To Mend a Broken Wing


 
 
 
 
 
 A NineStar Press Publication
 www.ninestarpress.com
 To Mend a Broken Wing
 ISBN: 978-1-64890-612-1
 © 2023 Fearne Hill
 Cover Art © 2023 Natasha Snow
 Edited by Elizabetta McKay
 Published in January 2023 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.
 
 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at [email protected].
 
 Also available in Print, ISBN: 978-1-64890-613-8
 
 CONTENT WARNING:
 This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers. Depictions of anti-Francophone language. The POV character lives with complications from a birth defect (phocomelia).
 To Mend a Broken Wing
 Rossingley, Book Four
 Fearne Hill
 Table of Contents
 Cast of Characters
 Chapter One
 Chapter Two
 Chapter Three
 Chapter Four
 Chapter Five
 Chapter Six
 Chapter Seven
 Chapter Eight
 Chapter Nine
 Chapter Ten
 Chapter Eleven
 Chapter Twelve
 Chapter Thirteen
 Chapter Fourteen
 Chapter Fifteen
 Chapter Sixteen
 Chapter Seventeen
 Chapter Eighteen
 Chapter Nineteen
 Chapter Twenty
 Chapter Twenty-One
 Chapter Twenty-Two
 Chapter Twenty-Three
 Epilogue
 Acknowledgements
 About the Author
 Cast of Characters
 Dr Lucien Duchamps-Avery, sixteenth earl of Rossingley. A reluctant heir to the Rossingley estate. Likes: nightdresses, pearls, his husband’s soft hoodies, and using the word ‘gosh’ unironically. Has a flirtatious alter-ego: Lady Louisa.
 Dr Jay Sorrentino. Hunky doctor and devoted husband to Lucien. Likes: DIY, grey sweatpants, and keeping Lucien happy.
 Marcel Giresse. Senior French civil servant and Lucien’s nerdy, oldest friend. Never very far from his asthma inhalers. Likes: hot chocolate and completing the crossword puzzle before Lucien.
 Guillaume Guilbaud. Married to Marcel. Ex-professional footballer and ex-prisoner. Does not suffer fools. Likes: Marcel.
 Freddie Duchamps-Avery. Lucien’s favourite cousin. Drop-dead gorgeous catwalk model and all-round cinnamon roll. Likes: everyone.
 Reuben Costaud. French head gardener at the Rossingley estate and ex-prisoner. Married to Freddie. Likes: mixing his metaphors and his cat, Obélix.
 Gandalf. Mysterious pot-loving gardener and bohemian paramour of Uncle Charlie.
 Uncle Charlie. Retired politician and father of Freddie Duchamps-Avery. Now a redeemed ex-pompous fool.
 Joe and Lee. Gardeners on the Rossingley estate.
 Chapter One
 Toby
 “DARLING, WHICH DO you prefer, Moonlit Navy or Magenta Surge?”
 The job description had outlined caring for three children, all under the age of five. The wording had been economical with the truth. By my calculations, there were four. Number four had recently celebrated a milestone birthday and was a smidge sensitive about it.
 “The navy’s good,” I hedged, examining the nail polish on both of the earl’s elegant index fingers, pressed side by side. “It complements your…er…outfit.”
 He sighed in consternation. “Moonlit Navy is my go-to normally, darling, but I’m concerned it’s beginning to complement not only this divine outfit but my knobbly blue veins too. Don’t you think?”
 During my three years of study at childcare college, none of the modules had offered handy tips on how best to sensitively reassure a gay earl dressed in a sky-blue satin nightdress that he could paint his fingernails navy, magenta, or pink with yellow spots, and no one would notice. For the simple reason that the trillion-carat diamond adorning his ring finger, not to mention the other sparkly rock in his ear, and the string of boulder-like pearls around his neck, kind of drew the eye. And did I mention the nightdress?
 “Magenta,” came a masterful deep growl, accompanied by two strong arms wrapping themselves loosely around the earl’s shoulders from behind. “I like you wearing magenta.”
 Leaning back into his husband’s wonderfully secure hold, my boss tipped his face up to meet Dr Sorrentino’s and accepted a tenderly loving kiss on the end of his patrician nose. Thank God. The cavalry had arrived. I averted my eyes as they shared a swoony moment.
 “Magenta Surge it is, then,” the earl declared. His voice took on a throaty, sultry tone.
 Never taking his eyes off his husband, he addressed me. “Toby, my darling. I do believe Jay and I will sojourn to the west wing for a while. The light is so much better up there for nail painting, wouldn’t you agree?”
 As sex euphemisms went, this was typically delicate.
 “Absolutely.” As if I’d ever dare disagree with my boss on such matters. “I’ll listen out for the children.”
 “Thank you,” the earl replied graciously. “You are an absolute treasure.”
 Tell me something I didn’t know. Pushing himself back from the table in a single fluid movement, the earl stood and took Dr Sorrentino’s waiting muscular arm. Another swoony kiss; anyone would think they’d been married six minutes, not six years.
 “I don’t know how we’d cope without you, Toby,” he added, giving his husband’s arm a squeeze.
 You’d have a hell of a lot less sex with the delicious Dr Sorrentino, probably. I pushed that thought aside. I did not envy my boss. I did not envy my boss.
 I watched them dreamily wander out of the kitchen, already oblivious to my presence. The earl’s satin nightdress trailed soundlessly along the floor behind him, and I shook my head, smiling to myself as I cleared away the forgotten pots of nail polish.
 My phone pinged—a daily text from my mother, checking all was well in my world. And, as usual, it was, as long as I ignored the teeny fact that my knight in shining armour had missed his cue to take centre stage. Despite that, I shouldn’t and wouldn’t envy the earl. He might have the delectable Dr Sorrentino carting him off to bed at two o’clock on a Thursday afternoon, but how could I ever be envious of a man with his grim family history?
 The tragic deaths of the fifteenth earl and his oldest son and heir eight