Chapter 25
Ashton sat in his study on Half Moon Street. Letters of a financial nature were strewn over the surface of his oak wood desk. The numbers on the letters blurred as pain lanced up his left arm, which still hung limp and useless in a sling about his neck.
What a b****y nuisance being shot was. He had lost so much of his strength that his footman had to do many routine things for him and his valet, once a minor irritation, had become indispensible. He couldn’t put a shirt on, let alone tie his neck cloth or button his trousers without assistance.
It was most humiliating. Everyone treated him like a child in leading strings and he was tired of it. And he’d only been injured a few days. The doctor had given him instructions to rest for the next five weeks. The idea was intolerable
