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was a Kittrick through and through.
    Being the marquess had never been Kit’s choice. But his
father had taken ill and his desire no longer mattered. He’d done what was
expected of him.
    Freddy caught him in the entrance hall. “I am sorry about
the letter. I had no idea. Please consider staying. Bella is high-handed, but
she is only that way because she has no idea how to handle you.”
    Kit snorted. “Bella has been handling me for twenty years,
Freddy. The only reason she is so vexed is that I no longer allow it. I gave
her trouble as a boy, but I also went to the schools she wanted, the parties
she wanted—hell, I hob-knobbed with Privy Councillors and archbishops because she insisted .
Nothing I did was ever enough.”
    No matter what he “gave to the family”, Bella always
expected more from him. She would never be happy, so he’d stopped placating
her. He wasn’t cut out to be a politician and found little joy in pandering to
the Chancellor of the Exchequer or the Prime Minister’s cronies.
    At first, boxing was a release, a distraction from his own
dissatisfaction. It was a channel for the rage inside of him. Eventually it
became something more.
    “You cannot spend your entire lives with horns locked,”
Freddy said. “Eventually, you will have to find a way to make peace.”
    “Do not make it sound as if we are Napoleon and Nelson
waging war in the Atlantic.” Kit put his hand on Freddy’s shoulder. “I will
return for Christmas.”
    “Is there anything I can say to convince you to remain?”
    “No. Not this time.” He turned back to the door. “Goodbye,
Freddy.”
    It
would take him hours to Stewart’s estate, but he couldn’t stay long enough to
even wait for the coach. He wanted to get as far away as possible. Once he was
back in relaxed surroundings, he could be calm and reason out what he wanted to
do about his sister’s meddling. Like it or not, he’d have to see her again at
Christmastide.
    He
knew he was being stubborn. Ultimately, Kit would do his duty, but bloody hell,
he had plenty of time to settle down and have children. Hadn’t the Earl of
Southdown married last month at forty-five? There was no cause to rush. He’d be
damned if he let Bella trample over his plans and shackle him to a dull lady of
virtue merely to preserve her precious family name.
    Besides,
the truth was, he hadn’t a penny’s worth of interest for modest women, as Bella called them. Pretty though she may be, a
proper lady would only get a smile and a dance. He reserved his affections for
women with fire.
    * * * *
    The
doctor hadn’t been much help. He’d arrived bedraggled from the storm, looking
more unkempt than Violet had ever seen him. He’d looked over the gentleman for
a few minutes, pressed his ribs and told them all he needed was plenty of rest.
    “He’ll
be disoriented. He may not remember things and he may feel dizzy. Make sure he
does not exert himself.   Monitor
his wounds carefully to prevent infection.”
    Violet
pasted a smile on her face. It took him two hours to get here just to tell her
what she and Avery already knew.
    He
reached into his satchel and handed her a bottle. “His injuries are severe. You
will need more laudanum. Give him a dose twice a day for the first week and
I’ll come back and check on him in a few days.”
    “When
do you suspect he will be well enough to travel?”
    The
old man raised his furry gray eyebrows. “It will take weeks, madam. I’ve seen
cases such as this which took two months to heal.”
    Her
pulse leapt at the promise, despite her silent admonishment to her nerves that
she should be wishing him a rapid recovery.
    So
he would be here for a few weeks at least.
    “Keep
him calm. His room should be kept dark. Candlelight is fine when needed, but he
needs as much rest as possible. Someone should check on him periodically to
make sure he’s breathing normally.”
    “Yes,
doctor.”
    “Mrs.
Laurens, do you need me to check your person for injuries