Page 89 of Sensibly Wed

I may? “Tell me if it hurts,” I said softly. He removed his hand from his closed eyelid, which was red and slightly swollen. Guilt gripped my stomach and twisted, and I pressed the cloth gently.

Lady Edith took the seat across from us. Quiet settled in the room.

“Does it hurt?” Lady Edith asked.

James smiled. “A little.”

“I cannot apologize enough, James. Will you forgive me?”

“In time, I suppose.”

His response startled me, but the slight curve of his lips revealed his teasing.

“If my presence is so distressing, I can send for Mrs. Prescott to continue in my stead.”

He blindly reached for my hand and circled my wrist with his fingers. “I think I could be persuaded to tolerate your ministrations a while longer.”

“How very magnanimous of you,” I said drolly.

Lady Edith cleared her throat, and I jumped. My hand pressed into the cloth on James’s eye, and he winced, leaning away from me.

“Forgive me,” I said, removing the cloth.

“It was nothing.”

“Is it helping?”

“The pressure hurts, but the coolness feels good.”

I dipped the cloth again and wrung the water out before pressing it into his hand. He lifted it to his eye and held it there—a safer option, evidently.

“Can you see through your eye?” Lady Edith asked.

“Yes, but the images blur.”

Oh, dear. What had I done? What if my foolish attempt to play a wretched game with James had forever ruined his eyesight? It hardly mattered that the game was his idea. I was fully aware of my own ineptness.

Footsteps warned us of someone’s impending arrival, and Benedict appeared in the doorway, a roll of folded news sheets tucked beneath one arm. “What’s this, then?”

“My lovely wife assaulted my eye.”

I scoffed. “I believe you mean to say that the bird assaulted your eye.”

“Bird?” Lady Edith all but screeched.

“Shuttlecock,” James corrected. “And a very powerful hit.”

Benedict slapped his rolled-up news sheets against his thigh, his grin wide. “Well done, Felicity.”

“Ben,” his mother scolded.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Not that I’m glad she hurt you, chap. But it must have been a powerful strike. Tell me, James, did you teach her to attack the bird from above or below?”

James’s one good eye shot to his brother. “Below, of course.” He looked up in consideration, then to me. “You did swing your battledore from below, yes?”

“My recollection of the moment is a little fuddled, but I did recall my focus being driven on hitting the bird, and not entirely on how to do so. My previous failed attempts were motivating.”

“Quite.” Benedict’s grin widened. “I should have liked to see this.”