Page 56 of An Unusual Wager

Chapter Twenty-Four

Much to his surprise, Jonathan found sitting up in the winged chair by the fire in the library, the winged chair his father had favored, strangely tiring. It wasn’t as if he were doing anything. Not even playing chess, as Walter and Robert were—something Robert far exceeded his brother at in skill, and therefore kept winning, to Walter’s annoyance. It might, he had to allow, have been Kitty’s almost constant stream of chatter that tired him out, or, more probably, a combination of that and the fact his body needed its energy to heal.

He resisted the impulse to call for William and get the fellow to help him back up the stairs to his bedroom where he could lie down in peace. However, as the day wore on, he found his head beginning to nod.

Kitty didn’t appear to find that any barrier to talking about everything she’d been doing at Luxborough over the past year, and everything everyone else had been doing as well, though. He would have leaned back in the chair, had not it been nowhere near as soft as his pillows for his sore head. Instead, he tried leaning to one side and resting his head on the side of the chair. But he refused to allow himself to sleep. Only old men did that.

He was awoken by a gentle hand on his good arm.

Opening bleary eyes he found Verity bending over him, a look of concern on her face. No one else remained in the library and the fire had thankfully been allowed to die down.

She removed her hand. “I think you need to be in your bed.”

With some effort, he succeeded in gathering his thoughts, and the one in the forefront of his mind was that he did not want to be treated like an invalid any longer. He took a deep breath in order to say this and immediately wished he hadn’t. Possibly sitting still in a chair for so many hours had stiffened him but his back and chest hurt like hell. The uncomfortable realization that he was indeed an invalid settled over him.

He grunted in a mixture of pain and frustration. “Nonsense. But I’ve stiffened up sitting here. If you would be so good as to offer me your arm, I’ll get up and walk about for a minute or two, just to loosen up.”

Her delicate brows almost met in a frown. “Are you sure? You look quite drained of color to me. Exhausted, if I might venture to suggest.”

He gave a shrug, which he then also regretted. Damn it, he couldn’t move without some part of him hurting. “I’m absolutely sure.”

Thank goodness he’d chosen this chair as it was not low to the ground and with him leaning on his left arm, which hurt his shoulder of course, and Verity taking hold of his upper right arm, he managed to rise to his feet. All of which made his broken ribs hurt even more. He tried to disguise the gasp of pain but from the look on Verity’s face, he’d failed at that, too.

“The terrace,” he muttered through gritted teeth. He needed some fresh air after all this time in bed or in the stuffy library.

Double doors at the far end of the library opened onto a terrace that was raised above the gardens and gave a good view of the lake. The lake he’d learned to swim in as a boy.

Taking shortened steps so as not to jar his damaged ribs, Jonathan made slow progress to the doors and Verity opened them for him.

Last night’s rain had evaporated under the day’s sunshine and the terrace was bathed in the warm light of encroaching evening. He took a tentative breath to avoid worsening his rib pain and inhaled the scents of the rose garden wafting up through the warm air. The scents reminded him with a jab of emotional rather than physical pain of carefree summer days here long ago. But he wouldn’t think about that.

With Verity by his side, he walked slowly the length of the terrace and halted at the far end, as far away from the rose garden as he could get. He put a hand on the stone balustrade and tried to disguise that he was leaning on it. Verity had probably noticed though. There appeared to be nothing he could hide from her.

“You have a beautiful house,” Verity said, looking out at the view, which was unparallelled. “And beautiful gardens.”

He nodded. “If you like country estates.”

“Who could not, although I must say yours is a little large to be what I would call homely.”

He smiled. “I would never call it homely, have no fear. Although when I was a boy, I enjoyed living here. As an only child, I had no companions of my own class until I was sent away to school.” He frowned at the thought of his tormentor.

And swayed where he stood as a lost memory resurfaced.

Before his eyes that loathsome face reared up, eyes wide and spiteful and full of open hatred. But Teesdale was wearing the filthy clothes of the London backstreets, and it was fully dark.

He blinked and the image was gone.

“What is it?” Verity’s voice came from far away, edged with concern.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Well, something. A flash of memory, that’s all. Momentary.”

“If you tell me what it was, that might help. What did you see?”

He shook his head again even though doing so made it throb. “I don’t know. It was strange.” He paused and now turned to rest his posterior against the balustrade. “Just a flash. I saw the face of the man who bullied me when I went away to school.”

Somehow, it wasn’t difficult to admit to Verity that he’d been bullied. He’d never told anyone before, not even his mother. And his father would have told him to man up and take it on the chin.

“Was that who was in your nightmare last night?”