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She drew near, kneeling beside the sofa. “Oh, Mr. Tennent, I’m so sorry this had to happen.”
He shook his head briefly and reached out his good hand to her. “Don’t upset yourself. It wasn’t your fault,” he said.
Finally Dr. Baird arrived. The elderly doctor set down his bag and looked Mr. Tennent up and down through his spectacles. “Well, young man, what have you been up to?”
“Falling off horses,” he said through a grimace, as he began to swing his legs off the sofa.
“There now, hold still before you do yourself more harm.” The doctor helped him sit up and motioned to one of the servants. “Get his coat off.” Mr. Tennent flinched as the arm of his coat was gently slipped off. Alice bit her lip, cringing with each jar and jostle of his shoulder.
The doctor took Mr. Tennent’s chin in his hand and tilted it upward. “Scraped yourself good there, I see. Bring me some soap and water and be quick about it,” he told a servant, then proceeded to poke and prod Mr. Tennent’s shoulder. “Humph. Hurt, does it? And there?”
After a few more hmms and humphs, he straightened and peered over his spectacles. “Good news. It looks like your shoulder isn’t dislocated. Just a fractured clavicle.” At the question in the other man’s eyes, he cleared his throat. “Your collarbone is broken. You’ll have to bear up a bit longer while I set it. Now, where else does it hurt?”
Mr. Tennent indicated his side with his hand.
He had the servant remove his vest then palpated some more through his shirt. “Your ribs don’t appear broken, but I’ll have to do a more thorough examination.” He turned to the others in the room. “Why don’t you leave us alone, so the young gentleman doesn’t feel he might disgrace himself before the ladies.” He turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Thorpe, a glass of water. I’ll give him something for the pain afterwards.”
The woman nodded her head. “Yes, sir.”
Alice left the room reluctantly.
After what seemed like ages, she was allowed back into the side parlor. Mr. Tennent, his shirt draped over his shoulders, had a sling around one arm and a wide layer of white bandaging across a good part of his chest. A square white gauze covered part of one cheek. He gave her a crooked smile.
She sat down beside him on the sofa. “Oh, Mr. Tennent, how is it? Are your ribs broken, too? Is it very painful?”
“A few bruised ribs, but I’ll live.”
“I’m so terribly sorry to have brought this about.”
He frowned at her. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You didn’t do anything but help me. I was the one who behaved foolishly,” he said, turning away in disgust.
“Oh, no! It was I who should have stopped Victor.”
“It was stupid to take his offer.”
“Mr. Tennent, did you happen to notice what startled the horse so? The next thing we knew Duke was off at a gallop. Did something spook him?”
He eyed her a moment. “You didn’t see anything?”
She shook her head. “No, Lucy and I were in front of you. Tell me—”
Before she could finish her thought, she noticed Mr. Tennent looking past her.
“What’s going on here?”
She jumped at the sound of her father’s voice. He strode across the room and planted himself in front of Mr. Tennent, who stood immediately.
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 see Mr. Tennent at breakfast, Alice went to look for him, wondering how he had fared the night.
She spotted the servant coming down the stairs. “There you are, Davy. Did you go up to Mr. Tennent yet?”
The servant stopped halfway down. “Yes, Miss Alice. I brought him up a breakfast tray.”
She smiled in relief. “Oh, thank you for remembering him. How was he?”
“He looked better than yesterday, but he’s in a heap of pain.” He shook his head. “Nasty thing, broken bones. I know, when I dislocated my shoulder once, it hurt something awful and took weeks to mend.”
She drew in her breath, feeling Mr. Tennent’s pain afresh. “Did yours heal completely?”
He swiveled one arm around and grinned. “Yes, miss, right as can be. But it laid me up some weeks, believe me.”
“Well, thank you for being so attentive to Mr. Tennent.”
“Think nothing of it.” He frowned. “He insisted on getting up and dressed.” He added hastily, “I helped him, o’ course. I’ll check on him again around lunchtime.”
“Very well, thank you, Davy.”
Alice turned toward the library, knowing she would have to insist Father send Victor away immediately. He hadn’t shown the least remorse, even going so far as to claim it was Mr. Tennent’s fault for not being competent with a horse.
Unfortunately, Father hadn’t wanted to discuss the matter further with her last evening at dinner. Well, he’d have to listen to her this morning, she decided, as she turned and headed in the direction of his office.
Alice left her father’s office feeling worse than ever. He’d told her she had behaved irresponsibly, taking a man who knew nothing of horses riding up to the park. He hadn’t even agreed that Victor should be sent away.
Feeling at loose ends, she reached Mr. Tennent’s small office. Maybe she could tidy it up for him while he was laid up.
His door was ajar. She pushed it open and gasped. “Mr. Tennent, what in the world are you doing in here?”
Her father’s secretary glanced up from the papers spread out before him on the desk. “Good morning, Miss Shepard. I’m doing precisely what it appears I’m doing.”
The words held no reproach, but were uttered as a simple statement of fact. She was glad to see Davy had placed a fresh gauze bandage over his cheekbone. The white sling around his arm and neck contrasted sharply with his black coat and accentuated the paleness of his face.
She frowned, noticing how he was attempting to write with his left hand. If he hadn’t looked so pitiable, she would have found the sight amusing. Not waiting for permission, she entered the cramped office and planted herself in front of his cluttered desk. “It looks to me as if you are trying to work.”
He set down his pencil. “Your conclusion is correct.”
“You suffered a bad fall yesterday and broke a bone and bruised some ribs. You are supposed to be resting. Surely, Father doesn’t expect you to be writing!”
He ran his left hand through his short sable curls. “See here, Miss Shepard, I truly appreciate your concern.” The trace of impatience in his voice softened. “Thank you for sending Davy up to me yesterday and again this morning. However, as much as I like being waited on hand and foot, the reality of my situation is that your father is paying me to carry out certain functions within a given time and if I prove incapable of doing so, I cannot fault him for finding a replacement.”
He took a deep breath as if gearing up for what he was going to say next, and she couldn’t help catching the grimace the gesture caused him. “This is the best job I’ve had in my career. If I lose the opportunity given to me, I may not get another. I do not plan to end my life as a clerk.”
She walked around the desk until she was standing close to him, his words both touching and intriguing her. “How do you plan to end your life, Mr. Tennent?” she asked softly.
He lifted his chin a notch. “Owning a company of my own like your father, so I can make a difference in the world.”
Make a difference in the world. No one had ever spoken to her like this before. As if what one accomplished mattered in the world.
“What kind of difference would you make in the world, Mr. Tennent?” she asked softly.
Instead of waving away her question as if she were too young or too ignorant to understand, he seemed to ponder it. He rolled his pencil in his good hand. The lamplight gleamed against the rich color of his hair.
“I would use my wealth to help those in need. Build schools, provide good housing, clean water, hospitals…” He glanced up at her. “Do you know what it’s like to have a gnawing pain in your belly because you have nothing to eat?”
She shook her head, mute.
“Do you know what it’s like not to have a dwelling to come home to at night after a long day’s work? There are many people who do, Miss Shepard.” He drew in a breath, then stopped, the pain evident. “That is why I want to become a very wealthy man, so I can do my bit to help alleviate the want of others.”
The words thrilled her to the marrow. Suddenly, she felt as if she understood her own undefined yearnings and dissatisfaction. To have such a noble purpose in life!
“I hope you realize your dream, Mr. Tennent.”
A few seconds passed between them in silence. Then he gave a short laugh. “I may be farther away from it than ever if I don’t get this work done.”
The two of them surveyed the papers on his desk.
Before he had a chance to stop her, she took the pencil from his loosened hold and the paper he’d been writing on. “Very well, Mr. Tennent, you dictate and I shall be your fingers.”
She glanced around, spotted a chair, and dragged it over.
“I—you can’t very well—this involves mathematics—”
She stuck out her chin. “Mr. Tennent, I am not ignorant of mathematics. In a year, I shall finish my schooling and I’ll have you know I get outstanding marks in mathematics. Now, what were you calculating when I walked in?”
With a resigned sigh, he turned back to his papers. “Very well, but only because it seems I have very little choice at the moment. Just stop any time you are tired of amusing yourself.”
Did he think she was simply seeking to entertain herself? She would just have to show him.
An hour later, after making steady progress, she sat back with a satisfied sigh. “I say, what you’ve taught me about stocks and shares is a lot more useful than what they teach us at Miss Higgins’s Academy. I never knew Father was involved in so many enterprises.”
Mr. Tennent adjusted his weight on the wooden chair, carefully cradling his injured arm.
“Does it hurt you much today?”
He touched the area just under his collarbone. “Some. It’s still a bit swollen here.”
She looked down. “I tried to convince Father to send Victor away, but he refused.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” He sounded displeased.
“I explained how Victor tricked you into mounting Duke.” She moistened her lips together, recalling the most unpleasant part of the interview. “He also knows the responsibility I bear. He agrees I was foolish and impetuous as always…” Her voice trailed off. By now she ought to be accustomed to her father’s dry tone, which never failed to erode her confidence when pointing out her faults to her.
“You were in no way to blame.” His tone gentled. “It was gracious of you to invite me for an outing. You cautioned me about riding your friend’s horse. It was silly pride on my part, so I deserve what I got.”
She reached out and touched his hand. “He’s not my friend—not anymore. As a skilled horseman, Victor was the most responsible. He should have known better. You could have been killed.”
His glance went to her hand and she felt herself coloring. Quickly, she removed it and sat with her hands clasped in her lap.
“He is, isn’t he?”
She frowned. “He’s what?”
“A skilled horseman.”
She made a face. “Oh, that. Well, yes, naturally.”
“Naturally.” He mimicked the word. “I suppose he has been riding since he was five.”
She giggled. “Oh, probably since he was four.”
His dark eyes lit with humor. “His parents probably sat him atop a horse before he could walk.”
“Oh, no, before he began to crawl!”
They both ended up laughing.
“Alice, what are you doing here?” Her father stood in the doorway to the library.
She jumped up from her chair. “I am acting as—” she gave a little bow “—Mr. Tennent’s secretary.”
Her father pursed his lips, his eyes going from her to Mr. Tennent and back again, making her feel as if she’d done something wrong. “That is not amusing.”
“Of course it isn’t. Mr. Tennent is injured, and I feel partially responsible. As such, it is only right that I assist him while his injury heals.”
“Mr. Shepard—” Mr. Tennent stood rigid, and her heart went out to him, having to work for her father.
Her father advanced into the small room, cutting him off. “So, you are unable to write?”
“I—” He cleared his throat and began again. “In a few days, perhaps—”
Did Father inspire such fear in all his employees? “Dr. Baird gave clear instructions that Mr. Tennent is to do nothing to put undue pressure on his collarbone for a few weeks. He mustn’t bend his arm in a way that will aggravate the bone.”
Her father had turned his attention back to her halfway through her speech. “In that case, I shall have to summon Mr. Simpson.”
She gave a disbelieving laugh at the mention of Father’s old secretary. “Mr. Simpson is getting forgetful, you said so yourself. We are making splendid progress.” She took up the papers she’d completed and handed them to him.
He took them without a word and examined them.
Mr. Tennent cleared his throat. “Mr. Shepard, I assure you, in a few days, I’m sure I can manage on my own.”
Her father handed the papers back to his secretary. “Very well. In the meantime I have to return to London. I shall determine things upon my return.” He turned to her. “I don’t want you making a nuisance of yourself here.”
“I shan’t be a nuisance.”
“Nevertheless, I prefer you not spend your time here, Alice.”
She pressed her lips together, knowing it was useless to argue with her father and knowing just as certainly that this was one command she was going to disobey.
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