Page 78 of Managing the Major

“A hackney, Major.”

“Let’s go to Merrick House the same way. It will be faster; my carriage is at a livery stable a few blocks away.” Carter appeared at the door. “Get my coat, Carter—no stock—and have the footman find a hackney carriage.”

A scant twenty minutes later, he was in a conveyance rumbling towards Park Lane and Merrick House with Peter sitting opposite and Alastair wondering what he could say to Octavia that might help.

Chapter Thirty-One

Major Fairfax Rectifies the Situation

Octavia was lying on the sofa in the drawing room, racked with sobs for the third time that afternoon, when the butler announced she had a visitor.

“I’m not seeing anyone, Edwards. Send them away.” Freya, curled at her feet, looked up with a whine.

He shifted uneasily from foot to foot. “I said that to the gentleman, Miss Merrick, but he is quite adamant about coming in.”

She lifted her head, not daring to hope but hoping anyway—how would he know to come? “Who is it?”

“Major Fairfax, miss.”

“Oh…I—send him in, Edwards.” She stood up and half-heartedly wiped her eyes with a fresh handkerchief, knowing any effort to fix herself was in vain. Freya jumped down from the sofa, stretching, and padded to the door expectantly, her tail waving back and forth.

Alastair brushed past the butler and took one look at her.

“Thank you,” she heard him tell Edwards, and then he closed the door. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Octavia rushed into his arms as the dog circled them in excitement. He clasped her tightly, speaking against her hair.

“My darling girl, I just heard from Peter. I am so sorry.”

She broke into another fit of crying, unable to help herself. It was a powerful combination of pain yet relief that he was there. “Oh, Alastair, it’s all my fault.”

“Shhh…” he whispered and led her back to the sofa, where he sat close, one arm around her shoulders and the other clasping her hand.

In the midst of her tears, she looked down in wonder. “Your left hand—it’s squeezing mine…”

“Yes, I’m getting stronger, but never mind that now. Tell me what happened; how is this possibly your fault?” He pulled her head against his chest, and the solid wall of male chest with his heart beating a steady tattoo underneath her cheek was incredibly soothing. Freya seemed to sense her relief and settled next to the fireplace in her bed.

She gulped back another sob and pressed her face against his chest. “I turned him out—I should have known it was too wet. Peter came up to the house because he was running, and when we got down there, he tried to clear the fence to escape and—”

“You don’t have to go through that again, my heart; Peter told me the worst.” He lifted her face, cradling it tenderly between his hands. “But you can’t possibly take the blame for this, Octavia. Terrible things happen, and it’s no one’s fault. I know you would never wish him to come to harm.”

“But why couldn’t I have just left him in?” Her eyes welled with fresh tears.

“Because you knew he’d rather be out in the grass and the lovely warm sun. You wanted what was best for Lucifer.”

She shook her head. “I made the wrong decision.”

“Octavia.” His voice was firm, but full of sympathy. “Horses are fragile creatures. I’ve had them colic for no reason, or burst their hearts racing; they can stumble and instantly tear a tendon—it’s not your fault. This was Lucifer’s time, that’s all.”

She sniffed and drew a hitching breath, and he took her discarded handkerchief, wiping the moisture from her cheeks and lashes. The terrible knot within her loosened a bit. She trusted his judgment and deep down, the words rang true.

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen death happen far too often. There is no justification, no answer to explain loss—you must have faith that it was meant to be.”

He lowered his lips to hers, kissing her tenderly and lingering there before reluctantly pulling away. She rested her heated cheeks in the crook of his neck, hiccupping a sigh.

“How long have you been like this?”

“Ever since it happened. I tried to be strong, but I just couldn’t. And Mama is gone—and Richard—”

“Have you eaten anything? Had something to drink?”