"Fell?" She peered at him. He was holding his hand up against his chest. Even in the f lickering light she could see that it was badly swollen. He had a bloody cut on the side of his jaw.

"From my horse," he said, standing back from her. He leaned against the carriage wheel. "I'd… rather not go back to Dove House just now. Need a place to rest until morning."

She could see that his coat was torn at the collar, and his neck cloth hung down in complete disarray. She frowned, trying to discern if he had any other injury.

"I don't want Maman to see me like this," he said thickly.

"I suppose—yes." She looked at him in consterna tion. "It might frighten her."

He ran his good hand through his hair, disheveling it even further. "The doctor from London attended her this morning."

"What did he say?"

The light f lickered, casting shadows on his face. "He said she has a week or two, perhaps." His voice was not quite even. "A month at most."

Callie tilted her head. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

The match went out. They stood in the dark. She could hear him breathing almost as if he were laughing. "God damn it," he said. "God damn me to hell. I ought to shoot myself."

"Nonsense," she said stoutly. "You've only had too much drink. No wonder you took a tumble. You'd no business going mounted, not in this state." She fished again in her pocket for a candle stub. "Let me look at your hand. I'm sure once it's bound up, and you're set to rights, your mother won't be upset to see you. Did you take any other hurt?"

"No," he said. He paused. "I don't know. A little bruising. I may have cracked a rib."

She touched the candle to another match. "I'd best send a boy for the surgeon."

"No," he said strongly. "No surgeons."

"Only to bind you up. I won't let him bleed you."

"No surgeon," he said.

"But—"

"I haven't taken any serious hurt." He scowled, turning from her candle. "If I can just rest a few hours, I'll be off in the morning."

She held the light over a metal trunk. "Sit down. Let me see your hand."

He blew out a breath of air and sat. Callie set the candle stub in a rusty sconce and sat down beside him. He allowed her to open his fingers and moved each of them in turn for her. She was no surgeon, but she had dealt with enough animal injuries to have a good deal of experience in judging their extent. He tensed a little, especially when she pressed gently at the swollen joints along his fist, but made no sharp move.

"I don't think you've broken anything," she said. "But it would be best to bind your fingers. There will be some bandages in the carriage boot."