A Duke by Any Other Name by Grace Burrowes Page 0,47

then fixed his gaze on the daffodils. “I must return to the Hall.”

“My brother has an unreliable knee. He used to fall frequently. The easiest way to get up is to start on your hands and knees, and then we’ll get you to your feet. Take your time, but I would appreciate the courtesy of your name.”

“Everybody calls me Robbie.” He heaved to all fours, then to one knee. Using Althea as his cane, he levered to his feet and stood for a moment, his breath coming heavily. “I hate this.”

Althea picked up his hat. “You should have seen me learning to dance. The waltz was simple enough, but the quadrille utterly defeated me. I’d never seen it danced, and as often as I turned the right way, I turned the wrong way. I ended up on my bum more than once. My younger brother found it hilarious, and I’d pretend to laugh too.”

“Then,” Robbie said, brushing at the muddy patch near his elbow, “you went back to your room and cried.”

“Bitterly.”

His smile was like Rothhaven’s, but sadder, more weary and defeated. “I will thank you for your assistance and leave you here, Lady Althea.” He attempted a bow, lost his balance, and yelped when he tried to right himself.

“Careful,” Althea said. “Have you wrenched your ankle?”

He swore in French, something about a damned body that might as well be in the grave. “Apparently, I have at least wrenched my ankle. If you’d be good enough to alert the Hall, His Grace will send somebody for me.”

Another shiver passed over him, and despite his apparently robust frame, he had yet to regain any color.

“I don’t like to leave you here alone,” Althea said. “Do you suppose, if we found you a stout walking stick, and I offered my shoulder, you could travel back to the Hall with me?”

He stared at the path wending its way between boulders, blooms, and undergrowth. “I would rather not remain here at this time of day. The sun is out.”

What that had to do with anything Althea did not know, but a blow to the head could scramble the wits as effectively as any quadrille ever had. She wasn’t about to leave him here by himself, with a turned ankle, an addled mind, and no means of defense.

“Give me a moment,” she said, striding off to look beneath the trees for a suitable walking stick. She happened on a six-foot-long piece of oak, swung it hard against a tree trunk to whack away two feet, and passed it to Robbie.

“Will that do?”

“Remind me not to oppose you on the cricket pitch.”

“Ladies are not supposed to excel at cricket, more’s the pity, but I do fancy the occasional round of pall-mall. Shall we be off?”

She got an arm around his waist, and he took a firm hold of his makeshift staff. Progress was slow and brought to mind the many, many times Althea had assisted Stephen in a similar manner. What an odd time to realize she missed her brother.

Robbie took a bad step, lost his length of oak, and pitched against her.

“Sorry.”

“No bother,” Althea muttered, though she was certain the bother to his dignity was considerable. They were halfway sorted out when a commotion came from up the path.

Rothhaven panted to a stop three yards away. “Thank God,” he rasped. He took in a few more breaths, suggesting he’d exerted himself past the ability to speak.

“Rothhaven,” Althea said. “Good day. Forgive me for failing to curtsy, but Mr. Robbie has gone top over tail and wrenched his ankle. He might also have taken a rap on the head and I’m concerned that his ordeal will leave him with an ague or a lung fever. Your assistance would be appreciated.”

All manner of emotions flitted across Rothhaven’s features. Incredulity, consternation, annoyance, and then…a slight, resigned smile.

“Of course, my lady.” Rothhaven positioned himself on Robbie’s other side and they made good progress back to the Hall. By the time they’d gained the back terrace, Robbie had suffered two more passing shivers.

“Mr. Robbie should take to his bed with a hot water bottle and peppermint tea until the physician can get here,” she said.

“No doctor,” Robbie said, making an attempt to stand on his own. “I refuse to be quacked.”

Something passed between him and Rothhaven. An old argument, an entire debate, such as Althea often had with Stephen about using two canes at all times. But Robbie wasn’t merely being stubborn. His gaze had acquired the same haunted look