Richard wiped the tear from her cheek. “I wish the same,” he said, his voice as quiet as hers. “However, he belongs with his kin. Tomorrow, book a carriage to take you both to Brampton.”
She stared at him opened-mouthed. “But what about you? Your exercises?”
“Send word to Mrs. Donovan to return,” he said with a smile. “I will not give up my routine, I promise. You do not need to be by my side every moment to be certain I do what I am told.”
“I know you will not,” she replied with a playful smile. “For you are far too brave to do so.”
Their gaze did not waver as they sat on that couch together. At times, there are no words needed to understand the feelings of another, nor their thoughts. As the night grew deeper, Abigail continued to hold Richard’s hand, their words few more often than not. It was not the stories they shared of the past that brought her joy but rather the silence between the tales, the time to reflect. And as they held hands into the night, a familiar feeling danced inside her heart. It was the same feeling as the day she had mended his arm. It may not have been as strong, but like all good things, she knew that, in time, that feeling would only increase.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The day before Abigail was to leave for Brampton, Richard woke in a foul mood. A frequent complaint he had was to wake with his feet left uncovered whilst he slept. He could sleep through the heavy footfalls of servants in hallways, the loud shout of one of his parents angry with a maid, but if his feet grew cold during the night, it made for a disagreeable morning. This morning it especially bothered him, for though it was summer, there was a slight chill to the air. A storm had developed over the horizon sometime during the night, and little sun shone through the large windows of his bedroom, leaving the room cooler than normal and his toes both chilled and tingling.
With his eyes closed, he tried to force the grumpiness to pass. It was such a trivial thing and certainly not worthy of his ire. Abigail would be leaving soon, and he could not ruin their final day together before she was to be gone for so long.
Then his eyes opened in alarm and he peered down at his toes, which stuck out from the bottom of the blanket. He could feel the fact that the blanket did not cover them! The realization hit him as if an angry ruffian had punched him in the stomach, only less painful.
He propped himself up on his elbows. In the muted sunlight he stared down at the ten digits.
“Do I try to move them?” he whispered, too afraid to try. What if he did so only to learn that his mind was playing tricks on him and that what he felt was not real? The despair would be more than he could handle.
Yet, he had to try. Sending all his focus to his feet, he urged them to move, even with the slightest twitch, but they did nothing. He dropped his head back; he did not even realize he had been holding his breath. Then he placed his gaze back on his toes and concentrated with every bit of energy he could muster.
“Move!” he shouted, though he continued his intense deliberation. Then, must to his delight and surprise, his large toe moved! He cried out with joy and returned his concentration on his toes once again. When two moved, he dropped his head back and laughed with delight.
Perhaps my legs will move, as well, he thought with excitement he could hardly contain. When they did not, slight disappointment tried to push away his initial happiness, but he stifled it immediately. He had to be appreciative of what he could do, not annoyed at what he could not.
Like a child amazed at a magician’s trick, he wiggled his toes again and he reeled with glee once more.
“Richard?” Abigail called out.
His mind raced. Should he tell her the good news? What if all he was capable of moving were his toes? That did not mean he would walk again.
His wife came rushing into the makeshift bedroom, her face filled with concern and her eyes full of worry. “I heard you cry out. Are you well? Does anything hurt?”
Again, Richard struggled with whether he should tell her and risk the chance of getting her hopes up to what may not be, or keeping the news from her and seeing what more could be done. Then there was the journey she was to take with Patrick. He could not send her off for over a week with such uncertain news. Doing so would only make the separation that much more difficult.
“I…” he stammered. “I had a dream.
“A dream?” she asked as she came up to stand beside the bed and took his hand in hers.
“Yes,” he replied, though it pained him to lie. “However, it was a good one.”
She sat on the edge of the bed. “Oh?” she asked with a smile. “And about what did you dream?”
“I’m afraid I do not remember most of it now, but it gave me a sense of hope.” He indicated with his hand that he wanted to move to the chair, so she stood and moved away. It had become a habit now that he get himself from the bed to the chair without assistance, a task he had to fight tooth and nail to gain for himself. His insistence paid off, for, in the end, he had won the chance to do something for himself.
He pushed his legs over the edge of the bed and then used his arms to lift himself into the chair. Though the task remained a struggle, it became easier every day, and he looked forward to when he would be able to move to his chair in moments rather than minutes.
No, he looked forward to the day he would walk once again! When Abigail turned her attention away, he focused on his toes once again. They did not move, but he did not give up hope, not this time. He had the greatest of dreams just within his reach, and he would not fiddle away what little good had come to him.
“Dreams are beautiful,” he said as he looked into her lovely green eyes when she returned to his side. “And I do believe we must follow them.”
“That is right,” she replied, placing the small blanket he liked on his lap. “And never give up.”
“Oh, I promise, I will not,” he said with a smile.
It was difficult for him to not throw the blanket off himself and show her what he could do, much like a child wishing to demonstrate his first balancing trick. However, he would wait until she returned, when he was certain he could move those digits again. Or perhaps more if he set his mind to the task with enough incitement.
“I must see that Patrick is awake,” she said and leaned over and kissed his cheek, something she had come to do often, much to his delight.
A few moments later, she was gone, and feeling mischievous, he glanced down and let out a laugh when his toe moved once again.
***
The carriage waited in front of the cottage as Abigail kissed Richard goodbye. “I shall return in one week,” she said as if speaking to a child.
“I am missing you already,” he replied. How much he meant those words! How could he have even considered sending her away all those weeks ago? And with his newfound hope, he could not wait to begin his important work. Convincing his legs they could move. He had spent the entire day before and late into the night sending every ounce of his energy into keeping his toes from returning to their dormant state, with great success. His legs ignored the messages as of yet, but he refused to allow them to win out in this game they played.
The driver had informed Richard and Abigail that the journey to Brampton would take three days, barring any problems such as heavy rain or a broken wheel, both of which the man doubted would cause them any trouble. Richard hoped and prayed that Abigail would be returned to him quickly, for staying his tongue was almost as difficult as moving his legs. Plus, he found he would miss her dreadfully.
Another reason he wished them to be on their way soon made his breath catch in his throat. He would miss Patrick more than he had initially thought. The boy had become a part of their home, but Richard knew every boy needed to be with his own family. Knowing this did nothing to soothe the sadness, however.
“Goodbye, Sir,” Patrick said as he stepped forward, his lip quivering.
“Goodbye, Patrick,” Richard returned. “I will miss you.”
The boy let out an anguis
hed cry and threw his arms around Richard. Richard closed his arms around the boy and held him just as tightly, though he fought back tears whereas Patrick allowed his to flow. It was not an easy task, that was certain, but he had to be brave for the boy’s sake.
“You have been granted the title of the Brave,” Richard said into the boy’s hair. “You must always remain so. It is a strength that will serve you, and others with you, in life.”
“Yes, Sir,” Patrick said as he pulled from the embrace.
“Miss Abigail has informed me that your reading lessons are coming along nicely,” Richard said in an attempt to change the conversation to a much happier topic.
The boy nodded. “Oh, yes. I have read some of the bestest of stories.”
Richard reached into the inside pocket of his chair and pulled out a small book. “This book is about a brave boy much like yourself. I want you to practice your reading until you are able to read it on your own. It is my gift to you.”
The tears that had subsided in the boy’s eyes returned, and he threw his arms around Richard once more. “I’ll keep it with me always!” he said with a wail. “I’ll read it many times; I promise.”
“I am sure you will,” Richard said with a chuckle. “Consider it a thank you gift for all your help. We will always be in your debt.”
The boy nodded as he wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, the book clasped at his chest in his other hand.
Abigail placed her hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Come,” she said quietly. “It is time for us to leave. Go on ahead and tell the driver I will be there momentarily.”
Patrick sniffed and picked up a small bundle that Richard knew contained several small treasures he had collected during his time in the cottage. The boy had lain out a large cloth and in it wrapped several seashells, a few glittering rocks, and other bits and bobs he had found on the beach or Abigail had given him. Then, with the greatest of care, as if he was enclosing the greatest treasures, he tied the cloth into a bundle and set it aside with a sigh. It was at that moment that Richard realized how much he would miss the boy. Watching him walk away with that small collection only solidified it all the more.
“I will return as quickly as I can,” Abigail said when Patrick had left. “I will miss him dreadfully.”
Richard gave her a smile. “As will I.”
“A thought came to me,” she said. “What do I do if I cannot find his grandfather?”
Richard had wondered the same since they first had spoken of Patrick’s return to his family, and after several hours of consideration, he had made a decision. He had no doubt Abigail would readily agree. “Then, I believe you should bring him back with you. If he has no family, then we have no choice.”
“Oh, Richard!” she said with a squeal as she threw her arms around him. “That would be wonderful! We could have him as our own son, and we could get him a tutor…”
Though it pained him, Richard interrupted her. “Do not risk your heart being broken. We must assume the man will be overjoyed to have his grandson returned to him. It would be best if you did not get your hopes up.”
Abigail sighed. “You are right and your words are wise.” She smiled, though it was weak. “I will see you in seven days.”
With a final exchange of farewells, Richard moved his chair over to the window to watch Abigail join Patrick in the carriage. Soon, the vehicle was out of sight. His heart was saddened by the fact the boy had to be sent away, for he had hoped to take the child on as his own, as well. Patrick was strong and possessed a good heart, both of which would be sorely missed. However, they were doing what was right, and that could only mean that all would be well, even if it caused him grief for the time being.
Turning the chair around, he pushed it back to what had become his regular place before the fireplace in the sitting room. He had other things on which to concentrate at the moment, something to take his thoughts off the hurt he had inside at Patrick’s sendoff. And he knew just the thing.
Gripping the sides of the chair, he picked up first one leg and then the other, allowing them to flop to the floor between the footrests. He still could not bring his legs to move, but he laughed as he reveled in the feel of the rug under his toes. His grin widened when he realized that it was not just his toes that felt the softness of the material, but the bottoms of his feet did, as well.
“This will be easier than I thought,” he said with a chuckle.
With renewed confidence, he pushed himself forward. He could still feel the rug beneath his feet. Well, they would not stop him from doing what needed to be done!
One final push of his hands on the arms of the chair sent him forward, and for a moment he thought he would get his legs to heed his silent command.
Unfortunately, his legs could have been nonexistent for all the support they gave him, and though he had no feeling in his lower limbs, his groan was loud, for he certainly felt the pain of his face meeting the floor with a loud smack.
***
For the first three days following the departure of Abigail and Patrick, Richard focused all his attention on compelling his legs to do as he commanded. Sweat poured from his brow and trickled down his face in streams, and still they would not do as he willed. Since that first fall, he had been more careful; he could not do all this work simply to land on the floor and put all his energy into picking himself back up again. Therefore, he used more caution, which led to fewer instances of falling, though he did fall again, several times, in fact, over the course of those following days.
Today, rain pelted the window and covered his groan as he hovered above his chair, held up by his arms once again. He would not fall again! By now, he not only had sensation in his toes and the soles of his feet, but his ankles had gained some bit of feeling, as well. They were significantly weak and therefore unable to hold him without the use of his legs, but he reveled in their discomfort nonetheless.
As he hung there above his chair, he paused, considering his options. He could return to his chair and remove the risk of falling once again, which was the safer decision compared to his other option. However, he closed his eyes and his thoughts went to Abigail, the love of his life, the woman who had become his bride. She had a strength about her she did not recognize, and because of that strength, he had not given up that night on the beach. How simple it would have been to hurl himself into the ocean, even if it meant dragging his broken body through the sand by his arms. Yet, he had not done so. Instead, his thoughts of her had stayed his body.
Yes, spilling to the floor once again was a great possibility, but if he did not make any attempt, if he kept himself tied to that wretched chair, he might never find himself able to leave it. He refused to be bound in such a way. All his life had left him bound in one form or another. Bound to his father and his wishes. Bound to his mother and her greed. Bound to his title and the constraints of society. Not once had he felt free to live free of such constraints. And now, he was bound to a wheelchair and unable to move about as he wished.
“Well, I will have no more of it!” he shouted even as his muscles in his arms trembled from the weight they held. “No more!”
He would risk everything to have Abigail love him as he loved her, and he knew for a certainty that, regardless of what she said, she could not love a broken man. That meant it was up to him to put his body back together again. For it was her words that encouraged him every morning as she exercised his legs, and at night as they sat together and shared what was on their hearts. They had grown closer during their time together at the cottage, and he knew he had to try as often as he could, if only for her.
Closing his eyes, he pushed himself forward, straightened his back, and looked down at his legs, a smile breaking on his face. Though it lasted only a moment, it may as well have been a lifetime for the joy he felt. For the first time in a long time, he saw the world around him from the heights he once had, and the emotions it brought him were overwhelming.
The fall that followed was p
ainful as he caught himself just as his head hit the side of one of the tables. It was not as devastating a blow as it could have been if he had not been ready for it, and he laughed as he lay on the floor rubbing the side of his head. For not only did that part of his body ache, but his knee did, as well.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Abigail wasted no time upon arriving in Brampton to ask after Mr. Pollard, the man who was the father of Patrick’s mother. Within an hour, she had the answer she sought.
“Ye’ll find him ‘bout a mile outside the village to the north,” an old woman said with a frown, her gray hair pulled back into a severe bun at the nape of her neck, “At the old Sharpton place. Can’t miss it; its windows’ been covered with boards.” She shook her head. “That man ain’t done nothin’ with the garden in years, not since that daughter of his took off with that Winstop boy. Her leavin’ like that ruined him.”
Abigail ignored the woman’s harsh opinion. “I appreciate the information,” she said, though worry fell over her. If the man was incapable of caring for himself, how would he ever be able to care for a young boy?
When she returned to the carriage, Patrick asked, “Did you find him?”
She forced a smile. “I believe I have,” she replied, trying to hide her reluctance. “Apparently he has his own home in the country. A wonderful place for a young boy such as yourself to explore.” She agonized over whether she was making the right choice. However, Richard had been correct; the boy needed to be with his family. If this man had been devastated over his daughter leaving, perhaps having his young and vibrant grandson with him would bring him a happiness he had not had for many years. If what the old woman had said was accurate. Regardless, Patrick was an extremely capable boy; he would be well regardless of in whose care he remained.
The thought did little to relieve her anxiety, however, as the carriage made its way down the lane. As the woman had said, the tiny house was located a mile away. The front area was filled with weeds that covered anything that might have resembled a garden. The remains of a barn sat behind the house, its roof caved in, leaving a single underfed cow to weather the elements.
Rescued by the Duke: Delicate Hearts Book 2 Page 16