When she had covered all the topics she’d hoped to address, she put the notes back in her folder and pushed herself up to standing. She shook out her bad foot, which was tingling from her having sat for so long, then limped to the writing desk where she stored the folder alongside the items she’d been given as payment from her parlor students.
She ran her fingers over a sampler. Margret Bushwell had stitched the first two lines of Psalm 23, something the girl could read now because Hazel had taught her how. What she gave to these students here in Ipswich was so little compared to what she would offer at Stillman School, yet in some ways it helped them even more than it helped those girls who could get the most advanced learning but who could do little with it in a world that did not allow them entry. Yet.
“What are you doing in here?” Duncan said, causing Hazel to look up and see Elizabeth slinking around the doorframe. The cat was not allowed in the main rooms of the house, only the kitchen and Duncan’s room, but now and then she managed to slip through the baize door in order to explore the forbidden. Hazel was in such a good mood that she did not even mind and, instead of demanding Duncan return her to the kitchen, she limped toward the chair where, if she were lucky, Elizabeth would jump onto her lap and they could take another step forward in their relationship.
She reached the chair just as Elizabeth darted toward the furniture, and a horrendous yowl cut through the air. Hazel’s good foot rolled off Elizabeth’s tail.
“Elizabeth!” Duncan yelled, reaching for the cat streaking from the room.
Hazel tried to keep herself from falling, but her bad foot buckled beneath the sudden weight she placed upon it. Her balance beyond saving, she tried to grab for something to support her, but her knee twisted. She crashed against the center table at the same time Duncan called her name and lunged toward her.
He was too far away to catch her, so she fell hard against the table, then rolled between the table and the settee. She ended in a heap on her side, moaning as pain throbbed through her. She had not fallen since the night before Duncan had come to Cordon Academy, but she had not forgotten the pain or the fear of it.
Duncan picked up the table between them and threw it to the side, literally, before falling to his knees beside her. He helped her roll onto her back. “You are hurt.”
“Yes, I am hurt,” she said through gritted teeth. And embarrassed, and angry at the stupid cat!
Corinne appeared behind Duncan. “Goodness, what’s happened?”
“Elizabeth,” Duncan said simply.
Corinne tsked. “Let’s get you into a chair, Mrs. Penhale.”
Duncan came around to her shoulders and put his hands beneath her arms, while Corinne adjusted Hazel’s tangled skirts. Hazel cried out when Duncan lifted her up.
“Lower her back down,” Corinne instructed Duncan, who promptly obeyed. To Hazel, she asked, “What hurt just then?”
“My ankle and my knee,” Hazel said, gesturing toward her right leg—the same knee she’d injured the last time she’d fallen. Because of the misalignment of those joints, they were always more susceptible to injury. “It’s happened before. Help me prop my back against the chair, and let me catch my breath.”
Duncan moved the chair behind her so she could lean back, and she took several deep breaths to center her thoughts. Then she leaned forward and manually straightened her leg. It hurt like the devil, but making the adjustments herself was better than having someone else do it.
Corinne reached for one of the ties of Hazel’s boot. Hazel’s calf was already beginning to swell.
“No!” Hazel yelled, slapping the woman’s hands away. “Leave it.”
She leaned forward, noting a twinge in her hip but not letting the pain show on her face. She gathered her skirts above her knee, then reached underneath to unclip the garter and roll down the stocking. Her knee was badly swollen, softening the usual ridges of the joint.
This was worse than last time. “I need . . .” She shifted her weight, and a bolt of pain shot up her leg, causing her to fall back against the chair and take a sharp breath. When she opened her eyes, she saw two worried, round-eyed faces looking at her for instruction. “I need . . . linen strips to bind the knee,” she said.
“I’ll fetch them,” Corinne said, rising to her feet and hurrying from the room.
“Duncan,” she said to draw his attention away from her knee; he had never seen so much of her body before.
He slowly looked from her knee to her face. There was color in his cheeks, which, in another situation, might make her blush in response, but she was too overwhelmed by all the other things she was feeling.
“Do you think you can carry me to my bed?”
“Yes.” He did not move, however, except to look back at her uncovered leg, the stocking rolled down to the top of her boot.
“Right now,” she added. She could probably walk, but if she didn’t have to . . . “This hard floor is doing nothing to help my discomfort.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
She put her skirts back over her legs, tucking the excess fabric between her knees so it would not get tangled again.
He knelt down by her side but did not seem to know what to do.
“Put one arm under my knees, yes, like that. The other arm goes around my back, yes, there. Now, stand up and pull me toward your chest as you do so.”
She clenched her teeth to keep from hissing at the refreshed pain that seized her leg when he lifted her. She clasped her arms around his neck, pulling herself tight against his chest in order to keep herself as motionless as possible.
He walked carefully from the room, easing her through the doorway so she did not hit against either side, and then easing her through the doorway to her own room a few moments later. He gently set her on the bed, but he did not let go. Neither did she. They remained in what was almost an embrace, until she lifted her head and looked into his face, which was only a few inches from hers. His eyes were closed as though he were focusing all his attention on something specific. She was so close to him that she could feel the rapid beat of his heart.
“Duncan,” she said in a whisper.
He opened his eyes and looked at her, but said nothing.
She could feel his breath against her neck, and she shivered for a different reason than the pain in her leg, which seemed to have lessened while she was in Duncan’s arms, so close to his face, so close to his heart.
A bolt of pain shot through her again, breaking the spell. This was not the time. There would never be a time.
“You can let me go now.”
“Certainly.”
They released one another, and he stood up but did not move away from the bed.