“Sometimes men feel pain even after they lose a limb,” Freddie said in a nervous rush. “Phantom pain, it’s called. I read about it, I don’t know when. Some time ago.”

Then it was probably true. Freddie’s memory was almost as good as Hugh’s, and his tastes had always run toward the biological sciences. When they were children, Freddie had practically lived outside, digging in the dirt, collecting his specimens. Hugh had tagged along after him a few times, but he’d been bored out of his skull.

Hugh had quickly discovered that one’s interest in beetles did not increase with the number of beetles located. The same went for frogs.

“Father’s downstairs,” Freddie said.

Hugh closed his eyes. It was the closest he could manage to a nod.

“I should get him.” Said without conviction.

“Don’t.”

A minute or so went by, and Freddie said, “Here, have a bit more water. You lost a great deal of blood. It will be why you feel so weak.”

Hugh took a few more spoonfuls. It hurt to swallow.

“Your leg is broken, too. The femur. The doctor set it, but he said the bone was splintered.” Freddie cleared his throat. “You’re going to be stuck here for quite some time, I’m afraid. The femur is the largest bone in the human body. It’s going to take several months to heal.”

Freddie was lying. Hugh could hear it in his voice. Which meant that it was going to take quite a bit longer than a few months to heal. Or maybe it wouldn’t heal at all. Maybe he was crippled.

Wouldn’t that be funny.

“What day is it?” Hugh rasped.

“You’ve been unconscious for three days,” Freddie answered, correctly interpreting the question.

“Three days,” Hugh echoed. Good Lord.

“I arrived yesterday. Corville notified me.”

Hugh nodded. It figured their butler would be the one to let Freddie know his brother had nearly died. “What about Daniel?” Hugh asked.

“Lord Winstead?” Freddie swallowed. “He’s gone.”

Hugh’s eyes flew open.

“No, no, not dead gone,” Freddie quickly said. “His shoulder was injured, but he’ll be fine. He’s just left England is all. Father tried to have him arrested, but you weren’t dead yet—”

Yet. Funny.

“—and then, well, I don’t know what Father said to him. He came to see you the day after it happened. I wasn’t here, but Corville told me Winstead tried to apologize. Father wasn’t having . . . well, you know Father.” Freddie swallowed and cleared his throat. “I think Lord Winstead went to France.”

“He should come back,” Hugh said hoarsely. It wasn’t Daniel’s fault. He hadn’t been the one to call for the duel.

“Yes, well, you can take that up with Father,” Freddie said uncomfortably. “He’s been talking about hunting him down.”

“In France?”

“I didn’t try to reason with him.”

“No, of course not.” Because who reasoned with a madman?

“They thought you might die,” Freddie explained.

“I see.” And that was the awful part. Hugh did see.