Chapter Thirty
July 24th, 1812
Exeter, Devonshire
In the morning Nell no longer had a headache, although her head was tender where Billy English had struck her. She fingered the lump and thanked God for the wig she’d been wearing. “Has Mr. Black woken, Bessie?”
“Yes, ma’am. For a few minutes.” Bessie placed a pitcher beside the washstand, then opened the chintz curtains. Daylight streamed into the little bedchamber.
“How is he?”
“Mr. Phelps said he’s a bit befuddled, but that’s only to be expected. He said it’s nothing to worry about and Mr. Black will be right as rain in a week, mark his words.”
“I hope so,” Nell said. “I hope so.”
She climbed out of bed and washed. The bruise at her throat, where English had half-throttled her, had darkened overnight. When Bessie saw the size of
