“Good,” Violet spat after her as Ava hastened out into the rain whilst tussling with her umbrella. “I don’t want him either!” she shouted after her.
∞∞∞
“Oh my goodness.” The second oldest of the Musgrave sisters clapped her hands to her cheeks when she saw Duke abed. He grimaced, aware even after a week his appearance had not improved much unless one counted the bruises turning from purple to various shades of yellow and green an improvement.
Clementine dashed over to his bedside, the lace overlay of her travelling gown billowing about her as she moved with great haste. Marriage to Duke’s closest and oldest friend had done the freckled redhead good. She’d never been the plainest of women, but a lovely pinkness lingered in her cheeks and even in her concern over Duke, he spied an odd sort of glow about her. He wasn’t about to tell Roman how lovely his wife was, though.
Roman Avery, Marquis of Rochdale, remained in the open doorway as his wife dropped down into the chair Violet had been using for her vigils at his bedside. “Did they get the chaps who did it to you?” Roman asked.
Clementine glanced over her shoulder at her husband. “If you go racing off in search of them, I shall kill you myself.” She gestured to Duke’s face. “Look what they did to Duke!”
“Yes,” Roman said, “he’s practically ugly.”
“It would take more than a few bruises to ruin this,” Duke scoffed. “You’re just jealous because I’m still better looking than you evenwithall the bruises.”
Roman entered the room fully. “We came as soon as we heard,” his friend said a little more softly.
Duke eyed the dark-haired man. They’d been friends since boyhood—Duke aided Roman through his studies at Eton whilst Roman offered support through the miserable times after Duke lost his mother and sister. The Musgraves had done a wonderful job of tending to him, but it was somewhat pleasant to have some male support in the battle against the determined Musgrave women.
“Do you need a drink?” Clementine snatched a glass of lemonade from the table at his bedside and offered it out.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
She set the drink down and rose. “Your pillows look a little flat.” Without warning, she reached behind him and started pummeling the pillows into submission.
“I’m not sure that will help with the flatness,” he muttered, glancing at Roman over Clementine’s shoulder. Duke winced when the bouncing movement of the bed jarred his sore ribs.
“Roman, come and deal with your wife. She needs to work on her bedside manner.”
Roman hastened forward and drew Clementine away. “Duke can look after himself, Musgrave.”
She huffed. “I was trying to help.”
“Your family has been looking after me quite admirably,” Duke said with a grunt and a hand to his ribs as he repositioned himself on the brutalized pillows.
“I just cannot believe someone would do such a thing to you.”
Roman wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders and drew her into him. “We shall seek justice for him, do not fear.”
Duke wouldn’t tell any of them that it was unlikely justice would be done. The men who attacked him were hardly the inexperienced sort. They would retreat to their part of the city where few people were brave enough to venture and the law could scarcely touch them.
“Are you hungry?” Clementine asked. “Shall I have some food sent up?”
“Yes, he’s starved,” Roman said. “Why do you not go the kitchen and see what they can prepare?”
“Good idea.” Clementine smiled broadly. “I haven’t seen Mrs. Kumar in forever.”
Roman watched his wife leave with a fond smile then looked to Duke. “She’s been worried ever since we heard the news of the attack,” he explained, coming to sit on the chair his wife had just departed.
“And you have not? Some friend you are.”
Roman shook his head. “Clem was more worried about my worry, I think.”
“I think that’s worse. Do I not even get a portion of this worry going about?”
“Damn it, Duke, you had us all worried. Is that better?”
Folding his arms, Duke gave a little nod. “I think so.”