Passion and Propriety (Hearts of Honour Book 1) (14 page)

“He’s given instruction only to open up the central wing of the house but, believe me, it’s a large enough undertaking. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say the manor could house the entire village.”

The two women exchanged glances. The cottage Grace shared with her elderly aunt was little more than two tiny rooms, and the vicarage was modest by any standards. Even the stately home Grace had been raised in paled in comparison to the grandeur and scale of Blackthorn Manor.

“Whatever will he do with himself, rattling around in this monstrosity?” Grace shook her head, and Hannah felt a twinge of sadness at the thought of William living all alone in the rambling mansion, a full retinue of servants notwithstanding.

“There’s an impressive library,” she said. “I’m not sure if the viscount will want to open up the ballroom. It’s very grand, but I don’t imagine dancing will be on his agenda. Once the gardens are restored, the manor could hold the most spectacular house parties . . . What is it?” Hannah asked, catching sight of Grace’s scowl.

“I’d like to know who, pray tell, are you picturing in the role of the viscount’s hostess?”

“Not
me
,
if that’s what you’re inferring. I’m just saying the place has lots of potential.”

“And the man? You’re a compassionate soul, Hannah, but you mustn’t delude yourself. The only potential in a relationship with the viscount is for disaster.”

“Everybody needs a friend, Grace. You of all people should know that.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Hannah regretted them, but her companion merely raised a brow.

“A friend?”

“Yes, a
friend.
You can hardly begrudge me. It’s not as if a man like the viscount would want anything more from a woman like me.”

“Oh, don’t start that again.” Grace flicked her fingers. “He hardly deserves the pedestal you’ve placed him upon. Aside from the fact he’s
cursed,
the man isn’t even attractive.”

Hannah held her tongue, deciding to allow Grace her own conclusions regarding William’s transformation. Shaving off his beard had rattled her composure, but the haircut he’d received from the barber the afternoon before, revealing a fashionable degree of curl, had left her reeling. He was yet to request a second shave, but not even the stubble that now adorned his jaw detracted from his rugged good looks. Hannah thought his facial scar was barely an issue.

“Lord Blackthorn, may I introduce Miss Grace Daniels?” Hannah curtsied, the first time she had done so without his interjection or complaint. Grace took a moment to copy her action, first needing to snap her mouth shut.

Dressed in a white ruffled shirt, black breeches, and soft-leather slippers previously belonging to his father, William was seated in the chair beside the bed. Awake, alert, and at least somewhat more decently attired, the combination of his military and noble bearing was unmistakable.

“How do you do, Miss Daniels?” He bowed his head. “Please forgive me for not properly offering my respects. It’s been a tiring morning, and I fear I would need Miss Foster’s help to stand, which would rather defeat the purpose.”

“That’s perfectly all right, my lord.” Grace shot Hannah a look. “It’s a pleasure to formally meet you and good to see you looking so well.”

“Thanks to your skill as a healer and Miss Foster’s excellent nursing care.”

William’s smile could only be described as charming, and an uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of Hannah’s stomach.

“May I examine your arm?” Grace asked, a surprising hint of deference in her manner.

“Of course.” William unbuttoned his shirt and slipped the sleeve off his shoulder.

“I think we need to remove your shirt altogether,” Grace said after struggling to unwrap the bandage.
 

“I’ll
do it.” Hannah stepped forward, ignoring Grace’s startled expression. Dawkins would normally be the one to help William with his attire, but Hannah had excused him to take his morning tea. Her fingers skimmed over William’s heated skin, and she raised a hand to his brow.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You feel warm.”

“It’s nothing.” He glanced aside, colour rising in his cheeks. “I’ve been sitting here exercising my arm . . . if one can call it exercise.”
 

“That explains it, then.”
 

His gaze returned to Hannah, and they shared a smile before she helped him take off his shirt.

“Might
I
have permission to inspect my patient now?”

Grace eyed Hannah reprovingly, and she stepped back.
Realising she’d been behaving in a possessive manner, she crossed to the writing desk she’d had set up by the window.
 
What was the matter with her?

“I don’t think you’ll get back the full use of your thumb and first two fingers, my lord,” Grace said after examining William’s arm. “The nerve has been damaged that runs to that part of your hand, I’m afraid.”
 

“But there’s some sensation, and the damned, I mean
darned
”—he sighed heavily, shooting Hannah an apologetic look—“thing can certainly feel pain.”

“Stranger things have happened.” Grace’s expression remained doubtful. “It’s a miracle you survived such an injury. Who knows? The Lord might have another in store.”

“More miracles?” William looked to Hannah.

“Keep working it,” Grace said. “The more you build up the muscles in your arm and hand, the better. But don’t overdo it.”

Hannah harrumphed, and William’s lip curled in a smirk.

“Anything else?” he asked, returning his attention to Grace when she remained silent.

“No, that’s all.” Her gaze flickered from William to Hannah and back again. “Rest, gentle
exercise, and keep rubbing in the liniments I’ve prepared. How is the leg?”

The heat Hannah felt in her cheeks matched the colour that rose to William’s, and she was relieved when he
didn’t
look her way this time.

“Much better,” he said gruffly.

“Excellent.” Grace nodded. “You can leave the bandage off, as the wound will benefit from some fresh air. I suggest you remove the sleeves from a shirt or two to keep them from becoming stained by the ointment or any residual discharge.”

“You’ll see to it?” he asked when Hannah crossed to his side to help him with his shirt.
 

The shirts William was wearing had belonged to his father and were well out of date, so sacrificing them would be no great loss.

“Of course.” Hannah’s smile faded when she saw the way her friend had drawn her lips into a grim line.

“Miss Foster will return shortly, my lord. I have something to give her, but I’ve left it in a bag downstairs.”

Grace had only brought the one bag, and Hannah wasn’t surprised when she turned on her the moment the bedroom door closed behind them.

“You
promised
me.” Grace grabbed Hannah by the arm and dragged her along the wide carpeted hallway and into a recently prepared guest bedroom.

“Promised you what?”

“That you wouldn’t become infatuated with your patient.” She released Hannah and began to pace. “I
warned
you to beware. Nursing a man creates a false sense of intimacy, which can be dangerous enough, but this particular gentleman is not a safe prospect for matrimony
.
You
cannot
fall in love with him.”

“Love?” Hannah stared at her friend, aghast. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Have
you
?” Grace’s green eyes flashed. “I saw the way you were looking at him. You were
jealous
when I started to remove his shirt.”

Hannah was shocked to silence, eventually responding in a whisper, “I’m not . . . I wasn’t.”

Feeling faint, she sat heavily on the bed. The thought of William believing that she, a spinster, was pining over him was too dreadful to bear. Her purpose had been to help him, nothing more.

“Do you think he noticed?”

Grace crossed her arms. “He was too busy ogling you to notice much of anything.”

A flicker of something warm ignited in Hannah’s chest. “You think . . . you think he might like me?”

“Of course not.” Grace’s eyes widened with alarm. “The man’s a lecher. He was even pouring on the charm with me.”

Hannah didn’t believe for one minute that William was guilty of lechery, but she couldn’t deny he’d been particularly gracious when greeting her friend. Grace was a beautiful woman and might have made an excellent match if she were not devoid of dowry and burdened by the stigma of illegitimacy. To Hannah’s horror, a stab of jealousy twisted her gut once more.

“You’re right,” she murmured. “I
do
have feelings for him. It’s time for me to leave.”

Grace nodded. “That’s probably wise.”

“He has Dawkins to help him, and his military valet will be arriving soon. The manor is almost fully staffed, and William—I mean the
viscount
—expects to have a new estate manager employed shortly.”

“He’ll be well taken care of.”

“Yes, of course.” Tears welled in Hannah’s eyes, and she blinked them back. She was a mature woman, prone to neither weeping nor histrionics, but the thought of saying goodbye to William caused a pain in her heart she suspected would remain with her for a very long time.

Chapter 13

Offence

William cursed his stupidity. He’d become too comfortable around Hannah and allowed his regard to show. One look at Miss Daniels’ expression, an all-too-familiar combination of apprehension and disdain, and his error was apparent. Her talk of having something to give Hannah was a ruse, and his fears heightened when Hannah returned a short while later, her face pale and her expression downcast. She wasted no time confirming his suspicion, her words hitting him with the sting of a slap.

“Now that you’re on the mend, my lord, it’s time for me to think about returning home.”

He should agree, hasten her on her way as quickly as possible. She was clearly distressed at her friend’s revelation that he, the cursed Viscount Blackthorn, had developed feelings for her. But his actions contradicted his intentions.

“Would it be too much to prevail upon you to stay for a little longer, Miss Foster?”

“You wouldn’t mind?” She lifted her head before giving it a quick shake. “I mean . . . is there some way in which I can continue to be of assistance?”

His conscience stung at his blatant manipulation of her generous nature, but it was worth it to gain a few extra days of her company.

“Applications have begun arriving for the senior staff positions.” He gestured to the letters Colin had delivered in her brief absence. “I’d appreciate your advice determining which ones to grant an interview, and the interviews themselves will likely prove tiring. Then there’s the process of choosing a new estate manager—a highly crucial decision, I’m sure you’d agree?”

“Very well. I’ll stay and help with the interviews,” she said, and he expelled the breath he’d been holding.

“There’s a sitting room attached to this bedroom.” He pointed to one of the doors leading off the master suite, hoping to reassure her. “You could use it as an office and private retreat. As you pointed out, I’m well on the way to recovery. Dawkins is becoming quite adept at managing my care, so I shan’t be a burden.”

“You’re not . . . you haven’t been.”

He refrained from calling her on the lie, having only mentioned it to prove his intentions were honourable . . . in their fashion. Her advice
was
valuable to him, as her judgements benefited from her knowledge of the locals and their needs.

“Thank you, Miss Foster. I realise it’s unforgivable of me to impel you in such a manner after you’ve already given so much of your time to my recovery, but I greatly appreciate your sacrifice.”

“It’s no sacrifice, my lord.”

The faint curve of her lips encouraged William he might yet restore things between them . . . though to what end, he couldn’t say.