Captured (The Duel Book 2) by Mary Lancaster

Author:Mary Lancaster [Lancaster, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2023-04-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

In the morning, everything seemed to be more or less back to normal. Hera found George in his sitting room, having breakfast, while Nurse sat in the corner, knitting.

He greeted Hera with a smile, and she joined him at the table.

“What would you like to do today?” she asked him.

He looked so surprised that her heart ached. No one could have asked him that for a very long time. But it didn’t upset him, despite Nurse’s warning head shake in the corner.

“Gardening,” he said after due consideration. “Even if it’s raining. And I’d like to talk to you and Dr. Rivers. Maybe he could teach me about medicine.”

“I expect he could.” It was interesting, Hera thought, that he referred to Justin by his surname in Nurse’s company. Yesterday, he had called him by his Christian name, and heard Hera do so, too. It showed a certain worldly awareness that no one seemed to credit to him.

As Nurse stood up to accompany them, Hera went up to her. “You don’t need to come, Nurse. I know you are tired and have no time to yourself, but there is no reason why you should have to be with him at the same time I am. I’m sure that’s one of the reasons I’m here. No gin, mind you, but you deserve a rest.”

Expressions chased each other across Nurse’s face—gratification, suspicion, fear of being supplanted, perhaps—but in the end, she dropped a curtsey. “Thank you, miss. So long as we both stick to the rules, Sir Hugh will be happy. Only…only don’t let that doctor talk out of turn.”

The idea of stopping Justin from saying exactly as he chose was laughable. Somehow, Hera kept her face straight and assured Nurse gravely of the doctor’s discretion.

In the garden, George clearly had a plan to follow. Leaving him to set out his tools by his chosen flowerbed, Hera went to the outside garden door and unlocked it, before walking back through the house and round the outside, to draw back the bolt on the other side of his garden door. It was a symbolic gesture, for the gardeners must know perfectly well they could not pass this way. And George showed no signs of even thinking about bolting. But the idea of imprisoning him any longer was abhorrent.

“Can I help?” she asked, going back to join him. “Or will I just get in the way?”

“No, you can weed that side,” he said distractedly, then paused. “That is, I’d be grateful if you would. I don’t seem to use manners anymore.”

But then, no manners were employed toward him either. He was treated like a child, supervised by a children’s nurse, and told exactly what to do and when. The routine might have comforted him, but she doubted its unchanging nature was actually good for him.

“We all forget sometimes,” she said lightly, kneeling down where he had suggested. “I always wanted a garden of my own. But my parents would never let me interfere. I was never even allowed to get my hands dirty.

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