Page 21 of To Heal a Broken Earl (The Rakes of Mayhem #7)

That evening

“I’m afraid that while the master would normally allow Dr. Bianchi to attend him, he refuses to see the doctor because the doctor will want him to use his special salve, and the master refuses to use it—at least while he has guests.

And it is that salve that helps his leg and eases his pain,” Stanhope said to Hastings, as the two men sat at the table in the kitchen.

Emma stepped completely into the kitchen. She’d overheard the tail end of their conversation and was determined to find out more. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I was walking in and overheard you say Lord Wilton is refusing a doctor’s visit. Is it for his leg?”

“Yes, because of the salve the doctor will insist he use,” Hastings groaned.

“He’s the worst when it comes to helping himself with that leg.

I shouldn’t be telling you this, but the leg bedevils him constantly—the pain is intense.

And the only thing we’ve found to be of any help is the salve prepared by the little Italian doctor from London, who also has a practice here, in the village. ”

“I see,” Emma said, furrowing her brow. “What is his objection to it?”

“The smell,” Hastings and Stanhope said together.

“Upon my word! That bad?” Emma asked, startled.

“Yes,” Hastings grumbled. “His lordship calls it skunk spray…when he’s being polite.”

“I heard him compare it to a rotting animal carcass as I was leaving the billiard room earlier today,” Stanhope said, grimacing. “I have to agree. He’s not far off with that description. Oh, zounds! I apologize, your ladyship, for the language. But the salve is most odiferous.”

Emma burst into laughter. “There’s no reason to apologize. We’re all quite familiar with those smells. Together they create a very colorful description, indeed.”

“I had wanted his leg to be of some relief to him on his birthday,” muttered Hastings, setting his cup down with a frustrated thump.

“His birthday? When is Lord Wilton’s birthday?” Emma asked.

“In a little over a week, on the fourteenth of May. He never remembers his birthday, and he’s not one to mark it, either.

In all the years I’ve known him—back when we were in the war—he would always remember the birthdays of his men and get dinner and a mug of ale, or something like it.

But when it comes to his birthday, he always forgets. Or rather, he opts not to remember.”

“He’s always been one of those leaders you don’t mind taking orders from, if you ken my meaning. He cared about the men under his command in battle,” Hastings explained. “And I knew many enlisted boys who were not as lucky as I was to have such a commander in the war.”

“And the earl has been a generous lord since he inherited the title,” Stanhope agreed. “I’ll tell Mrs. Peppers when she returns from the village. She would be terribly upset if she weren’t informed about the master’s birthday. She’ll make him a cake.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Peppers will want to do far more than just bake a cake,” Hastings drawled. “She’ll no doubt plan a special dinner with all his lordship’s favorites.”

“I think that’s a fine idea,” Emma said. “We should have a birthday dinner for him. With your help, we can alert the others in the household and make it a lovely celebration.”

“We’ll make a list of what we’ll need, and I’ll head into the village early tomorrow morning,” Hastings said.

“I’m sure Mrs. Peppers will have a list a mile long to add to it,” Stanhope added.

“Splendid!” Emma said. “We have to make sure to keep things a secret from Lord Wilton.”

“May I suggest we enlist the assistance of Wright?” Hastings added with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Good idea,” Emma said. “I’ll make sure to speak with him.

And I’ll take care of decorating the dining room,” she added.

“And if I could speak with the Italian doctor, perhaps there is something I can do to help make the salve less noxious.” She was thinking about the essence of sandalwood she had seen in one of the linen cabinets.

“All right. We all have our duties. I’ll ask Katie to create a birthday card. She enjoys drawing.”

“If Katie needs any charcoal, paper, or a pencil, I will add it to the list,” Stanhope offered. “I’ll also check the nursery. There may be drawing instruments in there.”

“If we can pull this off, Lord Wilton will be very surprised,” Hastings said, much more enthused than when Emma had entered the kitchen.

“Dr. Bianchi has an office in town. I’ll contact him and ask him to stop by for a quick visit with you.

Maybe we can convince Lord Wilton to meet with the good doctor as well, while he’s here. ”

“Perfect! Have him bring some of the salve,” Emma suggested.

Hastings and Stanhope laughed together.

“Why are you laughing?” Emma asked.

“No need. I can supply you with some of that now. Lord Wilton has enough salve to last him an entire year!” Hastings replied, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

“Why so much?” Emma asked.

“Because every time the good doctor came to visit, he would bring a jar of salve, and Lord Wilton would tell us to lock it up!” Stanhope inserted.

“Last I counted, we had twenty jars. I’ll just be a few minutes,” Hastings said.

Emma looked at them and rolled her eyes to the heavens.

“We’re not laughing at his lordship. It’s just the situation because he can be stubborn,” Stanhope said.

“Yes, he can be stubborn,” Emma muttered.

Hastings returned a few minutes later with a small pot of the salve and handed it to Emma.

She lifted the lid and quickly closed it once more.

“Phew. His lordship has not exaggerated the smell. It’s truly awful,” she said.

Emma could certainly understand his reluctance to have such a foul-smelling concoction massaged into his leg.

Michael was a stoic and proud man, considerate of others, and would not want to offend anyone with his presence, especially a noxious odor that accompanied it.

Thinking of his putting up with the terrible pain in his leg to prevent the discomfort of others made her heart wrench.

Michael had stubbornly refused all her attempts to compensate him for the dresses. Emma hoped that the party—and hopefully, a much improved, more tolerable salve—would be a way of thanking him for his generosity.

But this wasn’t just about her wanting to show him her gratitude; it was about her concern about his leg.

Michael was in so much pain. She’d observed it herself throughout the journey here—surreptitiously, of course.

She couldn’t help but see the strained look in his eyes or the gray pallor of his face.

Or the fact that his limp had become far more pronounced since they’d arrived.

She thought about when she fell in the library and he caught her, and her heart squeezed. That had likely made his leg worse.

If there was something she could do to help him, she would.

Besides, she preferred his smile to his gruffness.

Although his gruffness didn’t deter her.

But that smile. Oh, Lord! When he smiled, that cute little dimple danced on his chin.

Not that she would tell him that. But just thinking about it made her face heat with a blush.

All the same, it felt good to be doing something useful. And the idea of helping Michael stirred a feeling of pleasure within her that wrapped around her like a comforting blanket.

“Hastings, do you have any suggestions for a discreet place where I could work on this salve, so the pungent aroma won’t spread throughout the house?” she asked, barely able to contain her excitement.

“I do. There’s a secluded room tucked away behind the stables that might serve perfectly for your needs,” he replied thoughtfully. “And it has a window.”

“Perfect…” she said. “I will let you both know the results of my experiment.”

“Oh, we’ll know if it works,” Stanhope said.

“How will you know?” Emma said with a curious smile.

“Why, it won’t smell it anymore, will it?” Hastings replied with a chuckle.

Joining in their laughter, she asked Stanhope to prepare some tea and snacks for the modiste and her assistant for later, and then she hurried on her way, glad to have found a way to help Michael with his injured leg.

She smiled, thinking about helping to plan a surprise birthday party for the man who was coming to mean so very much to her.

~*~

Emma stepped back and sighed, smiling as she admired the clock she and Michael had discovered in the attic.

It had stopped working, but luckily, Hastings, whose father was a clockmaker, knew how to repair it.

And after that, all it needed was a good polish.

Its graceful brass case gleamed once more, the delicate hands ticking steadily across an ivory face.

Now proudly restored, it sat upon the parlor mantel, a handsome focal point in the room.

Emma had decided to focus on refurbishing the rooms that would be used to entertain guests, whether for tea or dinner.

The transformation that the parlor had undergone since their arrival pleased her greatly.

The walls had been freshly washed and painted in a gentle, buttery cream, giving the room a soft, comforting warmth.

Running her hand down the sleek damask curtains, she marveled at how lovely they looked, having been fashioned from the surprisingly well-preserved fabric they’d also found packed away in a trunk.

She loved how the rich azure blue of the curtains on the wide, multi-paned windows complemented the soothing shade of the walls.

An elegant, ornate secretaire made of mahogany, which they’d also found in the attic’s treasure trove, had been cleaned and polished and now sat beneath one of the windows on the far side of the room.