“Mr. Dawes!” The voice came from the smithy. “Mr. Dawes!”
Aaron slipped the ring in his breast pocket before walking out and around to the front. He found Cora Maidstone, the daughter of one of the local farmers. From the state of her flushed cheeks and muddied hem, he surmised she’d run all the way here.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s my father,” she said, breathless. “Our mare’s been tetchy lately, and she rolled him. Broke his leg. Bad.”
Aaron passed a hand over his face. The Maidstone family, like so many of the farming families, lived year to year. This was planting season, and his sons weren’t old enough yet to take on the plowing. If that leg didn’t heal properly—or didn’t heal at all—the whole family could starve.
“Please,” she said. “He’s hurting something fierce.”
“Of course. Give me a moment.”
He strode back into his cottage, shrugged out of his coat, and slung it on a hook. He gathered an apron and the kit of laudanum, bandages, and such that Lady Rycliff had given him to keep on hand for bonesettings.
Last, he put that gold and ruby ring back into the lockbox and shut it tight. There’d be no theatricals or parties for him today. He had work to do, and there was no way around it.
He was who he was.
As for whether Diana would have him—he could only pray she’d give him another chance to ask.
Several fatiguing, bloody hours later, Aaron rode through the village on his way back. It was out of his way, but something wouldn’t let him go home until he passed by the cheerful façade of the Queen’s Ruby, with its begonia-stuffed window boxes and green shutters.
He stared up at the window he knew to be hers. Dark, like all the others. Ambervale was a few hours’ distance, and it would likely be almost dawn before the ladies returned home. Aaron hated to imagine what Diana would think of him, promising to attend and then failing to appear. He should have thought to send word at least, but there hadn’t been time.
Well, there was nothing for it but to apologize tomorrow.
He nudged his horse and turned down the lane that led home. As he neared the cottage, he saw a weak light burning from within. Strange. In his hurry, he must have neglected to extinguish his lamp before leaving.
He took his time putting up the horse, making sure the mare had water, feed, and a good brushing down. Then Aaron had a glance at himself and grimaced. The fresh new shirt he’d worn for the occasion was spattered with blood. He gave a grim chuckle, thinking of how he’d been so careful not to mar it with the smallest drop from his shaving accident.
Right there by the pump, he yanked the shirt loose of his waistband, pulled it over his head, and cast it into a bucket of water to soak. No use bringing the thing inside. Then he doused his own head, torso, and hands, washing away all the evidence of that evening’s miserable, bloody work. Finally, he stood erect, pushed the water from his face and hair, and went into the cottage.
She was there. Sitting at his table, head rested on her stacked arms.
“Diana?”
She woke with a start, her eyes wide and unfocused until they settled on him. “Aaron. You’re here.”
“I’m here. And you’re here. What about Ambervale?”
“I told everyone I had a miserable headache and begged Miss Bertram to read my part. I didn’t go.”
“Why not?”
“We heard from one of the inn’s girls about Mr. Maidstone’s accident. And I knew you’d be called to help. How is he?”
Aaron sighed and rubbed his jaw. “He’ll live. His leg’s set as best I could manage. It was a bad break, and it will take months to heal. But if he gives it time, it should heal cleanly.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Seeing your face is a relief. I worried what you’d think when I didn’t come.”
“I wanted to come help you, but I decided I’d only be in the way. But I knew you’d be famished once it was over. And perhaps needing some company, too.” She averted her gaze, and her eyelashes fluttered.
It suddenly occurred to him that he was standing before her shirtless. And that she’d noticed. Her wide-eyed, sleepy gaze wandered over every damp contour of his arms and chest. But she sat between him and the bedchamber, where all his other clothing hung. Improper as it was for her to see him half dressed, he couldn’t clothe himself without drawing imprudently near . . . so he simply did nothing at all.
Well, he did clear his throat.
Her gaze snapped up to his face.
She pushed to her feet. “I brought over some dinner.” As she indicated the covered dishes on the table, her mouth pulled to the side in a self-deprecating smile. “Don’t worry, I didn’t cook it myself. It’s just odds and ends from the Queen’s Ruby kitchen.”