Chapter 8That evening, Ben sat by the fire in the twilight, feeling unaccountably fragile. His sitting room was empty at long last, Jo having stayed with him all day, deliberately ignoring any hints that he was not obliged to be a nursemaid. He’d only slipped out for a moment, after borrowing Ben’s pen and paper, to send a note to his tailor to rearrange an appointment, Ben’s assurance that he could be left alone falling on deaf ears.
By late afternoon, Jo finally rose from the armchair. “I can’t go to Lady Hallingday’s looking like this, or I’d be blackballed,” he said humorously. “And anyway, I have to be present to make your excuses.
“Don’t tell her about this,” Ben had warned with a gesture to his leg resting on the footstool, mercifully covered by a blanket.
“Course not, old chap,”
