“My dearest, how did this happen?”
Caroline’s mother stood by the side of her bed wringing her hands. Bernice seemed more interested in the room’s décor than her broken leg.
“I fell off a horse, Mother. Then the horse stepped on my leg.”
“I knew I should have never allowed you to visit Mr. Croft’s mine. Did not Darby say it was no place for a woman? Now look at you—injured and confined to bed.”
“Does it hurt?” Bernice asked. She walked to the end of the bed and looked at her leg resting upon a pillow.
“Yes, it hurts, but the surgeon has provided laudanum, which minimizes the discomfort.”
“I do apologize, Mrs. Woodard, about the inconvenience. You can be assured that we are taking good care of your daughter.”
Bramwell arrived and stood in the threshold of her door. He expressed a look of concern over her welfare, but Caroline questioned his sincerity. No doubt it was merely an act to convince her mother that she would be fine under his watchful eye.
“You say the surgeon insists she stay here at least a week before being moved?” her mother asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” he said. He strode in and hovered above Caroline’s body in bed. “We will take good care of her so that she properly mends.” A sly smile curled the corner of his mouth as he gazed into her helpless eyes.
“Yes, Mr. Croft has been more than accommodating, Mother. Millie, his housemaid, has been pampering me every minute of the day.”
Caroline’s mother picked up her daughter’s hand and squeezed it tight. “Well, if you need anything, do fetch me from your aunt’s house. Otherwise, I shall look forward to your return within a week.”
“I shall be bored,” protested Bernice. “Mother and auntie never want to do anything except embroidery.”
“Well, it is about time you were taught, young lady,” Mrs. Woodard said. She grabbed Bernice by the hand. “Come along and let your sister rest.”
“Let me see you to the door,” Bramwell offered. Before leaving, he turned to Caroline. “I have duties at the mine I must attend to this morning, Miss Woodard. If you need anything, Millie shall be at your service.”
“Fine,” she replied. Swiftly, she turned her head away. Now that she was sober, her anger toward the insufferable mining lord had returned. All she wanted to do for the remainder of the day was rest and not think of her awful predicament. Thankfully, the laudanum made her sleepy.
Bramwell quietly closed the door. Her thoughts wandered to the mysterious Lady Bellingham, upon whose bed she had been placed. How could she live with him for so many years as an unmarried woman? Their lack of decency disgusted Caroline. The thought of him sharing the very mattress with his former lover made her tingle with revulsion.
When she closed her eyes, she saw their naked bodies entwined together. Her imagination of their lovemaking went wild, stimulated by the opiates in her system. “Go away,” she commanded in a snippy voice. She spoke with authority to the taunting, naked vision of Bramwell Croft thrusting himself into Rebecca. She had to rid herself of such inappropriate thoughts, or she would go mad!
After a few more minutes, her heavy eyelids closed and she fell asleep.
“Miss Woodard.” She heard her name called through her drugged state. A hand rested upon her shoulder and shook her gently. “Miss Woodard, it’s time to wake up and eat something.”
Her eyelids fluttered to reveal Millie standing above her holding a tray.
“Oh, let me sleep,” she moaned. All she wanted to do was turn over and hide under the covers.
“I cannot. Mr. Croft has given me strict orders to see that you have something to eat to keep up your strength. Then I must help you should you need to relieve yourself.”
Oh, how wonderful, thought Caroline with disgust. What hellish pain would await her when she tried to move to take care of such inconvenient bodily functions?
Millie set the tray down upon the nightstand by her bed. “Here, let me help you sit up and prop some pillows behind your back.”
Caroline ground her teeth together from the discomfort. Her leg felt as if it were on fire. When she had situated herself somewhat comfortably, Millie set before her the tray holding a bowl of stew, a piece of bread, and a small raisin tart. Instead of tea, a hearty portion of whiskey sat in a glass. Caroline frowned.
“You can tell Mr. Croft that I want a cup of tea and to take his alcohol elsewhere.”
“He thinks it will help you sleep better, along with the laudanum.”
“I am drugged as it is with fantasies swirling through my brain! Does he expect me to get drunk as well?” She flipped Millie away with her hand. “Go back to the kitchen and fetch me some tea, now!”
Millie scooted away from the bed and hurried out the door. In the meantime, Caroline picked up her spoon and took a bite of the stew, expecting to taste beef. Instead, the strong taste of venison filled her mouth that made her gag.
“Don’t they eat anything in this house that is not shot by the master?”
“For the most part, no,” Mr. Croft replied. He walked into the room holding a cup of steaming tea. “I have been informed that you do not approve of your drink.”
“Yes. You can take the whiskey and drink it yourself.”
“I think not,” he curtly replied. Bramwell poured a small amount of whiskey into the teacup until he looked satisfied that he had laced her drink with enough alcohol.
“Now look what you’ve done,” she cried. “I just want tea. That horrid alcohol tastes terrible.”
“But Miss Woodard,” he cajoled. “You are so much more agreeable in person with a bit of alcohol in your system. I seem to remember earlier that you found your painful circumstances rather amusing as a drunkard.”
“Humph,” she said.
“In fact, you even asked me to kiss you.” He smirked.
“I did not,” she vehemently denied.
“Oh, most assuredly you did, Miss Woodard. But being the gentleman that I am, I did not oblige your request lest I be accused of taking advantage of a poor, helpless female.”
It was then Caroline vividly remembered dreamily looking up at his lips and desiring to taste them. A blush tinted her cheeks. “Evidently I was delirious from the pain,” she replied.
“Drink the tea. I insist. And if you refuse my order, then I will pour it down your throat forcibly.”
By the dark glare in his eyes, she was sure he meant every word. “Fine then,” she relented. “Just leave it and go.”
“I think not,” he replied, setting her tea on the tray. He pulled up a nearby chair to the side of her bed and sat down. Folding his arms, he watched her intently. “I’m not leaving this spot until you finish your meal and drink your tea. Then Millie may come and tend you.”
What audacity! He was not only rude but a controlling scoundrel! The familiar urge to slap him returned.
Her stomach growled, giving away her need for food. Caroline relented and took another bite. After swallowing, she looked into his dark brown eyes. “And do tell. What poor animal did you shoot for this meal?”
“A fallow deer,” he replied. “Mrs. Williams is quite the cook when I bring home venison.”
“I prefer beef. Have you no cows?”
“I prefer venison. I have no cows.”
Caroline stopped for a moment and considered his handsome face. No matter how pleasant he was to her eyes, she could never fall in love with a man so brooding and sarcastic. They were both bullheaded and stubborn. Any relationship together would be a constant storm—striking each other with words like two lightning bolts. No, she needed someone more docile where she had the upper hand in the relationship. Mr. Croft would be far too dominating for her taste, though she admitted the challenge intrigued her immensely.
“Did Lady Bellingham share your taste in meat?” she asked. She knew her question would not be welcomed. His eyes darkened and changed into narrow slits looking at her with scorn for having mentioned her name.
“What Lady Bellingham preferred is none of your damn business,” he replied. “Now eat your food and drink your tea, so that I may attend to matters other than your broken leg.”
“Fine,” Caroline complied. She gobbled the stew, ate the tasty tart, and then gulped the cup of tepid tea as quickly as possible.
“There, are you happy?” She picked up the tray and shoved it in his direction.
He rose to his feet, took it from her, and headed for the door. “I will send Millie to attend to your needs,” he grumbled on the way out.
Caroline boiled with contempt. The idea of spending an entire week in the same house as that man would be more pain than her throbbing leg. “Kiss him,” she grumbled. “He probably tastes like venison.” Millie entered the room just as she spoke the words.
“Did you say you would like to kiss Mr. Croft?” Millie giggled.
“Oh, dear God,” Caroline said, bringing her hand to her mouth. “I do not care to ever kiss him.” She could feel her cheeks burning like red coals.
“It would be nice to see him happy again and in love,” Millie replied. “He has been so unhappy and disturbed since the death of his dear Rebecca.”
“What happened to her?” Caroline could not leave the matter alone.
“As I told you before, it is not for me to speak of it,” she said, pulling back the covers. “Instead, I must tend to your needs.”
That was all that Caroline had heard since she arrived in Pendeen. Don’t speak of it. Don’t ask him. The master forbids it. What did he do, kill her? The thought sent a chill down her spine, increasing her anxiety. Perhaps he did! Perhaps he would kill her! Then with no control of her emotions, she started to giggle again like an inebriated fool.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “I’m afraid that whiskey destroys every ounce of decency that I possess as a woman.”
“Indeed, alcohol can make an immoral woman out of anyone who indulges in it too much.” Millie said it with such conviction Caroline concluded that she had first-hand experience in the matter. If not, then perhaps she was insinuating that Mr. Croft wanted to keep her drunk so he could make a corrupt woman out of her!
“Oh, dear God,” she moaned. “I want to go home.”
“All in good time, miss. All in good time.” Millie’s smug half smile did not sit well with Caroline.