Alice joined him. “Oh, Papa, poor Mr. Tennent has had an accident. He was thrown by Duke.”
Her father looked his secretary up and down.
Alice touched his good arm. “You must sit down, Mr. Tennent. You’ve had an awful accident.”
Her father motioned for him to take his seat. The younger man hesitated but at her father’s impatient gesture, he finally complied.
“Mr. Tennent hadn’t been riding before, and Victor challenged him to ride Duke—”
Her father’s heavy brows drew together. “What the dickens did you mean going riding if you’ve never sat a horse?”
Alice interposed herself between her father and his employee. “Father! Didn’t you hear me? It’s my fault. I invited him to come along with us. It’s Sunday, after all, and I knew he wasn’t working. I had him ride Maud. You know Maud is the gentlest creature alive, but Victor played a very mean trick on Mr. Tennent—”
“Quiet, Alice, and let Mr. Tennent explain himself. I’m sure he doesn’t want to hide behind a schoolgirl’s skirts.”
She stopped, feeling herself color with shame. A schoolgirl’s skirts! He made it sound as if Mr. Tennent was some sort of coward and that she was—why, not even a young lady but a little girl!
Flushed with embarrassment, she moved away without a word. Surely, her father wouldn’t hold her defense of Mr. Tennent against the poor man. She chanced a glance at him and bit her lip at the set look on his face. Once again, he stood. His face was awfully pale, and she was afraid he might pass out. “Papa, Dr. Baird said—”
Her father flicked his hand once again. “Leave us, Alice.”
There was no use arguing with her father when he took that tone. With an audible sigh, she stepped back from the two men. Giving Mr. Tennent a last look of sympathy, she dragged her feet to the door, hoping she’d catch something of their conversation, but neither man said anything.
“Close the door, Alice.”
“Yes, sir.” Once she’d exited the room and closed the door softly behind her, she put her ear to the door. At first, there was only silence, then came the low sounds of masculine voices, but she could distinguish nothing.
At least there were no shouts on her father’s side, but she knew from experience that her father never raised his voice. His low tones could be as scathing as another man’s roar.
Nick waited, squaring his shoulders and trying not to wince at the pain the movement caused him. Would he lose his job over his own stupidity?
The older man gazed at him a moment, an unreadable expression in his eyes.
“I brought you here to work, not to take a medical convalescence.” The dry words, expressing no anger, were all the more quelling for their subtle sarcasm.
“I assure you, Mr. Shepard, this will in no way hinder my job. I can still work.” He moved his hand to prove his point. Unfortunately, he couldn’t keep back the spasm at the sudden jolt of pain that shot through his collarbone.
Mr. Shepard grunted, clearly not impressed with his stoicism. “Well, take your rest today and we’ll see about tomorrow. If you’re not fit to do any work, I’ll have to send for another clerk.”
Before Nick could think of a suitable reply, Mr. Shepard wheeled about and headed for the door.
As soon as he was alone, Nick collapsed back onto the settee, letting his head fall onto his good hand. What had he done? Risked the best position of his life to go gallivanting about on a horse? A silent, bitter laugh escaped his lips.
A soft clearing of throat caused him to start up again, sending another stab of pain along his collarbone. Miss Shepard stood just inside the doorway. She looked so pathetically sorry, he wished he could comfort her. She’d been wonderful, taking charge and bringing him home.
He straightened despite the pain in his ribs. “It’s all right.”
She ventured farther into the room until she stood by the settee once again. “Was Father very hard on you?”
He managed a smile. “No. He told me to rest today.”
Relief flooded her pretty face. “Oh, yes, you should. Why don’t I help you up to your room?”
She was still thinking of his comfort. He hadn’t felt so taken care of since he’d been a toddler. “That’s all right, I’ll manage.”
“At least let me ring for a servant to help you up the stairs. You’re on the top floor, aren’t you?”
He didn’t relish the thought of all those flights of stairs to the attic. Nor the stifling heat once he got up there. “Very well.”
She hurried to the bell pull. Instead of leaving him alone, she pulled up a chair and waited with him. With her hands folded in her lap, her normally rosy cheeks pale, she looked like a young schoolgirl called before the schoolmistress. He contrasted it to her self-possession right after his fall. She’d even assumed all responsibility before her father.
“I should have listened to you,” he said with a forced smile.
“It’s all right. I bet Victor made it sound like you’d be a coward if you didn’t mount Duke.”
He shook his head in self-contempt. “But I’m old enough to know better than to accept a schoolboy’s challenge.”
She tossed back her bangs. “Oh, I know how Victor is.”
He remembered her hand stroking his forehead, her small hand grasping his and bringing his arm around her waist.
“I hope this unfortunate experience won’t put you off horseback riding forever.”
Her remark was so ludicrous under the circumstances, he had to laugh, then winced at the pain in his side. “Let us hope not.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to make you laugh.”
He shook away her apology.
“What I meant was that, someday, when all this is behind you, I hope you’ll get back on a horse again. That’s the only way to overcome any bad memories of a fall. When I was first thrown—”
“You were thrown?”
“Oh, yes, everyone is thrown at least once, especially when first learning.”
Before she could continue, a young male servant entered the room. She stood. “Oh, Davy, please help Mr. Tennent up to his room and have something cool brought up to him to drink. Help him in any way he needs.”
“Yes, miss.” The young servant took Nick by his good arm and smiled. “Just tell me, sir, whatever it is you want.”
The two made their way slowly up the stairs. All Nick wanted to do was collapse on his bed. The region around his collarbone and his whole right side pained him terribly, despite the powder the doctor had given him. He’d been partially truthful to Mr. Shepard about his ability to continue working. He flexed his fingers now, ignoring the pain the movement caused up in his collarbone. At least his fingers weren’t broken, too. He prayed that by tomorrow the pain would have diminished enough for him to be able to write.
He tried to forget the doctor’s words about avoiding using that hand and arm. “The bone will take about twelve weeks to heal. The pain will diminish gradually. Don’t use your hand if it gives you any pain. Little by little you’ll be able to do things again. If it hurts, desist activity.”
Twelve weeks. The words were like a death knell. Would Mr. Shepard be that patient with him? Would he still have a job after his bones had knit back together?
When she didn’t