan wished he’d thought to do so. Instead, he stood rooted to his place, watching in awe as Francesca worked.
He couldn’t imagine why she would go to so much trouble for a rabbit. He would have thought the animal past hope—someone’s dinner. But in the space of a few moments, he’d seen that, in Francesca’s capable hands, the rabbit just might survive.
She was quick and experienced. She was also frenzied. Beneath her calm veneer, he could sense a current of desperation, as though sheneededto save the rabbit. As though something more than just the animal’s life depended on it.
The fire was just beginning to warm the tidy room when a knock sounded behind him.
“Could you answer that, Winterbourne?”
Francesca didn’t even look up, and he opened the door before realizing that she had just issued him an order and—even more surprising—he’d obeyed.
Her eyes flicked to the door then back to her patient. “What is it, Curtis?” Francesca said to the liveried servant in the doorway.
“Begging your pardon, miss, but Norton needs Nat inside. Lady Brigham wants the furniture in the drawing room reorganized.”
“Reorganized?” For the first time Francesca paused in her ministrations. “Again?”
“Yes, miss. On account of your betrothal.” He glanced at Ethan skeptically. “By the way, felicitations, miss.”
Ethan thought he heard a note of disapproval in the footman’s tone. Apparently, he hadn’t met the staff’s high standards quite yet.
Francesca pushed a lock of hair from her eyes with the back of her wrist. “What does my betrothal have to do with—” She shook her head. “Never mind. I guess you’d better go, Nat. Lord knows my mother doesn’t have much patience once she has an idea.”
“Yes, miss,” Nat answered.
“Peter, can you hold this baby while I sew her up?” Though the rabbit was still in shock, Francesca rested her hands firmly on the creature’s body.
“Oh, miss, that’s another thing,” the servant in the doorway said.
Francesca closed her eyes, head dipping. “Don’t tell me they need Peter too.”
“Yes, miss. With all the noise and goings-on, Mrs. Priggers needs Peter to help in the house.”
“Oh, good Lord!” Francesca said in exasperation. “Well, Mrs. Priggers will have to wait.”
“Yes, miss.” The servant sounded doubtful.
“I’ll help.” The words were out of Ethan’s mouth before he could stop them.
