Meanwhile, at Lady Harcourt's manor, the mood could not have been more different.
Lord Julian lay in bed looking like he had been run over by a horse-drawn carriage.
His face was a colourful collection of bruises in shades of purple, blue, and yellow. His left eye was swollen shut, and his bottom lip was cut and twice its normal size, making it difficult for him to speak clearly.
The local physician, Thomas, was packing up his medical bag after examining Julian's injuries. He was a thin man with spectacles that kept sliding down his slim nose, and he had the serious expression of someone who had seen too many broken ribs and noses.
"Well, Lady Harcourt," Thomas said, adjusting his spectacles for the hundredth time, "your brother has taken quite a beating. Several bruised ribs, possible minor concussion, and various cuts and abrasions. He'll be sore for weeks, but nothing my ointment can't handle. If you don't mind me asking, how did he end up in such a pitiful situation?"
