Her heart began to race. Her thoughts were divided between her concern over Donovan’s well-being and the many puzzle pieces that were moving around, trying to fit into place in her thoughts. She stared wide-eyed at Donovan as she tried to absorb what she’d just seen and what it could possibly mean.
Donovan’s face had gone gray, and perspiration was beading on his forehead. “Have you anything for the pain?” he implored her.
“Yes.” She took his hand and squeezed lightly. This was the thing she’d feared for Donovan, the thing he always said she need not worry over.
Ruth banged into the room with a stack of linen sheets. “Here we are. Mrs. Plum is coming with the things to tend to his other wounds.”
Ruth was still speaking when Mrs. Plum burst into the room. “Donovan!” she cried, breathless. She was a woman in her sixth decade of life, and while she had a great amount of stamina, which Hollis admired, the stairs left her breathless. “Oh, dear, lad, look at you!” she cooed. She leaned over him and touched the wound at his brow with her fingers. “We’ll have to clean you up, won’t we? I’ll bandage him up, Mrs. Honeycutt. Ruth, bring the sewing basket, and fetch the laudanum from the cupboard in the larder.”
Ruth dropped the linens onto the foot of the bed and raced out.
“What’s all the commotion?” Mr. Brimble appeared, looking as if he’d been changing for bed—his waistcoat and neckcloth were gone, his shirttail pulled from his trousers and hanging to midthigh.
“Donovan ran into a bit of trouble this evening,” Hollis said as everyone crowded around the bed.
“What’s that?” the old man said, shuffling forward. “Oh! What a sight you are, lad. Hope you gave them what for.”
“Tried,” Donovan said. “But there were three of them to one of me.”
Hollis gasped with outrage.
“You’re going to have some lovely bruises, I’m afraid, love,” Mrs. Plum said. “But they haven’t ruined your handsome face, not one bit. In fact, nothing looks too terribly mangled. I suspect you’ll live to charm again.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Plum. I was worried,” Donovan muttered.
“I should go,” Mr. Brendan said. “Good luck to you, sir,” he said to Donovan, then looked at Hollis across the top of Mrs. Plum’s head. “Thank you, Mrs. Honeycutt. Good evening.”
“No, wait,” Hollis said, and looked frantically between Mr. Brendan and Donovan.
“Go on, Mrs. Honeycutt,” Mrs. Plum said. “We’ll take good care of him now.”
“Yes, go,” Donovan grumbled. “I won’t have you all looking at me like this.”
Mr. Brendan was already walking toward the door.
She didn’t know how she could possibly think of leaving Donovan at this moment, but she couldn’t let Mr. Brendan get away, either—not now, not with the new suspicions in her head. “Mr. Brendan?” When he didn’t turn, she remembered he couldn’t hear her. She darted after him and touched his arm. He looked at her. “Let me see you out—”
“Please. You’ve more than enough to do here.”
Mrs. Plum had enlisted Mr. Brimble to help her remove Donovan’s shirt. He was in good hands. “I insist,” she said, and stepped out of the room with Mr. Brendan.
They walked down the hall in silence; Hollis’s thoughts were racing ahead to what she would say,howshe would say it. When they reached the stairs, she said, “Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Brendan.”
“You mustn’t mention it.”
“I hope you weren’t...scandalized.” So much had happened tonight that she was only now thinking of what he must have thought when he surely realized what had happened to Donovan.
But he looked at her as if he didn’t understand at all.
“Because of...” She gestured vaguely in the direction of Donovan’s room. She had never spoken of his affinity to men to anyone, not even her sister. She had sworn to Percy she would never tell anyone and she had kept that promise.
Mr. Brendan started down the steps. “Rest assured, Mrs. Honeycutt, I don’t make other men’s business my own.”
She followed him to the first-floor landing. He paused there and his gaze flicked down the length of her and up again, settling on her eyes. “Thank you for the tea.” He said it softly, as if she’d done him a kindness. “Please, go back to your...butler.” He started down the second flight of stairs.
“Wait,” she said, following him down, catching up with him as they reached the ground floor. “Mr. Brendan?”
He paused once more and waited politely for her to speak.
