“Here.” She urged him to sit up and held a cup of liquid to his mouth. As he drank, she said, “Mr. Lawrence was returning from inspecting one of the tenant farms when he came across your horse plodding along with you slumped on its back. He brought you home at once for me to tend.”

Daniel nodded at the mention of his assistant and swallowed the liquid in his mouth as she took the cup away. John Lawrence was most competent and he hadn’t had any qualms at all about leaving the care of the estate in the man’s hands while he traveled to America.

“What happened?” she asked solemnly.

“I was shot.”

“Yes, I had noticed,” she said dryly. “In fact, I bandaged you up. But by whom were you shot?”

Daniel shook his head wearily. “I didn’t see. I was coming home to collect you, and I cut through the woods.” He frowned, thinking of the accident with the carriage when they’d thought the spokes cut halfway through, and then the carriage that had nearly run him and Richard down. They’d thought those to be attacks aimed at Richard by George’s killer trying to finish the job. However, George’s killer had claimed to know he’d succeeded in killing George and hadn’t been interested in killing Richard at all, and Daniel believed him. It had made him suspect that perhaps those other two incidents had not been aimed at Richard at all. The fact that he’d now been shot seemed to verify his suspicions. He didn’t say that, however. He had no desire to upset his mother, so muttered, “Perhaps a hunter mistook me for wild game through the trees and shot.”

Lady Woodrow frowned at the suggestion, but let it go for now and asked, “Coming home to collect me for what?”

“Oh.” Daniel blinked as he recalled exactly what he had been doing. If he didn’t return, Suzette would worry herself silly and send a search party out for him. Hell, knowing Suzette, she’d probably come after him herself, and then she’d see Woodrow and know—

“What time is it? How long have I been here?” he asked, sitting up and wincing at the pain it sent through his back and stomach.

“Lie down,” his mother ordered sharply. “And answer my question. Collect me for what?”

“My wedding,” he answered, but decided to lie back for just a little bit under her insistence. Just for a minute or two, but then he had to—

“Your wedding?” Lady Woodrow asked icily.

Daniel glanced at his mother warily. She only ever used that particular tone when very upset. And she did indeed appear upset now. Upset, shocked, horrified, bemused, perhaps even a hint relieved and happy, but mostly upset.