The Abolitionist’s Secret Read Online Free PDF Page B

water and crashed to the hard concrete floor of the balcony. She yelped in surprise as she went down. Then her cry became one of agony.
    David was at her side in a second. “Are you in pain?”
    “It’s my ankle,” Jasmine gasped.
    Her wide hoop crinoline held her skirt about three feet off the balcony floor as she lay in the puddle, making the observation of her ankle a fairly easy process. David ran his hands lightly over the joint, noticing the bone that was sticking out at an awkward angle. The ankle was already beginning to balloon up.
    “Your ankle is starting to swell, so I’m going to remove your shoe, Miss Fitzpatrick.”
    Quickly, he untied the ribbons, which held the slipper in place. As gently as possible, he pried the shoe from her foot. The shoe was wet from its encounter with the puddle, and slipped from his hands.
    Deciding to preserve Jasmine’s dignity, he let the shoe drop and helped her to her feet, or rather, foot, since she could only put her weight on one of them. The other she held off the floor. He asked another gentleman on the balcony to find a doctor as well as her parents. David propped Jasmine up against the railing, putting his arm around her waist as she moaned in pain.
    “This is all your fault, you know,” she gasped at him as he tried to help her.
    “Save your anger. You’re going to need your strength. Unless I miss my guess, you’ve just broken your ankle.”
    “No-o-o. This can’t be happening. Maybe it’s just twisted.”
    “Possibly.” David let her hang onto that ray of hope, even though he knew what a broken bone looked like, after all his years of battle. “Your shoes seem to be quite slippery,” he said as he left her side for a moment to retrieve the wayward slipper.
    “Ohhh, it’s the blasted paint on the bottom of them. I should never have allowed Philippe to experiment with my shoes.”
    David had no idea what she was talking about, but he figured as long as she wasn’t focusing on the broken bones, it was good.
    Charlotte and Heather ran out of the ballroom just as the doctor arrived and surrounded Jasmine as she cried out in pain. Tears glistened on her face, catching the moonlight. David, along with several other men, assisted the doctor in getting Jasmine to a carriage headed to the hospital.
    Charlotte and George Fitzpatrick hastened to gather their possessions and exit the Cotillion to be near Jasmine’s side at the hospital. Heather helped her mother collect her fan, reticule, and cloak.
    “I’m coming, too, Mother. Oh, poor Jasmine. Her ball is now ruined, and probably her season as well.”
    Charlotte straightened up and looked at her other daughter. “Oh, Heather, darling, you’ll do no such thing. Your father and I will take care of Jasmine, but this is your special night, too. You have men waiting to dance with you, and I’ll not have you disappoint them. Jasmine’s early departure cannot be helped, but you must finish out the evening. We’ll catch up when we get home. Now, I must run.” She patted Heather’s hands. “Halwyn,” she called to her eldest son. “You’re in charge of Heather for the remainder of the evening. See to it that she gets home safely, will you?”
    As Halwyn nodded, Charlotte and George hurried from the ballroom floor.
    The ballroom calmed down again following the departure of Heather’s sister and the Fitzpatricks. Halwyn drifted off to find a partner for the next dance, leaving her alone at the side of the room. She bounced from one foot to the other, unsure of her next move.
    “I believe I’m next on your dance card,” a now-familiar voice cut into her hesitant thoughts. She looked up into the blue eyes of Lieutenant Whitman, and once again she sensed herself falling. They stared at each other, and then, as if her body had a mind of its own, her hand reached out to him.

Chapter 8
    After several minutes of awkward silence on the dance floor, David asked, “Let me address the topic we are both avoiding.