While Whit and Alex consoled themselves in the study, Mirabelle was poked, prodded, and then—when it was ultimately decided she would survive—fussed over extensively. A footman came to carry her to her own room, which she only demurred against a little. She was more comfortable in her own space than in the guest quarters, and she was much more comfortable with the idea of someone other than Whit carrying her there.
Loyal friends that they were, Kate, Sophie, and Evie joined her to make all the requisite sympathetic noises. They also made quite a few nonrequisite ones in the form of teasing jokes, but Mirabelle had expected no less.
“You’ll not live to hear the end of it, you know,” Evie said. “Not if you live to be a hundred. It’s much too entertaining to the rest of us—Whit, forced to carry the imp up a jagged cliff—”
“It was a hill,” Mirabelle corrected.
“Not in a hundred years, it won’t be,” Evie assured her. “It’ll have grown to biblical proportions.”
“Someone will write an opera based on the tale,” Kate predicted. “A comedy.”
“Composed by Lady Kate, like as not.”
“I think it’s romantic,” Sophie interjected. When that statement was greeted with stunned silence, she merely shrugged. “Well, he didn’t have to haul you up, did he?”
“Of course he did,” Mirabelle countered. “It was too steep for a horse—”
“You see? Jagged cliff.”
“—and he was the only one there,” Mirabelle finished, poking Evie in the ribs for the interruption.
“All right now, ladies,” Mrs. Hanson broke in. “It’s past time Miss Browning got the rest she needs. Off with you.”
“But I don’t want to rest,” Mirabelle argued as the house-keeper made shooing noises at the girls. “It’s the middle of the day.”
“Didn’t ask what you wanted, did I? Said it was what you needed. Off you go, girls. You too, Your Grace. Lady Kate, you should be seeing to your guests, and you, Miss Cole, I believe you promised a tea party with young Isabelle Waters.”
Sophie grinned at Mrs. Hanson as she was pushed to the door. “You really must conquer this unfortunate propensity to cower in the presence of rank, Mrs. Hanson.”
Mrs. Hanson gave a good-humored snort and another push. “I may not have changed your nappies, Your Grace, but I had occasion to change the duke’s a time or two.”
Sophie laughed as she left, then stuck her head back in before Mrs. Hanson could close the door.
“Whit could have waited for help, you know,” she told Mirabelle. “No one would have faulted him for it.”
That final comment left Mirabelle gaping. First at the door Mrs. Hanson promptly shut after Sophie’s head had disappeared, and then at Mrs. Hanson as she and Lizzy put the room to rights. When it finally occurred to Mirabelle that she really didn’t have a reason to be gaping at the house keeper, she closed her mouth and picked up her tea.
Sophie was right. Whit needn’t have carried her up the hill. It hadn’t been required of him. It hadn’t even been expected of him. He must have known he’d be teased for it later, and while he might have a greater appreciation of the absurd than most peers of the realm, no man she knew actively enjoyed being poked fun at.
So, why hadn’t he waited?
He’d been worried at first—that much had been clear—but not once he’d seen she wasn’t seriously injured. Had he? He had seemed perfectly calm. He could have hidden it, she supposed, but that explanation only opened up a whole other set of questions. Why would he have continued to worry? Why would he bother hiding it? Why carry a person up a hill when one can worry just as well with their arms unencumbered?
“Are you after seeing your future, Miss Browning?”
“I…” She blinked herself out of her musings to find Mrs. Hanson smiling at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I asked if you were after reading the tea leaves. But as I can see you haven’t gotten around to drinking the tea, I’ll assume you’re not.”
“Oh,” Mirabelle frowned into her cup. “I don’t mean to be rude, Mrs. Hanson, but it tastes a trifle off. I think whoever prepared it was overenthusiastic with the sugar.”
“That’s just my special brew, dear. Now you drink it down.”
“But—”
“Or I’ll fetch Lady Thurston, and you may be sure she’ll see it done.”
“I’ll drink it,” Mirabelle promised on a grumble.
“That’s a dear. I need to see to the dinner preparations, but Lizzy here will wait for the cup so it won’t be left sitting about when you’re through.”
“And so you’ll know I drank it,” Mirabelle added.
“That as well,” Mrs. Hanson admitted without even a hint of shame. “Get some rest.”
Mirabelle waited for the sound of the house keeper’s footsteps to disappear down the hall before turning to Lizzy. “I’ll give you two pounds if you’ll toss this out the window and tell her I drank it.”
Lizzy laughed but shook her head. “Not worth my position, miss.”
“Two pounds, half.”
“Nor my head, which is what I’d lose if Mrs. Hanson caught wind.”