Page 15 of A Brush With Love at Brookview Hall (Noble Hearts)

Thirteen

CORNELIUS

C ornelius went straight to his studio, as Julia had ordered.

He must be more injured than he wanted to admit, for he had not argued with her, and had simply obeyed.

He was not ordinarily the sort to acquiesce without a fight.

His leg throbbed, and another jolt of pain seared from his knee, up his thigh, through his hip and into his spine.

He stumbled inside and collapsed onto the chair near the window, taking slow and deliberate breaths until the agony subsided.

What had possessed him to return here this morning?

Better he had stayed in the village, or…

but no. He could not risk being seen. He groaned again, this time from the throbbing in his temples.

It seemed like hours before Julia arrived.

She gave a tap at the door and walked right in before he could respond.

Her arms were laden with a variety of baskets and bags, some of which she set down on the floor and others on the section of his desk that was not covered in papers.

He did not even attempt a polite greeting, but merely remained collapsed in the chair as the pain washed over him.

From the look of compassion in Julia’s eyes, she understood.

Now Julia took command. Without asking his permission, she cleared some room on the table holding his brushes and dragged it over, before selecting one of the baskets to place upon it. She examined the various items inside, then handed him a flask.

“First, drink this,” she commanded. “Willow bark tea. It tastes dreadful, but it will help the pain.” She handed him the container and watched as he gulped down the concoction.

Pah! He almost spat it out, recoiling at the bitter taste, and he swore she was trying not to laugh.

He was too miserable to be offended. Everything hurt more by the moment.

Satisfied that he would offer no resistance, she set about her business.

“Now let me examine your hand. It looks raw, where you scraped the skin off your knuckles. That one is oozing. We cannot let infection take hold. I will ask again what happened in a while, but first, I must know when. These wounds look just a few hours old.”

“Last night,” he ground out as Julia began dabbing at his hand with a cloth she had dipped in some sort of liquid that she had poured into a small basin.

“Bloody hell!” he exploded, as fresh pain burst through the wound. “What is that?” Then, collecting himself, he apologised for his language. Julia was a lady. But she shrugged it off, and seemed quite unoffended.

“It is merely some diluted rum. It is an old cure I had learned from… somebody I knew, and I can see no harm in it. Still, I know from experience how much it can sting. It is effective at preventing the wound from growing worse.” Despite this apology, she continued her burning ministrations, and Cornelius bit back more oaths.

“This happened last night.” She returned to their previous topic.

“That is longer than I hoped, but the abrasions all look shallow enough. I shall clean them once more, in case some bits of gravel or stone have become embedded in the skin. That can impede healing.” She set to work once more, and Cornelius tried very hard to think of anything other than the fire of the alcohol-soaked cloth ripping at his open wounds.

And to think he had ached for her touch. If only he had known. This was a remedy for any inappropriate thoughts.

Once she had cleaned these scrapes and rubbed an arnica salve on his swollen hand, she wrapped it in a loose bandage and turned her attention to his other arm.

The salve was cool and calming and the sting began to ease along with the general underlying discomfort he had not noticed below the smart of the open wounds.

Perhaps the willow bark was beginning to take effect. He let his tense muscles ease a touch.

“Where did you learn this?” Cornelius asked, as Julia began untying the knot of the sling.

Heavens, she was close. He could feel the warmth of her, just inches away.

The inappropriate thoughts returned. His voice tightened, and this time, not from the pain.

He forced his breath to be deep and regular, and released his clenched jaw and let his eyes close…

or his eye. The other was already mostly sealed shut by the swelling.

“You are a governess, but now you are acting as an army surgeon.”

Her breath was sweet on his cheek as she spoke, so close was she.

“I learned much from one of my father’s tenants.

I was a curious child, and she was called upon by much of the village, and she encouraged me.

I found her work fascinating. I loved helping her prepare ointments and elixirs, and she taught me about caring for injuries and illnesses.

It seemed a useful sort of occupation, and my father was not averse to it. ”

He turned to look directly at her. This was the first time she had divulged anything of her past. Of course he had surmised that her father was gentry, but at last he had some confirmation. “You have never spoken of your youth before. Where was this?”

Her eyes widened for a moment, then shuttered. She clearly thought she had said too much. “It is not important. Let me see that arm, now. What did you injure? Is it your wrist, or some other part?”

She fussed about his aching shoulder, which he had wrenched, and then examined his tender wrist, which she informed him was nothing worse than a sprain, before turning her attention to his face.

Oh, what a confusing mixture of joy and agony this was.

The physical discomfort of Julia’s sure fingers prodding the swellings and scratches on his face, those he could abide well enough, but to have her so close, her own eyes inches from his, her lips so reachable, that was torture.

It would take but a miniscule movement to shift his head and reach up with his chin to catch her mouth in a soft kiss.

What heaven to be so close; what hell to have to suffer the torment of restraining himself.

Only his honour as a gentleman and the unrelenting pounding in his skull kept him from doing something that he would regret greatly, especially considering his lapse on the night of the full moon. He was perversely thankful for this headache.

For long, aching, agonising minutes, Julia worked on his face, first cleaning his scratches and cuts with that same stinging rum solution, then applying more of the soothing arnica salve to his jaw, which he had not realised until now was also bruised, and to the area around his swollen eye.

“I will not daub it too close,” she told him, “but hopefully it will help the swelling. Here is some ice in a bag. It remained,” she explained, “from the preparation of the lemon ice the family are to enjoy with dinner and I was able to take it. I explained that it would help my headache, but of course, I shall apply it to yours. It is in a waxed sack, but it might leak when it melts. Here is a towel, and also another to place beneath it so you do not do more damage to your face with the cold.”

At last, freshly salved and bandaged, and with a flat bag of leftover ice sitting on his injured eye, Cornelius was pronounced as fit as possible for the moment. His eyes remained closed, and the pain had subsided a great deal. The willow bark tea was certainly in effect now.

He did not move for some minutes, but merely sat, half-reclined in the chair. He had not heard the door, but neither had Julia said anything. Had she left? Cornelius cracked open his uninjured eye. Julia was still there.

“Should you remain?” he asked. “You have discharged your obligations.”

“We have been in this studio together often enough, and I am only the governess. Nobody knows I am here. And if they did, they would hardly bother being concerned about it after all this time. Would you like to lie down? I know you sleep here at times. Where is your bed? Up in the loft? You look rather uncomfortable in that chair.”

Now that she mentioned it, it was rather hard, and the wooden seat and back prodded into him in awkward places. He nodded and began to struggle to his feet while keeping the bag of ice on his eye.

He had taken two steps towards his bed when another twinge shot from his hip and up his back. He sucked in a gasp of air.

“What is it?” Julia’s voice was full of alarm.

“Only my leg…”

“Oh.” There was a moment of silence. He could only imagine what she was thinking. “Is it another open cut, or…”

“No, the skin is whole, but I jarred it. I can walk, as you have seen, but it hurts, and sometimes shoots pain.”

“It likely needs more arnica, but I cannot… It would not be proper for me to tend to it. But you should lie down.”

In short minutes she had wrestled his thin mattress down the stairs and draped some sheets on it for him to lie upon.

The struggle to the low mat was painful, and rising would be worse, but he was grateful to be lying down.

Instead of leaving, however, as he expected her to do, she now went to retrieve the wooden chair from the main studio and pulling it up beside his bed, sat down.

Then, in that same governess’ voice that brooked no refusal, she asked, “Now what on earth happened? I insist you tell me.”

There was no escape; he had to tell her something. But not the entire truth. Part of the truth would have to do.

“I was out, wandering the countryside,” he began. That much was entirely true. “I heard tell of some cliffs and I needed to see them.”

Julia let out a huff of frustration. She did not need to speak. Her meaning was clear. He had done this before.

“I needed to watch, to see… to see how things changed in different light.” That was entirely plausible, and also not false.

“That does not explain why you look as if you were set upon by a gang of villains in Seven Dials.”

Yes, of course. This was where his tale became more creative.

“I wished to see the cliffs from their base, by the rocks and the crags down by the water, to see the sky soaring above those steep inclines. I needed to hear the rush of the tide, the crash of the waves as they sprayed the air with that fine mist, to kneel down and let the salty sea run through my fingers.”

“And?”

“I slipped.”

Her expression, seen through his one functioning and uncovered eye, was unimpressed.

“I found a trail down to the beach,” he went on, “where the land sloped rather than ending in a cliff. It was steep, but it seemed reasonable enough during the day. I stayed until after dusk. I wanted to see the water as the sun set, and at night. The ascent in the dark was… challenging.”

He did not mention that he was not alone. Let her assume that much. She murmured something sympathetic, which made him feel things he ought not to feel.

Oh, what a scoundrel he was. He should not be so close to her and enjoying every minute, tempting her with his stories and longing for the touch of her confident fingers, when he could offer her nothing but lies.

But he also could not let go. She would discover his true caddish nature soon enough and would cast him from her heart, but for now, he would take every minute in her presence that he could manage.

“You fell down the hillside?” Julia asked, thankfully ignorant of his musings. “Foolish man, to be out so late, and in so treacherous an area. You are fortunate you made it back here at all. How did you manage? You can hardly walk.”

“Necessity gives us unexpected strength, I believe. I found a fellow with a cart, heading this direction, and begged passage. My hat and the darkness obscured my injuries; I believe he merely thought me a rambler in need of a ride. He left me at the gates, and I limped in the rest of the distance on my own feet. I admit to sleeping rather heavily once I found that chair there by the window. Or, rather, I slept until the pain woke me. When I realised what a sad mess I was, I went out to find you. I hoped you would be in the gardens. I know you often walk.”

But not all was resolved, for Julia still had questions.

“This seems innocent enough. Why, then, did you refuse the doctor and insist that I tell nobody that you are injured? Why not inform Mr Derriscott that you needed help? You said you trusted me. Then, trust me.”