Page 55 of The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth
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Elliot awakened feeling strange, out of sorts. Then he attempted to roll onto his side. “Ouch!” What the devil was wrong with his arm?
“Ah, you’re awake.” The warm sound of Charlotte’s voice greeted him. Why was she in his bedroom? His eyes flew open, wondering if she was lying right alongside him.
No such luck. He was in a room he didn’t recognize, and Charlotte leaned over him. Fully dressed.
Damn.
Then it all came back to him. He’d been shot. Right in front of Charlotte’s townhouse door. Something about it tickled his memory, a fact he should concentrate on. “Yes, I am awake.” His voice was raspy, and he realized he was very thirsty. “May I have some water?”
“Yes, of course.” She moved away from the bed and retrieved a pitcher from the top of a dresser and poured water into the glass sitting alongside it. “Here.”
He shifted to take the glass from her, and a sharp pain shot through him. He sucked in air through his teeth. Gingerly, he eased himself into a sitting position, with Charlotte helping with one hand as she held the water in the other. The water was wet, cool, and delicious. “I feel as though I had more brandy than I normally consume.”
“You did down two full sized glasses before Dr. Sanford worked his magic on you.”
“Ah, yes. I remember. No doubt it wasn’t the amount I consumed, since I’ve been known to imbibe more than that on one or two occasions, but the speed with which I consumed it.”
Charlotte took the glass from him and set it on a table alongside the bed. She pulled over a chair and settled in, studying him carefully. “I know you’re in pain, but otherwise, how do you feel?” She reached out and felt his forehead with the back of her fingers. The coolness of her brush made him realize he felt quite warm.
“I think you might have the beginnings of a fever.” She frowned and used both of her hands to cup his cheeks. “Yes, you are definitely warm to the touch.”
“Ah, that might not be a fever, merely your touch. Are you trying to raise my temperature?” How would he not be overwarm with him lying in bed and her so near. And so dressed.
“I’m happy to see your injury has not dimmed your sense of humor.” Her brows rose, and she attempted to fight a smile.
“But perhaps I am not joking. Any man would be likewise affected with a beautiful woman sitting alongside him.” He grinned. “While lying in bed.”
“I can only assume the fever you seem to be suffering from has muddled your brain.” Choosing to ignore his flirtation, she continued. “Dr. Sanford had hoped a thorough cleaning of the bullet wound would prevent an infection, but it is almost impossible to avoid that with your type of injury.”
He suddenly became aware of a bodily need that he didn’t wish to discuss with his client. “Um, is Thomas around?”
“Yes, I believe so.” She tilted her head and looked at him questioningly, and then, apparently having understood his unasked request, flushed a bright red. “Oh, yes, of course. I will send him up.” She excused herself and scurried from the room, leaving him with pain, and unpleasant thoughts.
What he was trying to remember before came at him full force, much like a punch to the gut, taking his breath from him. He had turned back to say something to Charlotte when the bullet had hit him. In his arm. Which meant if he hadn’t done that, most likely it would have gone right through his heart. Whoever shot him had intended for him to die.
A chilling thought.
Being here, under Charlotte’s roof was a blessing in disguise. He’d wanted to move into her home to be closer to where the problem was. It was a delicate issue, since, although a widow, she was still a single woman who held a prominent place in her community. Nasty talk would have surely commenced. Now he would remain, with word put about that he had been injured, and as a bachelor, was recovering in her home, with the help, and under the watchful eyes, of her staff.
Time and frustration had proved there was little to no chance of uncovering the culprit with what they’d been doing thus far. While he had certainly enjoyed the various events they’d attended together, as well as Charlotte’s company, he seemed no closer to discovering her torturer than when he’d started. He remained convinced her pursuer was among her circle of friends. However, only the vicar—who he had eliminated—Baron Von Braun, and Mr. Talbot had risen to the forefront as possibilities.
Which led him to believe either he was way off course, or neither of the men had made a move that would clearly point the finger in his direction.
“Mr. Baker, Mrs. Pennyworth said you were in need of my assistance.” Thomas entered the room, friendly and helpful. She was certainly fortunate in her selection of help.
“Yes, if you will assist me, I would like to make use of the chamber pot. I believe I will have no problem walking, but I’m not sure where it is in this room, and since I’ve been weakened by a loss of blood, I prefer to not look for it myself and end up on the floor.”
“The house has indoor facilities, sir, but since it is located at the other end of the corridor, perhaps it would be better to make use of the chamber pot until you recover from your weakened state.”
Elliot nodded, eased off the bed and stood, grabbing Thomas’s arm as he swayed, dizziness assailing him. He took a deep breath and smiled in the young man’s direction. “Yes, I agree. I do feel a bit drained, but I think I am all right now. Lead on.”
After taking care of his business, he had Thomas send for water and shaving equipment, which the young man assured him was quite available, since Mr. Pennyworth’s things were still packed away in a box and easily accessible.
A wash, a shave, and a clean nightshirt—apparently Mr. Pennyworth had been almost the same size as him—left him feeling immensely better. But there was no doubt he was beginning to suffer a fever. Once Thomas left the room, Elliot made his way back to the bed, chills racking his body.
“Are you up to some breakfast?” Charlotte entered the room, bringing radiant sunshine with her. What would it be like to have that happy countenance in his life every morning? He shook off the troubling thought, but somewhere deep inside he had begun to think seriously of a future with her. Or perhaps it was merely the encroaching fever scrambling his thoughts.
