Nearly fainting in relief, Ashley picked up her spoon again. “No, I adore Sally. You made an excellent choice.” She ate another spoonful while she considered an acceptable version of events to tell. “I encountered Maggie while we were out for a walk. Her previous … employer … was beating her and I could not in good conscience allow it to continue. Sally is training her, and then we’ll help her find a suitable position.”
Aunt Eunice nodded. “I suspected something like that, after I noticed her bruises.”
“I’ll pay for her wages.”
“Oh, pish. With the amount of Edward’s money we’re spending for three months in London, another maid is hardly worth noting.” Aunt Eunice drank the last of her lemonade. “I think I’ll have a lie-down.”
“What an excellent notion.” Ashley was careful to carry the folded napkin and her bulging reticule on the far side from her aunt as they climbed the stairs.
Her nerves still thrumming from the close call, Ashley closed her door and leaned against it. Claiming to need the ladies’ retiring room to escape an awkward social situation was difficult enough. She simply was not cut out for being duplicitous. Ravencroft needed to heal quickly and leave.
A pang of regret filled her at the thought of him leaving. She’d still see him, of course. He was the uncle of her friend. But it would never be the same. He’d call her Miss Hamlin. Not Ashley.
She set the food on the bedside table and checked on her patient. She cocked her head to the side, studying him, trying to figure out what had changed.
“I held the mirror for him,” Maggie said, coming to stand beside her. “He wouldn’t let me use the razor. Dozed off after shaving only half his face. I kept the water hot, and he finished just a bit ago.” She pointed at a spot he’d missed on his neck and another by one ear. “I would have done a neater job.”
“I’m sure you would have.” His lack of beard stubble made the bruises around his left eye stand out more. At least the edges were fading to green and yellow.
While Sally adjusted the clothing drying on the rack in front of the fire—Ashley refused to blush at the sight of Ravencroft’s drawers drying next to her chemise and stockings—she sat down to write the day’s note to Westbrook, giving him a more detailed update on Ravencroft’s condition.
With her maids off to meet with Gilroy and buy more supplies, Ashley sat on the edge of the bed to change the poultice.
Ravencroft woke up as she was unwinding the bandage.
“Good news!” she quietly said. “With your fever broken, I think it’s safe to make this the last poultice. Tonight I can switch to something that smells better.”
He drew breath to speak. She shook her head and laid her finger across his lips. “My aunt is in her room just down the hall.” He continued to stare at her, and it took her a moment to realize she was still touching his mouth.
She cleared her throat and resumed working on his arm. He gave a mischievous grin as though he were fully awake, but blinked slowly, and kept dropping his hand so she needed to tuck it between her arm and torso. She refused to be distracted by the way he stared at her, watching every movement.
When she finished, she gestured at the food on the bedside table. “Are you hungry?”
His stomach growling was clearly audible, and he gave her a sheepish grin.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Table, or a tray across your lap?”
Struggling to sit up had him breathing hard, his face pale. She arranged the pillows behind his back, noting how he closed his eyes in disgust.
“At this stage in recovery from a knife or bayonet injury, Captain Blackthorn said the typical patient response is exhaustion. Your body has been fighting hard to overcome the infection as well as heal an open wound. It’s tired. You need food, drink, rest.” She brazenly rested her hand on his un-bruised bare shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “And time.”
He gave a resigned nod, and tucked into the food she’d brought. Eating with his left hand, she noted, trying valiantly not to stare at his face. His handsome, clean-shaven face. Well, mostly clean-shaven. He drank another cup of tea and whiskey and settled back on the pillows, seemingly asleep before she even took the dishes away.
Maggie and Sally returned, bringing more food from street vendors as well as a shirt for Ravencroft that Gilroy had sent. Now all he lacked was shoes, coat, and a hat in order for him to be able to leave.
They packed up his shaving accoutrements and other toiletries so that Ashley could sit at the dressing table and let Maggie and Sally experiment with her hairstyle for the evening. The maids good-naturedly argued a bit, each advocating for an entirely different style, until they compromised on a bejeweled upsweep that incorporated elements from both.
“You look stunning, my dear,” Uncle Edward said when she descended the staircase.
“The gentlemen won’t know what hit them,” Aunt Eunice agreed, pulling on her gloves.
Ashley ducked her chin in embarrassment.
Their carriage soon deposited them at their first stop of the evening, a soirée. Knowing she would not encounter the person she most wanted to speak to—because he was asleep in her bed—Ashley listlessly wandered through the crowd, chatting with acquaintances.
“Oh, there you are!” Georgia wrapped her in a quick embrace. “It seems like ages since I’ve seen you!” She pulled back to study Ashley’s face, and her demeanor immediately changed. She tilted her head to one side. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.” She tried to smile. It probably came across more as just baring her teeth.
