Chapter Thirty-One
December 20th, 1808
Woodhuish, Devonshire
Tom woke to a headache and a feeling of tiredness. The clock on the mantelpiece told him it was nearly noon. He ate breakfast sitting up in bed—or maybe it was luncheon—and watched servants bring in a copper bathtub and fill it with steaming water.
The breakfast tray was removed. Tom climbed stiffly out of the four-poster. Lord, but he felt old today—old, tired, melancholy.
The bath helped a bit. He had a good wash, rinsing his hair over and over until it no longer smelled of blood. A manservant handed him a towel and offered to shave him. Tom accepted the offer; his right hand was clumsy today.
Once shaved, he dressed. Lucas’s bite marks were visible, especially the one on his shoulder. Tom was too tired to care what the m
