First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4)(58)

But Nicholas was nowhere to be seen.

“Mr. Rokesby,” Georgie said to one of the footmen as she handed Judyth’s basket up to Marian. “Where is he?”

“He’s sleeping, Mrs. Rokesby, ma’am.”

Georgie stopped with one foot on the blocks. “He’s sleeping? Still?”

“Yes, ma’am. He only finished up with the injured man a few hours ago.”

“My goodness, what happened?”

“I’m not sure, ma’am, but there was quite a lot of blood.”

Another footman appeared at her other side. “It was a broken leg, ma’am. The sort where the bone comes through the skin.”

“A compound fracture,” Georgie said. She might have been showing off. No, she was definitely showing off.

“Er, yes.”

“Will he be all right? The man with the broken leg?”

The footman shrugged. “Hard to tell, but if he’s not, it won’t be Mr. Rokesby’s fault. He was a proper hero, ma’am.”

Georgie smiled. “Of course he was. But, er …” What to do? She was in charge now, she realized. It was an unfamiliar sensation. Unfamiliar, but not, she was relieved to discover, unpleasant.

She cleared her throat and drew her shoulders back. “We’d planned to get an early start.”

“I know, ma’am,” the first footman said. “It’s just that he was so tired. We wanted to wait until as late as possible to rouse him. He’s got cotton stuffed in his ears and he tied his cravat around his eyes so it’s not surprising he’s still sleeping, but …”

“But?” she prompted.

The first footman looked at the second footman and then into the carriage. The second footman just looked at Georgie’s shoe, still perched on the step.

“But?” she prompted again.

“But we’re really quite nervous about the cat.”

Georgie paused for a moment, then stepped down. “Would you please take me to him?”

“To the cat?”

She forced her expression into one of utter patience. “The cat is already in the carriage. I would like to see Mr. Rokesby.”

“But he’s sleeping.”

“Yes, you’d mentioned.”

The three of them stood for an extended moment in awkward silence. The first footman finally said, “This way, ma’am.”

Georgie followed him to the stables, where he stopped at the entrance and pointed. Over on the left side a single hammock still hung, a fully clothed Nicholas barely discernable in the low light. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his eyes were covered by his cravat.

She wanted to hug him.

She wanted to strangle him. If he had let her help the night before he wouldn’t be so tired.

This wasn’t, however, the time to be petty.

She turned on her heel and strode back toward the carriage. They could delay their start by an hour. Nicholas needed his sleep, and it went without saying that no one was going to get any rest inside the carriage. Holding Cat-Head like a baby seemed to help, but it didn’t keep him completely quiet.

She paused, peering back over her shoulder into the stables. She couldn’t quite see Nicholas any longer, but she could picture him in the hammock, swinging slightly with each breath.

He’d looked so comfortable. She hated to wake him. It was really too bad— “Ma’am?”

She looked up. One of the footmen was regarding her with concern. And no wonder. She’d been standing there for what had to have been a full minute, frozen in thought.

“Ma’am?” he said again.

A slow smile spread across her face. “I’m going to need some rope.”

NICHOLAS AWOKE WITH a start. It was unnerving to open one’s eyes and see nothing, and it took him a moment to remember that he’d tied his cravat over his eyes the night before. He unwrapped his makeshift sleeping mask and yawned. Christ, he was tired. The hammock had been more comfortable than he’d have anticipated, but as he’d been settling into it the night before, all he’d been able to think was that he really should have had the opportunity to sleep in a bed with his wife.

His wife.

He’d been married a day and he’d barely even kissed her.

He was going to have to do something about that.

He looked around. His was the last hammock hanging and the stable door was wide open. The sky was a bright English white. Blue would have been cheerful, but white without rain he’d take.

His feet hit the ground just as one of the Crake footmen appeared in the doorway and waved at him.

“Good morning, sir,” the footman called. “We’re just about ready.”

“Ready?” Nicholas echoed. What time was it? He reached into his pocket for his watch, but before he could take a look, the footman said, “Mrs. Rokesby has been very busy.”

“Arranging for breakfast?” Nicholas asked. It was half eight, much later than he’d meant to start his day.

“That, and the, er …” The footman frowned. “You should really see for yourself.”

Nicholas wasn’t sure whether to be curious or scared, but he decided to go with curious until convinced otherwise.

“She’s right clever, she is,” the footman said. “Mrs. Rokesby, I mean.”