“Me as well,” the doctor grumbled. He packed various items into a bag and strode toward the door. “Lady Jane. Lord Abbington.” He turned to leave but hesitated, scratching the balding top of his head so that wisps of hair stood on end. “I shouldn’t leave you two alone.”
Lady Jane lifted her chin and crossed her arms under her chest. “I’ll not be moved until I’ve determined George is well, and you know us—we’re old friends. Nothing to worry about there. No one is watching our every move, not like in London.”
The doctor glared at George. “I ‘spose he can’t do anything right now even if he wanted to.”
“Damn right,” George croaked. He shot a pleading glance at Jane. “Water?”
The doctor must have made up his mind. He shut the door behind him without another word.
Jane jumped to her feet and crossed the room to a water basin and a jug. She filled a cup and brought it to him.
It meant he’d have to sit up. He should have considered that. “Put it there.” He rolled his eyes toward the bedside table.
She did as he bade and took her seat in her chair, pulling her legs up and folding them beneath her skirts. “I was worried.”
“I was unconscious.”
“In and out. Do you not remember?”
He shook his head.
Her eyelids fluttered closed. “So much blood, and your shoulder looked decidedly odd.”
“Feels like my arm was wrenched entirely out of its socket.”
“Because it was.” She grinned even wider.
“My aching head cannot take the brilliance of your joy right now, Lady Jane.” He sounded grumpy even to his own ears, but she did not seem to mind.
She jabbered away about everything that had happened while he’d been unconscious.
And he found himself, through self-preservation likely, looking at her lips as she spoke instead of listening to her. He'd never paid particular attention to them before, but now he could not let them out of his sight. He'd always acknowledged, especially in the last two years, that she was an attractive woman. Thetondidn’t deem her so, but the way she moved, the contortions of her face when something excited her, the grace of her body in that movement… yes, attractive seemed too dull a word to describe the appeal she held.
But he'd never before been obsessed with her lips as he currently found himself—mesmerized, riveted, besotted.
Obviously, the tree root had addled his brains. Or Edmund’s tease about George courting Jane had given him fanciful ideas.
She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Should I call the doctor back?” She tilted her head to the side. “Why won't you take laudanum?”
Even with a scrambled brain, he knew not to answer that question. Too complicated. Images of dark rooms and high-pitched giggling threatened to swallow him whole as his uncle swallowed the drops that ruled him and had ruined him. No, he didn't need an aching head and sore body to resist discussing the topic.
“I'm tired,” he said. Not a lie. He closed his eyes, meaning to dismiss her with the gesture. But then he popped them open again. “What’s this about suitors?”
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
She frowned. “Do you remember the scandal? In London?”
He reached. He found it. “Yes. You went north with Lord Devon to… to?”
“Bring Lady Tabitha home.”
Oh yes, now he fully remembered. “And the suitors?”
“Christiana’s idea. But you provided wonderfully. The only truly serious candidates are the three men you sent. They are here until Christmas, and I must choose from them.”
“Why not Lord Devon?”
