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
