Free Venetia by Georgette Heyer

from that rigid moralist’s hostile eyes. “You will know just what to do for him, and to have you will make him feel very much more at home.”
    “Is it paining him very badly?” Venetia asked anxiously, as Damerel led her into the house.
    “No, not now. I gave him some laudanum, and he seems tolerably comfortable—but I fear you’ll find him pretty drowsy.”
    “Gave him laudanum?” Venetia exclaimed. “Oh, if he would swallow that he must have been suffering dreadfully!
    He will never take drugs—not even the mildest opiate, only to make him sleep when his hip has been aching!”
    “Oh, he didn’t swallow it at all willingly, I promise you!” he replied, taking her across the flagged hall to the staircase. “I respect his reluctance, but to be allowing him to play the Spartan youth, when he was suffering (unless I mistake the matter) as much from fear that he may have crippled himself as from his bruised bones, would have been folly. Or so I thought!”
    “You were very right!” she agreed. “But unless you forced it down his throat, which I do hope you didn’t, I can’t imagine how you persuaded him to take it, for I never knew anyone so obstinate!”
    He laughed. “No, no, I wasn’t obliged to resort to violence!” He opened the door into Aubrey’s room as he spoke, and stood aside for her to go in.
    Aubrey, lying in the middle of a big four-poster bed and wearing a .nightshirt many sizes too large for him, looked the merest wisp of a boy, but he had recovered his complexion a little. Roused by his sister’s fingers laid over his wrist he opened his eyes, smiled sleepily at her, and murmured: “Stoopid! I’ve only bruised myself, m’dear: nothing to signify! I think I crammed him. Rufus, I mean.”
    “Cawker!” she said lovingly.
    “I know. Damerel said, more bottom than sense.” His gaze focused itself on Nurse, who, having set down a bulging portmanteau, was divesting herself of her bonnet with all the air of one determined to remain at his side whatever might be the consequences. He uttered thickly: “Oh, no, my God—! How could you, Venetia? Take her away! I’m damned if I’ll have her fussing and fuming over me as if I were a baby!”
    “Ungrateful brat!” remarked Damerel. “You’d be well-served if your nurse took you at your word, and left you to my mercies! I should certainly beat you.”
    Considerably to Venetia’s surprise this intervention, so far from offending him, made Aubrey give a tiny spurt of laughter. Turning his head on the pillow so that he could look at Damerel, he said: “Well, how would you like it, sir?”
    “Very much indeed! You are more fortunate than you know.”
    Aubrey pulled a face; but when Damerel had left the room he said: “I like him, don’t you? You’ll say everything that’s proper, won’t you? I don’t think I did, and I ought.”
    She replied soothingly, and he shut his eyes again. He was soon asleep, so that there was nothing for Venetia to do but to sit down to await the arrival of Dr. Bentworth, while Nurse unpacked the portmanteau, her lips tightly folded in disapproval, except when she opened them to whisper warnings to Venetia against falling into the snares of the wicked. She was presently drawn into the adjoining dressing-room by Mrs. Imber, and Venetia was left to while away the time as best she might. There was nothing to occupy her save her thoughts, and nothing to be seen from the window but a neglected garden bathed in autumn sunshine. Having mentally weeded this, stocked its flower-beds with her favourite plants, and set a couple of men to scythe the lawn, she wondered how long she would be obliged to sit idle. She feared it might be for a considerable period, for York was twelve miles distant, and it was more than probable that a busy practitioner might cot be found at liberty to come immediately to Aubrey’s bedside.
    When Nurse came back into the room Venetia was glad to see that her countenance had slightly