Page 86 of Managing the Major

Alastair spotted Richard’s tall figure deep in exchange with Viscount Crawford, which he thought rather strange, but lost track of it as Abigail cornered him, clamoring for the details of Theo Von Berger’s prospective call.

“Why, we’re going to speak about the hospital, of course,” he teased her. “What did you think we’d be discussing?” Her pretty face fell in disappointment. “Oh, yes! How silly of me to forget! He wants Octavia to find him a riding horse just like Thor.”

“Uncle Alastair!” She slapped his arm playfully. “You are incorrigible.”

“Well, there was something else…but you know my memory…” With a huff, she turned on her heel, and he was free to find Octavia.

When Alastair explained why he couldn’t come to Merrick House tomorrow, Octavia was so elated by her matchmaking success that she teased him unmercifully about not only finding a husband for Abigail but one for Nerissa as well.

That only made him want to kiss her, and he decided to leave before his unruly desires prompted another faux pas.

“Shall I come to Merrick House Friday morning then?” he asked casually, although his heart was thumping in his chest. “We can take a ride in Hyde Park.”

“I would love that. Ten o’clock? It’s been too long since we’ve ridden out. Peter told me you cantered the other day.”

“The wretch. I planned it as a surprise.”

“Have I told you how proud your progress makes me, Alastair?” She touched his arm briefly. “If not, you should hear it daily at least. I don’t think there’s another man who could have done as well.”

He walked out of Almack’s filled with a euphoric delight usually reserved for fools or young children. That feeling of joy continued until he climbed into bed (he didn’t allow Sophy to change the linens this morning because they still carried Octavia’s lemony scent), and his eyes finally closed.

Thursday morning, Alastair rose early and walked in the park longer than his normal hour because he could not visit the fencing salon or the gymnasium. The day was unusually balmy but promised fair skies, and he hoped tomorrow would be the same.

He finished his research and paperwork for the meeting with Richard at two o’clock. When Theo Von Berger arrived at noon and broached the subject of marrying Abigail, Alastair had no intention of refusing but was careful to quiz the young man thoroughly and not make his task too easy.

“May I ask your plans for the future, Mr. Von Berger?”

Theo shifted nervously. “I am training for diplomatic service and wish to follow in my father’s footsteps, sir.” He checked to see how this was received and proceeded more confidently. “Since very young, I have grown up familiar with the customs and governments of several countries; Switzerland, of course, but also Germany, France, and now England. This has been an excellent preparation for the diplomatic corps, and my father’s influence will facilitate my career.”

Alastair had wondered about his distinctive accent; not German like his father’s, but not entirely French either. “Have you spoken with my niece about a life of travel? I hope it’s agreeable to her.”

He genuinely wondered if a diplomat’s wife would suit Abigail. She was always a bit shy, although that had improved dramatically during the Season. He credited Octavia’s influence and Theo’s attentions.

“We have often talked of it, Major Fairfax, and she is looking forward to seeing more of the world. Miss Croyden will make an excellent diplomat’s wife and a radiant hostess. She is so charming and intelligent, and of course, the most beautiful young lady in London.”

Young Von Barger said the last sentence with complete sincerity, and Alastair, well satisfied, enquired about the wedding date. They would marry in mid-October and receive a first posting after Christmas.

Since Abigail and Nerissa wanted a small wedding with friends and family, three months would be adequate. When he heard Theo planned to propose Saturday, Alastair suggested a small party with both families at Pont Street on Sunday to celebrate and happily gave consent.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Major Fairfax Prevails, but Lady Crawford Enters the Equation

“So we agree on the board members?”

Alastair nodded and watched Richard put his seal on the last document of the pile and slide it across the mahogany desk for him to sign.

The earl rose from his chair, rubbing the back of his neck as Alastair gave his signature and handed him back the paper.

“I’ll have my secretary send these out tomorrow. He’ll also transcribe my financial arrangements with the London Hospital for the additional structure, and the contract for Jeffrey Wyatt as architect of record.”

“You’ve been incredibly generous, Richard,” he said sincerely. “Thank you for securing Wyatt—he gives the project immediate credibility. The governors all agree that the London Hospital is the best choice, especially with the medical school attached.”

“Yes, it’s all coming together well.” Richard gathered up the papers and put them in a leather pouch.

“In my interviews, I found the staff to be very interested in Paré’s work, in addition to some of the newer ideas in surgery and prosthetics. Our patients will be in excellent hands.” He thought of all the limbless soldiers who would have better lives in the future, immensely grateful that his voice had been heard.

“Enlisting George Macilwain to take charge of the program was excellent research on your part, Alastair. He’s a fine surgeon. How about a whiskey to celebrate? I brought a case back from Ireland on our last trip.”