Page 22 of Managing the Major

“Tonight. And Friday, if you must know, she invited Nerissa and Abigail to call. My invitation was merely an afterthought.”

“What? You called on Octavia Merrick, and kept it to yourself?”

“I didn’t call on her, Rafael. I told you she invited my sister and her daughter. I believe Miss Merrick intends to assist in finding a suitable match for Abigail.”

“And you can’t think why? I’ve never thought you obtuse, Alastair.”

“I doubt she’s doing it for my sake.”

“And you saw her again tonight? Soon you will have to propose. And I didn’t even think you liked each other.”

“You are making far too much of this.” He steered the conversation in another direction. “I also met the Earl of Seldon and his wife and thought he was very approachable.”

“As in approachable about the hospital? It would certainly be beneficial to have the earl behind your project. Besides having deep enough pockets to back the enterprise, Lord Seldon serves in Parliament.”

“Nerissa has convinced me I need to engage the interest of the ton to build the hospital. If that means diving deeper into society’s functions, I’m willing to do it.” He looked down at his scarred hand resting on the table. “And Monday morning, I’ll speak with Henry Angelo.”

“Hallelujah! Whether it’s Nerissa, Octavia Merrick, or Beelzebub himself spurring you on, I’m happy to see it. Let’s take a drive in the park tomorrow. I need some fresh air.”

Lady Seldon had mentioned she would drive in the park tomorrow with Octavia. “The afternoon would be best. Perhaps at two thirty?”

“I’ll bring my curricle around to your place,” Rafe put a hand over his mouth and yawned hugely. “Lord, I’m about to drop on the table. I think it’s time to go home. Are you staying, Alastair?”

“For a game of hazard or two, I think. Go get some sleep, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I don’t wonder you’re interested in Miss Merrick. She cuts quite a fine figure in her riding habit, but what a stunner at Almack’s, eh?”

“Go home, Rafe.” It was best not to think of Octavia Merrick. He already wanted to kiss her, and that was dangerous.

Chapter Ten

A Chance Meeting in the Early Morning

Alastair endured a restless night, tossing until he finally woke at dawn. After calling for a light breakfast to be brought to his room, he debated how to spend his morning. His left leg was stiff as it always was upon rising, but after stretching and moving about, it grew more serviceable.

Clad only in his smalls, Alastair stood in front of the full-length mirror, studying his body and wondering what woman would have him, looking like this? He traced the deep grooves that disfigured his left thigh, kneading the knotted muscles beneath his fingers. Shallow pitting mottled the length of his calf, and an ugly red scar ran across his knee.

He closed his eyes against the sudden rush of memory as the room faded, replaced by thick smoke, screams, and the deafening roar of cannons. His fists clenched; he could smell the acrid stench of cannon fire and the metallic scent of blood.

As he urged the densely packed formation forward, cannister shot erupted nearby without warning, pelting the men around him and tearing through bodies like rag dolls. What followed was always a blur of debris and confusion. He vaguely remembered turning away from the worst of the shrapnel, a reflex that saved his life, though not without irreparable damage to his shoulder and arm.

Sweat beaded on his brow. Limping to the window, he yanked aside the brocade curtains and rested his forehead on the cool glass. Outside, the sun rose over Ovington Square, casting a faint rosy light across the sidewalks. The new gas streetlamps had eliminated the need for lamplighters in the more fashionable districts of London, yet the streets were already stirring with sweepers and milkmaids, and the occasional delivery boy or tradesman.

An early riser by habit, Alastair often read or took care of correspondence in the early morning hours. Today, he needed physical activity. The School of Arms didn’t open its doors until nine o’clock, but he could work on his own before asking Henry Angelo for help. Walking, though taxing these days, had always brought enjoyment.

The decision made, he rang for Carter, and his valet appeared promptly.

“Carter, how long have we known each other?”

He handed Alastair a dressing robe, looking puzzled. “Nigh on ten years, sir.”

Slipping it on, Alastair grimaced as he lifted his left arm into the sleeve. Carter took a step forward, but knew better than to offer help if not asked.

“Would you call me a determined man?” He struggled to fasten the frog closure at the waist with his good hand, succeeding after a few moments.

“I would, sir. Even as our second lieutenant in the tenth regiment, you were a young man who got the job done. Major General Campbell could see that and said so in Burma when he flatly told the surgeon not to amputate. ‘If there’s one man who can pull through this, it’s Alastair Fairfax,’ he said.”

“Thank God for Sir Archibald Campbell. Well, it’s taken long enough to get off my ass—pardon the expression—but I’m finally ready to turn things around. No more hiding away.”