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“Nonsense,” Ben said firmly but gently. “I do feel a responsibility for your injury, Miss Rebecca. Say what you like, it was the distraction I caused that resulted in your fall. I will feel better if I can make your days even a bit less tedious. Shall we try the crutches?”
Miss Rebecca heaved a sigh. “Very well.” She shifted on the chaise longue in order to slide her feet from the pillows beneath them and onto the floor.
Ben stood and picked up the crutches, then offered her his free hand to assist her while she stood on her healthy foot, then he handed her the crutches one at a time.
“How do they feel?” he asked.
She attempted a small hop on her good foot, aided by the crutches. “Not too bad. Quite good, actually.”
“Excellent,” Ben said, relieved that this small gesture on his part might prove fruitful.
Miss Rebecca took a few more hesitant steps and then managed to walk around the room a bit before appearing to fatigue. She returned to the chaise longue and sat, setting the crutches next to her.
“Perhaps we may forego the walk in the garden today,” she said. “It did feel good to walk on my own, however, not having to be supported on both sides by Mama and Papa or another sibling or servant. For that, I truly thank you.”
“I shall leave you, then, so you may rest,” Ben said. “I shall return tomorrow, and perhaps after we read, we may take that small turn in the garden—if you are feeling up to it, weather permitting.”
“You are turning out to be something of a surprise, Mr. Fortescue,” Miss Rebecca said.
Ben started to reply, but right at that moment, she reclined on the chaise longue and focused her efforts on lifting her legs and feet to the pillows. He nearly assisted, but she managed it herself well enough—and anyway, it would have been utterly beyond the pale for him to touch her legs in such a manner. True, he had carried her home on the day of her injury, but that had been different. The circumstances had called for it at the time. “Adieu, then,” he said. He turned and crossed the room.
“Thank you, Mr. Fortescue,” she murmured.
He paused at the door. “You’re welcome,” he said softly and then left her to rest.
* * *
The following afternoon and the one after that, Mr. Fortescue arrived at Alderwood and read to Rebecca for an hour, then wished her well and left. She had chosen the poetry of William Wordsworth since Mr. Fortescue had objected toParadise Lost, which had been fine with Rebecca. John Milton’s epic poem and its title had been more symbolic than anything.
Now it was Thursday, and despite a change in the weather from crisp and sunny to rain coming down in sheets, Mr. Fortescue still arrived at Alderwood to read to Rebecca, as promised.
She had been certain he would send a note excusing himself from calling today.
“I must give you credit for being intrepid, Mr. Fortescue,” she said as she stood nearby in the entry hall, propped up on the crutches he’d brought her. He set his umbrella aside, removed his dripping overcoat and hat and gloves, and handed the wet things to Hawkins. “I myself would not have ventured out on a day like today.” Annie popped into the entry hall, and Rebecca said, “Annie, perhaps you can fetch tea so that Mr. Fortescue may warm himself.”
Annie immediately scurried off.
Rebecca cautiously removed a hand from one of the crutches and gestured to the front parlor. “Please join me.”
Mr. Fortescue moved ahead of her to open the door since Hawkins was still busy with the wet overcoat. Rebecca followed him across the entry hall to the parlor doorway, feeling rather proud of how well she’d mastered the crutches thus far.
And then she slipped on the wet floor tiles.
“Oh!” she cried out, clutching her crutches even though they were no longer in contact with the floor.
A pair of long, sturdy arms grabbed her, steadying her until she got her good foot and her crutches once again firmly beneath her.
She looked up into a pair of anxious blue eyes with dark brown brows drawn together in concern.
“Are you all right, miss?” Hawkins asked from somewhere far away. “Miss?” he repeated.
“Uhm,” she murmured. Mr. Fortescue’s deep-blue eyes were still searching her face.
“No harm done,” Mr. Fortescue replied to Hawkins as though from a tunnel. “I shall see that she makes it safely to a chair.”
She blinked, coming to her senses at last. “I’m fine, Hawkins, thank you. I’m sorry if I caused you any concern.”
Supported now by her crutches, with Mr. Fortescue’s arm resting lightly on her back for security’s sake, she made her way into the parlor to an upholstered chair near the front window. Once she was seated there, Mr. Fortescue set her crutches aside and moved a nearby footstool close to her so she could elevate her foot. She noticed Hawkins peer in at them and then leave the door open for a semblance of propriety.
