Babbit came back with a decanter and glasses. “The doctor’s here, my lord.”

A man in a black coat over what looked suspiciously like striped pajama trousers came in on the butler’s heels. He set down his bag and bent over Charlie. “What happened?”

“A wheel went over him,” Petra told him, taking the glass that Babbit handed her.

The doctor merely grunted and got on with business. After half an hour, he washed his bloody hands in the refreshed basin of hot water. “He’ll do, my lord. I’ve strapped the broken ribs and the wound’s not as deep as I feared. I’ve cleaned it and as long as infection doesn’t set in, the bones will knit on their own. The arm needs a proper cast, I’ll be back in the morning to do that. Meantime, I’ve given him laudanum for the pain, enough, I hope, to put him to sleep for a few hours.”

He turned his attention to Petra. “What about you, ma’am? Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. Her knees were sore, bruised and scraped from her tumble from the carriage, and she seemed to ache in every bone. “Nothing that a hot bath and my bed won’t cure, Doctor.”

“Right. Well, I’ll leave you a sleeping draft.” He took a vial from his bag and set it on the billiard table.

Babbit saw the doctor out while Guy gave instructions to the two burly footmen to take Lord Aldershot to the blue bedroom. “Who should we notify?” he asked Petra.

“His sister, Lady Vernon. She lives in Eaton Square. Charlie lives alone in Belgrave Square since his mother died last year.”

Guy gave instructions to Babbit to send a messenger to Eaton Square, then he rolled his sleeves down again before pocketing the vial with the sleeping draft. “Let’s get you home to bed.”

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

“Do you think we’ll be able to get a hackney at this time in the morning?” Petra asked, sounding doubtful. “It’s not too far to walk.”

Guy didn’t trouble to answer her. “Get someone to bring the carriage round, Babbit, as quickly as possible. I’ll drive myself.”

“Yes, m’lord.” The butler disappeared and his voice could be heard issuing rapid instructions in the hall.

“Your whole household seems to have been roused from their beds,” Petra observed wearily.

“Sit down before you fall down,” Guy said sharply, catching her as she swayed. He pushed her down into a chair and knelt on the carpet, pushing up her blood-stained skirts ignoring her faint protests and her feeble efforts to stop him.

“Your knee’s got a nasty scrape,” he said, getting to his feet. “And it’s going to bruise badly.” He dipped a cloth in the cooling water in the basin and knelt again, carefully cleaning the wound on her knee. “Let me see your hands.”