Page 57 of A Potion for Passion

Yes, Flora was definitely going to like this candid gentleman. She smiled. “Ah, but while my sister’s there, it gives me breathing space.”

He smiled back at her, and she discovered he had the most brilliant blue eyes. Once tidied up, he could give any handsome fellow a run for his money. Even Lawrence.

“I’ll do what I can with your wound if you’ll permit me, Major.”

“Please call me Will, short for Wilberforce. Everyone else does. I much prefer it to James. Sounds so stuffy.”

“And I am Flora. Now, I am in possession of a host of remedies, and I’ve recently read a treatise on how to deal with wounds. Hopefully, I can fix you enough for you to…continue your mission.”

She went and released Adam and Jenny from the kitchen, swore them both to absolute secrecy, then sent Adam to help the major up to Charlotte’s old room, with orders to get the man undressed and into bed.

“Jenny, please light a fire in there as soon as you can, then bring the major’s wet things down here and put them to dry in the kitchen.”

As soon as Major Wilberforce—Will—had been put into an old nightshirt of Adam’s and placed in Charlotte’s former bed, Flora went up to his room, carrying extra candles so she could see what she was doing.

“Would you be kind enough to roll over, so I can get at the wound?”

He obliged, and she tucked the bedclothes over as much of his body as she could so he wouldn’t get cold, then concentrated her attention on the man’s damaged calf.

Thank the lord she’d hardened her stomach during her time with Lawrence, for Will’s wound was ragged and dirty. The old injury was deep, and now that it had been re-opened by the branch, it was ugly with fresh blood and bruising.

Gritting her teeth, she called for brandy to steady her patient, then prodded gently at the wound before cleaning it. As soon as she was sure there were no more splinters or dirt remaining, she sat back, wondering if stitching the bruised flesh would do more harm than good.

Lawrence should have stayed so he could advise her. Why was it so important he not be seen with the man he’d rescued?

To hide her uncertainty from her patient, she bustled about with impenetrable efficiency, commanding that his leg be elevated with a cushion and that something be found for him to bite on while she applied a cleansing salve to the wound, because she knew from experience how much it was going to sting. Having softened the wounded flesh with the salve, she set about sewing up the jagged hole, marveling at the major’s fortitude. He must have been in considerable pain.

When all was done, and the leg bandaged, she bade him roll over and sit up, and then propped his ankle on the cushion. She called for hot bone broth and, when it came, added a few drops of Dr. L. E. Campaign’s Universal Panacea, which had worked so well for the Earl of Beckport last year. She mixed it with a sleeping draught.

She went away, washed, and returned with two cups of tea, but Will had closed his eyes and appeared to be dozing. So she sat and gazed at him, trying to puzzle out what his story was.

There was nothing more she could do, except hope no fever or infection set in, and she’d not know that for a while. Finishing her tea, she went downstairs and collected the sheathed sword which was still propped up by the door. She stared at it a moment, then quickly went to the window and closed the drapes against prying eyes.

Gingerly, she withdrew the blade from the highly polished leather scabbard. It told her nothing, except that it had been well looked after. Peering closely, she could see a few small notches in the edge. It had been used in battle, then.

With a shudder, she shoved the weapon back into its scabbard, and set about cleaning away the mud and grass. Then, as a precaution, she pushed the sword in amongst all the parasols and umbrellas in the hallstand—upside down so no one could see the pommel. She then dropped an old pelisse over the top of it, to make extra sure.

The major’s other sword had gone upstairs with him, where it now resided under the bed. She’d put a chamber pot in front of it, to deter anyone from looking too closely.

“What a deceiver you’ve become in the last few years, Flora Hartington!” she murmured to herself.

Going through to the kitchen to make sure everything was in order, she spotted the major’s clothes drying in front of the fire. These would have to be concealed, too, if anyone came calling, but hopefully the wet weather would keep visitors away. Seizing a needle and thread, she settled down to patch the hole in the gentleman’s breeches and wondered what on earth was going to happen next on this extraordinary day.

The very next instant, she was propelled out of her seat in shock by a rapid hammering on the door.