A Duke In Need Of A Wife. ANNIE BURROWS
does her station in life have to do with anything? She is clearly hurt very badly and needs both a doctor and a cloak to cover her far more than I do.’
The waiter raised one of his brows, just a fraction.
‘That is a very...compassionate thing to say. Nevertheless, I am sure there are people looking for you, people who will be concerned about your welfare. You ought not to be wandering about alone, in the dark.’
‘I am not wandering about alone. I am kneeling on the ground, tending to a woman who has been badly hurt. And I intend to stay with her until there is some other female who can take my place.’
As though in gratitude, the injured woman gave Sofia’s hand a rather shaky squeeze.
‘Oh, how I wish I could just take you home with me and nurse you myself,’ Sofia said apologetically. ‘It must be awful to be in this state and reliant on strangers.’ For the second time that night, Sofia felt the unpleasant sensation of childhood memories surging to the forefront of her mind. Only this time it was of the days following her papa’s death, when she’d been passed from one harassed officer to another before finally being loaded on to a ship returning to England. Though none of those men had meant to be unkind, nor had any of them really had much idea how to handle a fellow officer’s orphaned daughter.
‘You are a stranger to her yourself,’ put in the waiter, who was beginning to really annoy her.
‘Yes,’ she shot back at him, ‘but at least I am a woman!’
‘Look, miss...’
‘Underwood,’ she supplied automatically.
‘Miss Underwood,’ he said. ‘I promise you that I will ensure this woman has the best possible care. And that as soon as is practical, I will procure a female to tend to her.’
‘Yes, that’s all very well, but until then...’
‘And to set your mind at rest, I will also send word of her progress. If you will allow me to know how I may contact you?’
Sofia bit down on her lower lip. The most annoying thing about the waiter was that he was correct. Her aunt and uncle would be getting worried about her once they discovered she’d become separated from them during that stampede. And there wasn’t anything more she could do for the injured woman, not really.
‘Yes. Very well. We have taken lodgings on Marine View. In Theakstone Crescent.’
The man appeared a little taken aback. He took a breath as though to say something, but never got the chance. Because Uncle Ned came bustling up.
‘Sofia! What the devil do you think you are playing at? Your aunt is worried sick about you! Get up off the ground and come here this instant!’
She got up. And under cover of brushing some of the leaves and ash from her skirts, she sidled closer to the waiter. ‘I have a little money of my own,’ she said softly. ‘I would gladly contribute towards the cost of nursing her, if that would help.’
‘Sofia!’ Uncle Ned grabbed her arm and pulled her to a respectable distance from the waiter. ‘Where is your cloak?’
She pointed to the injured woman.
‘Great heavens above,’ groaned Uncle Ned, rolling his eyes for good measure. Sofia winced, imagining the scene there was going to be when she explained how she’d disposed of a garment she’d only borrowed from her cousin Betty on the understanding she would take the greatest care of it.
Uncle Ned could clearly imagine it, too, for, as he dragged her away from the scene, he muttered, ‘Have you no sense?’
* * *
Oliver clenched his fists as he watched the man clamp one hand round Miss Underwood’s upper arm and drag her away as though he’d just caught her committing some crime. If there was one thing he detested, it was men who used their superior strength against females. Particularly females of their own family.
If it wasn’t for the even more badly injured woman lying right at his feet, he’d have gone after Miss Underwood and given her uncle a piece of his mind. Only there was an injured woman lying at his feet. A woman whose need outweighed that of the one who’d been able to walk away from the catastrophic ending to the evening.
He bent his gaze in her direction. She’d stopped moaning. Was that a good sign, or a bad one? If only he knew what to do, the way Miss Underwood had instinctively seemed to know.
She had knelt down and held the burned woman’s hand.
But then, Miss Underwood was female. As he’d become all too aware when her knee had peeped out at him through a rent in her skirt at that critical moment.
It would probably not prove soothing if he were to kneel down and take hold of the burnt woman’s hand. But he had to do something. He gazed round, through the flickering, reddish shadows at the milling crowds. Where was that damned doctor? What was taking Gil so long?
The woman suddenly gave a convulsive shudder.
‘The doctor will be here soon, Miss... Mrs...’ He broke off, grinding his teeth. He hadn’t even thought to ask her name.
‘Pagett,’ the woman croaked.
‘Pagett,’ he repeated, in what he hoped was a reassuring sort of way.
She moaned again.
‘Be brave,’ he said. ‘Just a little longer and the doctor will...’
‘That’s just it,’ she whimpered. ‘I can’t afford no doctor. Not to pay for treatment of this...’ she moved her legs, waved her arms vaguely ‘...not this much.’
And Miss Underwood had thought of that, as well.
‘You must not worry about that,’ he told Mrs Pagett. ‘I will make sure all your bills for treatment are met. And that you have the nursing you need, for as long as you need it.’
‘You?’ She frowned up at him. ‘Why should you do that?’
‘Because it is my duty. And that of the committee who organised tonight’s events to take care of you. And,’ he added as an afterthought, ‘your family, should you be unable to work to support them for any length of time.’
She rolled her head from side to side. ‘It’s all very well you saying that now. But who’s going to listen to what you have to say?’
‘Everyone,’ he said with perfect assurance. ‘Because I am the head of the committee.’
‘You are?’ She gazed up at him in disbelief.
‘Yes,’ he assured her. ‘I am the Duke of Theakstone.’
‘And you say the man in question is Viscount Norborough,’ said Oliver. ‘You are certain of that?’
Perceval, his secretary, opened the document case he’d brought with him into the study, riffled through the contents and withdrew a slim ledger.
‘The tenants of Number Six Theakstone Crescent,’ he said, holding out the relevant entry so that Oliver could see it, ‘are Lord and Lady Norborough, their niece, Miss Underwood, sundry servants and a dog. They took up tenancy on June the first on a three-month lease.’
Oliver leaned back in his chair, frowning as he recalled the rough way the uncle had manhandled his pretty young niece away from the scene.
He started tapping one finger on the arm of his chair. He should have insisted she stay put, until she’d received medical attention.
But then Dr Cochrane had been too busy with Mrs Pagett to have spared time for Miss Underwood.
And he’d heard