Page 50 of Managing the Major

“If only I could, but Mama and I are going to visit Valentina.”

“She must be close to her lying-in, is she not?”

Octavia nodded. “Very close. The doctor thinks it’s a matter of weeks. Please say your prayers that she and the babe fare well.”

“Of course I will. By-the-bye, Lord Richard invited us to Epsom Downs. Lord Hope’s grandmother is ill, so it is an unstable time for us, but we will try to make it there. I do hope you and Major Alastair work things out, or it will be an awkward time for all.”

“Won’t it, though?” And with that dismal thought, she gathered up Freya and left Genevieve to her shopping.

*

Alastair threw himself into a session of fencing practice at Henry Angelo’s on Tuesday. Granted, his version didn’t compare with that of the other men, but his fencing arm was as strong as ever and certainly gave his opponents some difficulty, even with his limited mobility. It was improving all the time, and today he stepped back and forth reasonably well and even displayed a feint or two.

Afterward, he took Henry’s recommendation and visited Professor Voelker’s Gymnasium in Regent’s Park. The professor agreed Alastair was ready for more vigorous training and assured him that a great deal of recovery was possible through more weights and a regimen of gymnastic exercises rather than just stretching.

Progressing beyond what he had learned at the School of Arms required a great deal of exertion and concentration. As the professor pushed him relentlessly, Alastair put aside his encounter with Lucy and the sickening aftermath for a few brief hours. However, riding in the carriage to meet Rafe, who had returned late last night, all returned in full force.

He might have known Octavia would be too obstinate to listen to his explanation, but granted that he might not have been so eager to reconcile if their situations were reversed. But then, to top it off, she had danced with every bachelor in the place as if nothing had happened.

Over lunch at Boodles, Alastair filled his cousin in on everything that had occurred during his absence at Fairfax and in London, careful to omit the details about his kisses with Octavia.

“Dash it, Alastair, I can’t leave you alone for a moment! So Lucy Danbridge is back and wants to sink her claws into you, eh? That’s a bumblebroth if there ever was one. How ever did she end up in your arms?”

“She threw herself at me—literally,” Alastair answered, gritting his teeth. “Do you think I would willingly embrace her? I finished with all that a very long time ago.”

“Maybe you have, but it’s all in the suds now. And Miss Merrick refuses to speak to you, eh? Well, she’s a headstrong woman when she gets something in her bonnet. I’m sorry the progress you made in the relationship at Fairfax has gone to pot, but really, Alastair, what was going to happen? She says she’s not one for marriage, and you’ve said the same, although you’re looking like a new man these days. Sounds like a point non plus to me.”

“Actually, I was hoping I could convince Octavia to change her mind.” Alastair crossed his arms, not in the mood for argument.

“You don’t say? Well, I’m dashed proud of your rally, cousin. First riding again, then reconsidering marriage and whatnot.”

“Don’t congratulate me yet,” he said drily. “She knows nothing of my scars, and right now we aren’t even talking. Are you coming to Almack’s tonight?”

“Of course—I need to get an eye on the situation to give my advice, don’t I?”

Alastair wanted to take a page from Octavia and roll his eyes, but he refrained. He had to hope her feelings were as deep as he thought and she’d eventually listen. It was best just to tell the whole unpleasant story about Lucy and be done with it. And before things went any further, she deserved to know just how disfiguring his injuries were and decide if she had the stomach for it. If he could convince her to marry him, there would be no more surprises down the road.

When he got home to Ovington Square, Alastair thumbed through the small stack of mail in his foyer and discovered a letter from Octavia. His stomach lurched at the rather bold cursive on the envelope. It could be the news he hoped for—that she agreed to talk—or even worse, that she never wanted to see him again. He went to his library and closed the door, envelope in hand.

Dear Alastair,

Despite my shock and deep disappointment upon witnessing your meeting with Mrs. Crawford on Tuesday night, I am willing to hear your explanation of events.

Please come to Merrick and ride Thursday morning at ten o’clock as discussed, and we will find an opportunity to speak regarding the matter.

Octavia M.

He sank into a leather chair, weak with relief. Once they discussed his past with the current Lucy Crawford, she would understand. He would make sure of it.

Later that evening, Alastair dressed with care for Almack’s. Both his left arm and leg were sore after his session at the gymnasium and required a massage and application of liniment from Carter. His hand had already improved somewhat, to the point where he could close his fingers loosely around a wool-stuffed leather ball provided by Henry Angelo. God knows he had been squeezing the damn thing continuously for a month. Perhaps holding a rein might be possible before long.

Riding again after Fairfax could only add to the pleasure of seeing Octavia, as both things were inextricably woven together and part of his attraction to her. He was confident by now that they suited each other, but would she be willing to live at Fairfax at least part of the year? Alastair enjoyed life in the country and hoped to see his children grow up at Fairfax. Confound it, was Octavia even interested in motherhood? They had never broached the subject. He was in no hurry to be a father, but couldn’t imagine life without at least one child.

As he climbed into his carriage, Alastair amused himself with thoughts of a son or daughter. He hoped either would love horses. Would the child favor him or Octavia? Since Alastair was the image of his father, he assumed Nerissa took after his mother’s side of the family.

On the way to Almack’s, he picked up Nerissa and Abigail. They chattered about tea tomorrow afternoon with Octavia and Lady Amelia. He recalled the note from Sir William Denton included in his correspondence earlier, but eclipsed by Octavia’s letter.

“Nerissa, why is Sir William paying me a visit tomorrow afternoon?”