Page 25 of The Bachelor Spy
She cringed from the shoulders down. Surely she wasn’t experiencing anything like that!
No, there was nothing to be done but wait for a visit from Dr. Ross, who had agreed to leave his own work at a convalescent hospital in the nearby town of Ednesbury and call on her tomorrow morning.
The fleeting notion came to her that she might be with child.
But … since she hadn’t seen Frederick in nearly five months’ time, it seemed unlikely she was pregnant, didn’t it? Wouldn’t she simply know she was carrying a baby? And well before now?
It seemed a mother ought to know something like that by instinct alone.
She gave her head a shake and narrowed her eyes as she stared out the window of the drawing room. There was no use worrying about something she couldn’t control until Dr. Ross clearly gave her reason to, so … She drew in a deep breath. She needed a solid diversion, and since Blake hadn’t yet come downstairs for her to give him a tour of the hospital, perhaps she could distract herself with the patients.
After all, she hadn’t planned any activities for the week so far, and she had a great many ideas. Most of them having to do with books.
Or theatrics.
Or perhaps even trying her hand at making a Pepper’s ghost! That should be very distracting.
“Beggin’ your pardon, my lady, but you’ve got that look again.”
Grace turned to find Private Thomas Beckett propped against his pillows, one leg bandaged and elevated, watching her with those knowing brown eyes. The young man from Yorkshire had lost part of his left foot to shrapnel but hadn’t lost his ability to read people.
Or at least to readher.
“What look would that be, Mr. Beckett?” Grace moved closer.
“The one what says you’re about to do something daft to cheer yourself up or at least to attempt to cheer up this lot.” His grin was lopsided as he gestured with his chin toward the room of patients. “Last time you had it, you organized that lawn tennis tournament between the walking wounded. Nurse Wilson nearly had apoplexy when Corporal Davies tumbled into the rosebushes.”
Grace bit back a smile. “The corporal said it was the most fun he’d had since leaving the Front. And the roses survived.”
“Mostly.” Beckett’s eyes twinkled. “So what is it this time? Charades? Riddles? Please tell me it’s not another poetry reading. Listening to Lieutenant Ashford murder Wordsworth once was quite enough.”
“I thought he showed remarkable enthusiasm.”
“He showed remarkable volume, my lady. There’s a difference.”
Grace’s grin flashed wide. “Oh dear, I do believe you’re right.” She nodded thoughtfully. “But wouldn’t he be valiant when reading an adventure?” She turned her gaze to the ceiling. “Hmm …Journey to the Center of the Earth?” She raised a brow and looked back to Beckett. “Dracula?” She shook her head. “No, that requires a stealthier approach to reading.” She narrowed her eyes. “What aboutThe Prisoner of Zenda?”
Beckett’s eyes rounded. “I ain’t never heard of any of ‘em, but just not poetry for the man. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
She laughed, the sound lightening something in her chest. “Very well, no poetry readings when Lieutenant Ashford is about. Though I was considering organizing a detective story discussion group. I’ve just finished the most marvelous mystery about a poisoning at a country house party, and I thought—”
“Some assistance, please?”
Grace turned to find Nurse Wilson attempting to keep Lieutenant Hartley upright, but the man was so tall and broad—towering over most of the others in the room—that even the formidable nurse was beginning to buckle beneath his weight.
Grace rushed forward, taking the lieutenant’s other side to help Nurse Wilson guide him to the nearest chair.
“I … I’m so terribly sorry,” he said in a low voice, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I became dizzy all of a sudden.”
“It’s quite common with head wounds, Lieutenant.” Nurse Wilson’s voice was tense from the exertion as they slowly lowered him into the chair. “Nothing to apologize for.”
The poor man had suffered mild shell shock from the explosion that had taken his right arm at Ypres. He was such a gentle giant, so kind and grateful, even if tending toward the melancholy most days.
“I thought some time in the drawing room might lift his spirits,” Nurse Wilson explained, her breathing slightly labored. “But I hadn’t anticipated the sudden dizziness.” She smiled warmly at the lieutenant, who managed a wan nod. “Now, let us see if some of this sunshine and pleasant company won’t do you some good, sir.”
“I think it will.” His smile crooked ever so slightly—the first Grace had noticed since his arrival. Oh, she hoped that meant he was beginning to heal.
“Thank you, Lady Astley.” Nurse Wilson nodded toward her with something that might have been approval.
