He made to follow her but his foot snagged in something and he stumbled. Cecilia turned as he put out a hand to stop himself from falling. He cried out at the pain in his leg and then the sudden stinging as his hand plunged into a patch of nettles. The fight through the dense thicket to reach the house had taken its toll on his leg which now ached abominably. His knee felt like water and his thigh trembled with the effort of holding him up. Cecilia came to him, leaping over the tallest brambles, kicking aside nettles. Lionel made to pick himself up but his leg would not allow it.
“What is it?” Cecilia said with concern.
Lionel grimaced. “It is nothing. The wound I suffered the day your brother was killed. It leaves me weak sometimes and in pain. But I can manage.”
Cecilia seized his arm, leaning back to help him to his feet. She could see that he was attempting to put on a brave face, covering up his weakness. It was silly to her. She did not think any less of him suffering an injury. She noticed a thick stem of brambles clinging tenaciously to his breeches and made to brush them away lest they tear the fabric or cut into the leg.
Under her hand, she felt something that was not flesh. Lionel immediately withdrew, stepping away from her touch. But he could not stand without support and his leg gave way beneath him. He fell, thumping down hard on the ground. Cecilia knelt beside him, skirts thick enough that she could ignore the nettles she knelt on. She put her hands gently to his left leg and felt itagain. Lionel tried to stop her but then growled in frustration and let his hands drop.
“What is this?” Cecilia asked.
He looked at her for a moment, then he sighed. “Something I did not want you to see,” he finally conceded. “After my recovery, I still had a weakness in my left leg that hampered my ability to walk significantly. It was… it was the other part of the reason Arabella put an end to the betrothal. Ever since, I have had to make some concessions in my life so as to not become a cripple. There is a frame made of leather and wood which is flexible but strong. It replaced the strength I had lost in my left leg.”
“Arabella had ended the betrothal over such a thing as that?” Cecilia gasped, bewildered. “What in heavens…”
Lionel simply shrugged. “I would be dishonest if I said it affected me much. It was the early days of the accident. I was too entwined with my recovery and thoughts of revenge against Thorpe that losing someone dear to me—though it did leave a sharp sting of betrayal—eventually felt like a burden I was freed from. I preferred to remain alone, honestly, and it is how I stayed. Only Blackwood by my side.”
Cecilia felt a tincture of uneasiness with his simple response. Perhaps he intended to disarm her, not fuel any lingering insecurities she might have once harbored when comparing herself to his ex-fiancée. But all she wanted to do now was ask if it might become the case with her also—simply being a steppingstone in his greater story dedicated to something that wasn’t her. She decided against it.
“So… those marks that I noticed earlier, they were left by this device?” Cecilia asked instead, rolling up his breeches to examine his leg further.
“They were. It is not uncomfortable. Not really. But it does leave some bruises.”
“They at least must be painful. What can I do to help?”
Lionel looked at her. Cecilia gazed back openly, waiting to know how she could ease his burden. There was no question in her mind that she could and would help him, however he needed it. She could not think how for the moment but the idea occurred to her that Thornhill’s library was extensive. Would there be medical books there that might give her the answer?
“I honestly do not know,” Lionel sighed. “I take the juice of the poppy for the pain when it becomes unbearable. When it is simply uncomfortable, I endure it.”
“Something to soothe the muscles then, perhaps?” Cecilia thought aloud. “The application of heat is often used in horses when they are lame. So perhaps a hot bath? There must be something.”
Lionel laughed. “Cecilia, if this is an invitation to share a bath, I shall more than gladly accept. But I have lived with this forsome time. I do not think you can ease this pain so simply, but I appreciate you giving it much thought.”
At that point, he winced, lifting his hand where welts left by the stinging nettles were raising bumps along the inside of his wrist.
“Well,thatat least I can cure,” Cecilia began, “where there are nettles there are always…” She cast about until she saw a clump of dock leaves, “Ah ha!”
She got up and gathered a handful, then sat back down beside Lionel and began to rub vigorously. His skin became green under the effect of the dock leaves but the swelling subsided. Lionel raised an eyebrow.
“I did not know there was a cure for stinging nettles. That did not feature in my education at Westlands. How did you know?”
“Because some of my closest friends are farmers,” Cecilia chimed brightly. “I learned a lot of woodcraft from them. All that Arthur did not teach me.”
“You are remarkable,” Lionel gushed.
Cecilia looked up into soft eyes. She flushed, seeing the adoration in them. It felt like a reflection of the emotion she felt towards him. She felt validated. After enduring loneliness for weeks at Thornhill, being embraced and then rejected all over again, she felt that she had earned the emotion shining in his eyes now. It was her reward. She smiled and kissed him softly.Intended only as a peck on the lips, it became something deeper as she cupped his face in her hands. His arms went about her, gathering her body in and depositing her on his lap. Then he put his hand to the ground and yelped in pain as he found a clump of nettles again. Cecilia laughed as he sucked in a breath through gritted teeth.
“Let us extricate ourselves from this prickly mire,” Cecilia grinned.
“Do you not want to look at Penrose?” Lionel asked.
She looked up at the blackened edifice and shook her head. “This is not Penrose. That was a house of joy and laughter, even after mother and father passed. This is a husk.”
Lionel looked over the walls and glaring windows, frowning. “We will rebuild it. It is yours by right. It cannot remain in the hands of the Sinclairs.”
“Do you think the fire was accidental?” Cecilia wondered aloud.
“Not if it erased all evidence of Arthur’s wishes regarding his legacy. What I don’t understand is how such a covetous couple would be willing to squander such a valuable piece of property. It may not have the grandiosity of Hamilton, but it was a fine house and worth a tidy sum. Why not sell it if they did not want to live in it? Or better yet, rent it out and accrue a steady income from it? It seems out of character...”
