LITMIR.BIZ

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chest, and stood clear. “He’ll tell you it’s fine, Your Grace, but the servant assigned to sleep in the dressing room told me he moaned in his sleep on and off all the night long.”

      “And did he ask you, Phineas?” Fitz said, throwing out his arm, which the small man easily evaded. “I’m fine, Rafe. So the leg got jostled a bit in the coach. The bones are nicely settled again. I want my crutches.”

      “You can want them all you wish, but you can’t have them,” Rafe told him, gingerly sitting down on the side of the wide bed. “And the fever, Phineas?”

      “All but gone this morning, Your Grace. We removed the splint, as the surgeon ordered, thinking that should ease him some. Does it ease you some, Captain?”

      “Go hang yourself,” Fitz muttered without rancor, reaching down to rub at his left thigh. “If I was a horse you would have ordered me shot, and I begin to think you would have been doing me a favor. How long are you planning to keep me locked away up here?”

      “Two months, I believe I was told,” Rafe said, genuinely sorry for his friend. “We’ll have to find something to amuse you.”

      “Good. I’ll take that pretty little redheaded maid who came in this morning to replenish the fire, thank you.”

      Rafe smiled. “Down but not out, are you, Fitz?” He waited until Phineas had departed the room, and then said, “In truth, I wish you could be downstairs with me. I met my sisters yesterday.”

      “That all sounds ominous. Are they horse-faced?”

      “Hardly. And I’m told chastity belts are no longer acceptable garb for young unmarried sisters, more’s the pity. I can only thank God Charlie was here to steer me through my first encounter. I’ve faced the enemy with less trepidation.”

      “Ah, yes, the fetching Miss Charlotte,” Fitz said, stroking his short beard. “She seemed sorry for me. Do you think that sympathy would extend to visiting with this poor soldier, perhaps reading poetry to him?”

      Rafe frowned. “She is pretty, isn’t she? It’s strange. I don’t remember Charlie as pretty. I remember her as a thorn in my side, a perpetual pest. And as my friend. Sometimes the only friend I had here at Ashurst Hall.”

      Fitz’s grin split his beard. “Well then, your friend can come pest me any time she likes.”

      “Only here the one night, and already you have designs on the ladies?” Rafe hoped his voice sounded light, unconcerned.

      He shouldn’t have bothered to try to dissemble.

      “Staked her out for yourself, have you?”

      “No,” Rafe said quickly. Too quickly? “You really can be an annoying bastard, do you know that?”

      “I do, and pride myself on it,” Fitz said rather smugly. “I also pride myself on being able to take a hint, so I’ll stop teasing you now. Still, if you won’t send Charlotte to me, how about you order one of your new servants to round up some books I can read to pass the time? Better yet, someone to read them to me? The sound of Charlotte’s lovely voice washing over me as I lie on my sickbed, for instance, my eyes closed in bliss, her every word soothing my pain—Your late uncle did own books, didn’t he?”

      “Thousands of them, yes. I don’t ever remember anyone in the household reading them, however. But I can’t promise you that Charlie would be agreeable. Besides, you’re strong enough to hold a book and read it yourself.” Rafe got up from the bed, alarmed to see his friend wince at the movement of the mattress. “Although perhaps tomorrow would be soon enough?”

      “Damn it, I suppose so,” Fitz muttered, once again rubbing his thigh. “You didn’t tell anyone how this happened, did you? Bad enough I did it, without you running through the halls like the town crier, telling everyone about your clumsy oaf of a friend.”

      “Only Charlie. Sorry, Fitz. But she won’t tell anyone if I ask her not to. Feel free to make up whatever heroic, outlandish story you want.”

      “The runaway cart doesn’t impress you?”

      “Actually, I was thinking more of the Frenchmen we shooed away from Elba the week before we departed for home.”

      “Come to rescue their emperor,” Fitz said, nodding. “But it wasn’t me who saw them at the tavern and got suspicious. I never saw more than their backs as we chased them to their longboat. No, that’s your story, my friend, as it was you who was nearly shot and not me, although I thank you for offering it to me. I’ll think of something else, something equally heroic. Now go away, if you please. This injured soldier needs his rest.”

      Rafe left the bedchamber reluctantly, knowing he’d delayed facing his first full day as duke in residence as long as possible.

      It was November. What duties did a duke have in November? When he wasn’t away in London or at some house party or other, his uncle had always been riding out somewhere or another with his chief steward…That was it, he’d find his chief steward, and ride out with him.

      Having decided on a plan, Rafe returned to his massive chambers to find Phineas already laying out his riding clothes in the dressing room.

      “Ah, good, I don’t have to go calling through this large pile, chasing you down. Miss Seavers says for you to hurry and get changed, Your Grace. And I’ve sewn and brushed your riding cloak for you, not that I can find that lovely new beaver anywhere. Your Miss Seavers said she thought she might be able to locate it, as you’ll need something on your head with the chill being so in the air, not that I know where you’re off to. Your Miss Seavers said something about showing your pretty face somewhere?”

      “Oh, she said all that, did she,” Rafe said, feeling an unreasonable reluctance to continue doing as Charlie dictated. Even if she was right, damn it. “She’s not my Miss Seavers, Phineas.And perhaps I don’t want to show my—Ah, hell’s bells, Phineas, help me out of this jacket.”

      “Men are always ruled by petticoats when you get right down to it, Your Grace,” Phineas said, helping to ease the superbly tailored jacket from Rafe’s broad shoulders. “That’s what m’father warned me when I was just a little tyke. Be he beggar or king, m’father would say, a man is bound to find himself under some woman’s thumb sooner or later.”

      “Thank you for sharing your father’s insight with me, Phineas. But I am not under any woman’s thumb. I’m merely going along with what Miss Seavers suggests because she is more familiar with—And why am I bothering to say any of this to you?”

      “I’m sure I have no idea, Your Grace,” Phineas said, not turning away quickly enough to hide his smile. “I’ll just go hang up your jacket now, seeing as how you’ve only the three rigouts until that mess of fine clothes you ordered in London catches up with us.”

      Rafe stood in front of the cheval glass to adjust his hacking jacket more comfortably on his shoulders. His new wardrobe was a far cry from the uniforms he’d worn—lived in, slept in, shared with lice and other vermin more often than he’d like to remember. Broiled in during the hot summers, frozen in for several cold winters.

      “Phineas? Where are my uniforms?”

      “Burned, Your Grace,” the Bow Street runner turned valet said as he brushed at the discarded jacket. “Couldn’t go selling the King’s uniform to no bowwow shop, now could I? The dregs of London lording it about on Piccadilly as if they were real soldiers? Weren’t any use to you anymore, Your Grace.”

      “Burned? So they’re gone?” Rafe felt a sudden desire to see his uniforms one more time. Surely not a rational thought. They’d been a part of his life for so many years; he’d planned to remain in uniform until Phineas had showed up with his startling, life-changing news.

      “Excepting the ribbons and the braid and the buttons and such, yes, Your Grace. Sir? Your Miss Seavers is most probably waiting on you downstairs.”

      “Right,”

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