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“That’s a shame, that,” MacKay said, looking concerned. “She’s a good ’un, is our Miss Rebecca.”
“Yes, well, perhaps we could tidy the crutches up a bit and offer them to her to use while she convalesces,” Ben said. “As a sort of way of making apology for the injury I caused.”
MacKay scratched his chin. “That’s a fine offer, sir, very fine, indeed. Most generous. But the viscount and his lady had eight children, you know, five of them being boys. I’m recalling that the family has had its share of broken limbs over the years and are most likely equipped with crutches. But we’ll get them shined up, make ’em look ladylike, just in case.”
Eight children! The idea boggled Ben’s mind. He’d barely survived the terror of experiencing one childbirth, and it had gone horribly wrong. “Thank you for seeing to it, MacKay,” he said. “Even if they do have crutches of their own, I should like to offer these to them.”
“I’ll see that it’s done. Do you wish me to saddle your horse, sir?” MacKay asked.
“No, thank you, MacKay. My feet will do me well enough today.” Walking would give him time to think and would also give him an excuse not to linger at Viscount Thurlby’s manor longer than necessary so he could return before four o’clock.
* * *
“You have a caller,” Hawkins, the Thurlby butler, announced to Rebecca after gently tapping on the dayroom door and opening it slightly. Rebecca supposed he hadn’t wished to awaken her, were she once again napping under the effects of laudanum, but she had insisted to Mama that she didn’t need laudanum today. Her ankle still ached, but the pain was bearable as long as she remained still and did nothing to jar the injury. “May I tell him you are home for receiving guests?”
It was ahim, was it? Hawkins hadn’t stated his name, but Rebecca immediately knew who thehimwas since Mr. Fort-something had said he would call on her today. “Yes, Hawkins, I’ll see him,” Rebecca replied. She couldn’t seem to concentrate on her book or her needlework anyway. She set them aside.
“Very good, miss,” Hawkins said.
Rebecca sat up a little straighter in the chaise longue she’d practically lived on since yesterday morning. She tried to plump up her hair a bit where it had flattened from resting against the numerous pillows Susan had stuck behind her after luncheon but only succeeded in knocking a few of the pillows onto the floor. Susan had been a bit excessive.
“Miss Rebecca,” a man’s voice said right as she reached for the closest pillows.
She looked up and blinked.Goodness!Apparently, she’d been so consumed by pain yesterday that she hadn’t taken as close a look at Mr. Fort-something as she’d thought. Before her now, standing just inside the door, was a man—atallman.Exceedinglytall, in fact, with dark hair and a serious look on his face—a more striking face than she recalled, with an angular jawline and a straight, elegant nose. He was dressed as a simple country gentleman, which didn’t come as a surprise since he’d inherited his property from Mr. Arnold, who had been a simple country gentleman.
He stood there doing nothing and saying nothing more as Albert, one of the Thurlby footmen, stepped inside—it seemed he had been assigned to play chaperone—and it belatedly dawned on Rebecca that her caller was waiting for her to invite him farther into the room.
“Please, come in, Mr. Fort . . .” She hesitated.
“Fortescue,” he said.
Fortescue, that was right. She attempted to smile at the person whose actions had precipitated her injury and the loss of her Season and her dream of experiencing history and romance after such a long wait. “Mr. Fortescue. Please, come in and be seated.” She gestured toward a chair not too far but not too near her chaise longue. Her brother James had sat there yesterday after he’d arrived and learned of Rebecca’s mishap. He’d traveled down from Lincoln to escort her and Susan to London—drat! Rebecca’s eyes began welling up, and that wouldn’t do, especially not in front of Mr. Fortescue. She blinked back the tears.
“I came to inquire after your health, Miss Rebecca,” Mr. Fortescue said with a slight bow before crossing the room to sit in the chair she’d indicated. “But sadly, I can see that you are still in pain.” He must have observed her fighting back her tears; his dark brows had drawn together in concern, and he was scrutinizing her much too closely.
“Some pain, yes,” Rebecca said stoically, patting at her hair again, her tears successfully driven back, at least for the moment. “But manageable.”
Mr. Fortescue sat on the edge of his chair rather than settling into it, leaving the distinct impression that if he were given an opportunity to bolt from the room, he would.
It would be entirely fine with her if he were to do so. Up to this point, the man had proven to be bad luck.
“I also wish to apologize,” he said. “It was not my intention to startle you yesterday, and I sincerely regret that you were injured as a result.”
“Thank you,” she said. A fat lot his apology would do to save her Season in London, but she appreciated his gesture.
“Rebecca,” Mama said, bustling into the room. She was holding what had been the beautiful little bonnet Rebecca had bought yesterday. Now it was a crumpled mess, its ribbons streaming down from Mama’s hands. It was a fairly apt symbol for how her life felt at the present. “I sent word to Mrs. Taylor about your bonnet—Oh, Mr. Fortescue! How nice of you to call upon Rebecca today.”
Mr. Fortescue had risen partway to his feet when Mama had entered the room, but she gestured for him to be seated again.
“As I was saying, Rebecca,” Mama continued once she’d settled herself in the chair immediately by Rebecca’s chaise longue and Albert had slipped silently outside the door. “I know that Mrs. Taylor isn’t a milliner, per se, but she does do lovely work, and even though your Season will have to be delayed again—”
“Mama!” Rebecca exclaimed in a low whisper.
“Well, never mind all that,” Mama said, finally realizing—Rebecca hoped—that she was oversharing. Mama could be a bit exuberant at times, regardless of who was present. “Won’t you join us for tea, Mr. Fortescue?” Mama said, changing the subject. She stood and crossed the room to the bellpull.
“Thank you for the invitation,” he said, standing. Rebecca watched his expression change. “But I think I shall leave so Miss Rebecca can rest. I have taken enough of your time this afternoon.”
“Nonsense,” Mama said, waving her hand at him. “If we are to be neighbors, now is as good a time as any to further our acquaintance.” She looked decidedly at Rebecca. “Especially as my daughter owes you an apology.”
