The Valentine Legacy (Legacy 3)

George Raven arrived two hours later at Candlethorpe, fetched by Mrs. Catsdoor’s son, Harlow.

“Hello, Jessie. What happened to James? Harlow couldn’t seem to put two words together for me.”

“It’s his ankle. I don’t think it’s broken, but I didn’t want to take the chance I was wrong. You are the doctor, after all.”

He gave her an angel’s grin, for surely George Raven, shorter than Jessie and very slim, was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her life. No wonder Marcus had always complained about his attending the Duchess.

“A horse kicked him?”

“Yes, Clothilde. I do think she was laughing at him while he was sitting on the ground, cursing her. She did have this unholy look in her eyes.”

“Let’s see how he’s doing.”

James had refused to go to his bedchamber. He was reclining on a beautiful blue brocade settee in the drawing room, the kicked foot propped up on several cushions. He was miserable, furious, and in a foul mood. It was past noon and here he was with his ankle hurting like the very devil. Jessie had all her clothes on, and he was nowhere near getting her into bed. Well, hell.

“I should have known Jessie would fall apart and send for you. Why didn’t you tell me you’d been such a fool, Jessie? Ah, no answer, huh? You knew I’d box your ears, curse you.”

“He sounds practically well already. Now, James, leave poor Jessie alone. You’ve only been married three days. She did the right thing. Now let’s see how hard Clothilde kicked you.”

“Bloody mare. I had to give her a physic. Sigmund was holding her and I was doing the offensive deed and she jerked loose from Sigmund and turned on me.”

“Clothilde was pretty angry?”

“She didn’t even pause to question what she was doing. No, she just kicked out that hoof and got me good. Sigmund just sent me word that she’s just fine now. Seems the release of her bile took care of her other problem. Ow! Go easy, you damned torturer.”

“Sorry. Jessie’s right. The ankle’s not broken, thank the good Lord, but James, you’re going to be a gentleman of leisure for the next two days. Stay off that foot. Stay seated as much as possible, and keep the ankle up high. Now, here’s some ointment for Jessie to rub into the ankle. It won’t do much for the pain or swelling, but it will make you feel a bit better.”

“I’m racing on Saturday.”

“Not this Saturday you’re not. No, don’t complain or whine to me about it. Keep the weight off the ankle and relax. Jessie, will you keep him chair-bound?”

“Certainly, though he is capable of cursing the ceiling down on our heads.”

George Raven raised a very blond eyebrow. Jessie could just picture Marcus looking at him and telling him to go bugger himself. That word, the Duchess had told her once, had led to a great deal of consternation in the house when she’d wondered aloud what it meant. “You should have seen the look on Badger’s face,” she’d said, laughing. “I thought he would throw the tureen of turtle soup he was making at my head.”

Dr. Raven said, “You curse in front of your bride of three days?”

James snorted. “You should have heard her curse when she was only fourteen years old.”

“He’s right,” Jessie said. “I listened to him one day, admired his verbal ability vastly, and searched out every foul word spoken by every stable lad in Baltimore. My father wasn’t such a bad source either.”

“What about your mother?”

“Don’t sound so snide, James, just because you feel rotten. Ah, Mrs. Catsdoor, you’re just in time.”

George Raven poured three drops of laudanum into a glass of lemonade and handed it to James. “Drink it and don’t complain. It won’t put you to sleep, but it will reduce the pain in your ankle to a dull ache.”

James drank the whole glass, wiped his hand over his mouth, and said, “I’m waiting. It still hurts.”

Jessie chose to ignore him. “As to my mother,” she said to George Raven, “she taught me other things.”

“Like what?”

Dr. Raven looked from one to the other. They were scrapping like two children. Of course James wasn’t feeling all that ready for action at the moment, but he supposed he expected to see Jessie, the new bride, wringing her hands, hovering over James, giving him ineffectual but loving pats—all in all, behaving like a besotted newlywed. But no, these two were behaving like two people who’d known each other for a very long time, two people who weren’t particularly in love with each other. He wondered what the truth of the matter was. Neither the earl nor the Duchess had breathed a word of anything interesting to him or to his own new wife, Rowenna. He smiled as he straightened up. Rowenna would have been consoling him continuously had he been hurt.

“Go away, George.”

“All right, James. Jessie, just make sure he doesn’t move around. Keep him chair-bound and bed-bound—well, that’s not quite what I mean. No waltzes. No riding. I’ll see you on Saturday. Not at the racecourse in York. I’ll see you here.”