Betrayal. Georgina Devon

lay propped up on copious pillows, laughing at something his mother was saying. There was no sign of pain or discomfort that she could discern from this distance.

      ‘Ah, Pippen,’ he said, waving her forward. ‘My mother thinks I am suffering, and I am trying to convince her it isn’t so. You tell her.’

      Pippa moved to the bed and looked from the Duchess’s worried countenance to Dev. On closer examination, he had the tiny line between his brows that always intensified when he was hurting. And his eyes looked strained around the corners. But he wanted her to assure his mother that he was fine. She looked back at the Duchess.

      Many aristocratic parents left the care and raising of their children to servants. Often that meant the ties between them and their children were not great. She had been lucky in having her grandfather. He had taken care of her and her twin after her father’s death in a coaching accident. Grandfather had given them over to nannies and tutors, but he had also spent time teaching them about the estate and their place in the world. He had played children’s games with them, and he had read to them. Church on Sunday had been a weekly activity he had insisted they share as a family. It seemed that Dev had had similar care from his mother.

      Consequently, Pippa knew she could not lie to his mother. Not even for him.

      Pippa chose her words carefully. ‘Your Grace, Deverell has been grievously wounded. He’s mending now, but ‘twas nip and tuck about his leg.’ She glanced at her patient to see him frowning fiercely at her. She decided to ignore him. ‘We were able to save it, mainly because Deverell is strong and stubborn. He didn’t want to lose the limb. That can be a powerful motivator for recovery. He weathered the infection that set in and the leg will heal. Still, he is not fully recovered. Even now he is in pain.’

      ‘Blast you, Pippen. See if I ever cover for you.’

      ‘Deverell St Simon,’ the Duchess interposed, ‘how dare you talk so to the young man who saved your life? Now be quiet while Pippen tells me the truth about your injury.’

      Pippa took another deep breath and looked from her patient to his parent. ‘He will always be plagued by the leg and may not regain complete movement in it. He would help himself…’ she slanted him a reproving glance before turning her attention back on the Duchess ‘…by taking the draughts I prepare for him instead of leaving them untasted on the nearest table. They would ease the discomfort and promote restful sleep.’

      ‘Do you have one prepared now?’ the Duchess asked.

      Pippa hid her smile behind a cough. She had hoped Dev’s mother would ask that question. ‘I can prepare one quickly, your Grace. A bit of laudanum will help him sleep tonight. He needs rest after being moved.’

      Dev glared at her as she prepared the mixture, his pointed regard making her hands shake just a bit.

      “Tis for your own good,’ she told him firmly when the preparation was done. She handed him the glass.

      ‘I know that well enough,’ he growled. ‘But I don’t like the feeling of helplessness the drugs give me. Even though they dull the pain, they remind me that I have a deformity.’

      Pippa stared at him. She had known he was headstrong, but until this instant she hadn’t realized why he disliked the medications. He was going to find it hard going when he was healed enough to move around, but not well enough to do as he saw fit.

      ‘I am sorry for that,’ she murmured, wishing she could do something for him besides give him the painkillers. Noticing that the Duchess had moved away from them, she added, ‘I am sorry that I had to spoil your plan to shield your mother. Your sentiments toward her are very admirable, but she deserves to know. This way, when you don’t bounce out of bed in the next couple days, she won’t be surprised and worried.’

      Dev grunted. ‘You’re right, Pippen, but all of us have got in the habit of protecting her from the harsh things of life—if we can.’

      His words brought a rush of warmth to Pippa’s heart. Would she have been so protective of her mother, had her mother not died birthing her? The question brought back all the old guilt over being the death of her mother and the determination to atone for that deed. Even though no one had ever blamed her for her mother’s death, Pippa had occasionally blamed herself. She knew death in childbed was common and that her mother’s demise was not her fault, but still her mother’s death was the reason Pippa had first wanted to learn midwifery and later medicine. She wanted to help others and hopefully prevent parents from dying and leaving behind their children.

      She shook her head to clear it of the old memory. A long time had passed since she had last had these thoughts. They were probably brought on by watching Dev with his mother. That the two loved each other was obvious. That she was getting maudlin was even more obvious. She needed to go to her own room and do exactly what she was telling Dev to do—rest.

      Resisting the urge to smooth the hair back from his forehead, Pippa stepped away from the bed and packed her herbal bag. ‘He should be fine now.’

      ‘Thank you, Pippen,’ the Duchess of Rundell said, coming over and taking Pippa’s hands. ‘I will never be able to thank you enough.’

      Pippa felt awkward and embarrassed. She didn’t want anyone’s gratitude. She just wanted…She glanced at Dev and saw his roguish grin. She just wanted things she had never wanted before, things she couldn’t have. Not now.

      ‘You don’t need to thank me.’ Pippa gently pulled her fingers from the Duchess’s grasp. ‘I am glad I could help Dev.’ She stepped back. ‘If you will excuse me, I am very tired.’

      ‘Of course, child,’ the Duchess said. ‘Sleep as late as you need.’

      ‘Sweet dreams,’ Dev added, his hazel eyes twinkling with devilry.

      And what type of dreams did he expect her to have? Pippa thought sourly as she made her way back to her room. As far as Dev was concerned, she was a young man who couldn’t even grow a beard. She knew from living with her twin that not being able to grow facial hair was tantamount to being a baby.

      Pippa closed her door behind herself and looked around the room she had been given. It was masculine in its simplicity. A large oak four-poster bed took up the centre while a matching armoire hogged one entire wall. A Turkey rug covered most of the wood floor, and blue drapes that echoed one of the rug’s colours hung from the high ceiling to puddle fashionably.

      What would Dev do if he knew she was a girl, and her room at home was done in peaches and soft greens? He would be scandalized. If she was unmasked, she would be beyond redemption. Dev’s liking would turn into loathing. It was a thought she could not bear to contemplate for long.

      Deverell St Simon’s admiration and friendship meant too much. To lose them would be unbearable.