by Rye Hart
“Would he offer for her?”
“Perhaps. I couldn’t say,” Nanny said reluctantly. “Great families marry for their own reasons. The Penningtons don’t need wealth, they have plenty of their own. But he must marry someone and Lady Lenore is a great beauty.”
“What about her family?”
“They’re not as wealthy as the Penningtons. I believe that Lady Lenore must marry well. That’s the tittle-tattle, anyway.”
“I see.”
When she returned to her own room after another cup of tea with Nanny, Cressida thought about the conversation. There were things that she could not write in her book when she recorded her account of the day’s progress. She had trespassed into areas which bordered on gossip, something that she never did in her professional life. Why, she wondered, when she put the book away, doused the lamp and went to bed, had she probed Nanny for so many private details about Lord Richard? It was most unlike her to venture into such subjects as his engagement and any plans to marry. It was none of her business; he was merely a client.
Chapter Eight
Although he protested that Miss Lockwood seemed to be preparing him to take on Gentleman Jackson in a boxing match, Lord Richard found that he enjoyed the physical rigors which his nurse set for him. His upper extremities quickly regained their former strength as he continued with the exercises which she provided. But when she told him that it was time for him to work on his lower extremities, he did not conceal his unease.
They were returning from the stables. Lord Richard met with El Diablo several times a week, their meetings always an occasion of mutual affection. He frequently stayed to give the stable hands his thoughts on the foals and colts which had been born and whether he thought they would continue the reputation for distinction for which the Pennington breed was known.
Cressida no longer had to push Lord Richard in his chair. Although the Earl thought it unseemly, his son insisted on making the wheels of his chair move on his own power. He and his nurse traveled side-by-side back to the manor and their conversations evolved into a camaraderie.
“I wonder if I could be content as I am,” he said.
The November air was chilly, and the trees were bare of their leaves. As the season prepared to give way to winter, the temperatures were less accommodating to prolonged time outdoors. Lord Richard noticed that Miss Lockwood showed no signs of being deterred by the colder weather; her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright, her coloring made more vivid by the chilly air. Her hair, slightly disheveled by the wind, was even more becoming, he thought, for its imperfect state. He had always expected women to be impeccable in their attire, deportment and sense of style so that, whether he had been escorting his former fiancée or attending a ball, women complemented his appearance.
But Miss Lockwood, who made no effort to enhance herself, was arresting in her own way. It was a puzzle to Lord Richard, but so many things this autumn were bewildering to him. From the virtual interment of his life after the riding accident to his gradual restoration to, if not life in London society, then a return to his position as a member of his household. He felt as if he had become a different person. He owed this change to Miss Lockwood, he knew. She was very easy to confide in; she had seen him in his weakness as no one else had, but she believed in his strength. He put the grim day of his accident, when he had been sprawled on the ground, unable to raise himself upright, as Lady Lenore had stared down at him in dismay, out of his mind. Those days were gone. He could not undo the past.
“What do you mean?”
“You have changed my life. I’m not what I was a year ago, but I’m no longer what I was two months ago. Before you came, I could not even envision how I would endure the next day. Now, I enjoy being awakened by Rheims in the morning. Poor chap; I was quite vile to him.”
“He’s very loyal.”
“Yes. I didn’t realize that before, you know. But I believe that he’s as delighted in my progress as I am. He is much more engaging in the morning when he shaves me. I think that, in some ways, I am happier now than I was before the accident. That’s ludicrous, is it not?”
He looked more handsome than ever before, the weather taking away the tamed aristocratic demeanor and giving him a look which suited him. She found that she had to look away from his eyes because the temptation of staring into them had become too powerful for her to resist. His company had become a matter of personal pleasure for her, absent from the professional relationship that they shared. This was not, she understood, a positive development. The dilemma was to determine how she could separate her emotions from her work.
“Ludicrous? No, I don’t think so. You have changed. Illness often does that.”
“Have your previous patients undergone the same transformation? I know that I was a veritable monster to you,” he confessed, giving her a sideways glance.
Cressida laughed. “Most of my patients, as you were, had to deal with their frustrations. It’s perhaps harder for a man.”
“Miss Lockwood!” he said in mock dismay. “How dare you speak of such things? Are you blushing?”
“I am not! The wind has no doubt made my cheeks red---“
“The wind be damned. You are blushing. Finally, I have disrupted your composure. Would you be very, very shocked, dear nurse, if I told you that I have reason to believe that perhaps your confidence is not misplaced?”
He stopped pushing his chair. Cressida had no choice but to cease walking.
“Have I trespassed on your sensibilities?” he asked.
“No, certainly not. Your physical wellbeing is something to be considered objectively. As a nurse, I have no reason to treat one physical act differently than the others. A patient is---“
“Miss Lockwood,” he interrupted.
“Yes?” she replied, aware that the color in her cheeks was not entirely due to the November chill. She had always maintained a strictly professional manner in dealing with her male patients so that there was no need for them to be abashed at disclosing their physical progress.
“You are blushing. May I tell you that it is a great relief to me that, after so many months of feeling as if I were less than a man, I am finally able to embarrass a woman? That’s not very gentlemanly of me, is it?”
“It is not, Lord Richard,” she said, giving him a stern look. “You are quite the rake and I should slap you.”
He smiled. His dark eyes were pulling her into their depths, a dark pool of thoughts and shared secrets which created an intimacy between two people who had no ostensible reason to regard their relationship as anything other than a professional one. Yet, as Cressida forced herself to glance away from his gaze, she could not halt the way in which her heart beat faster because she was in his company.
“I am surprised that you didn’t do just that on that first day. I was unpardonably rude to you.”
“Most of my patients behave in the same way. I did not regard you as rude.”
“What if I don’t want to be viewed in the same manner as your other patients?” he asked softly.
“Lord Richard, please, we must concentrate on our mission, which is to see that you are walking again and resuming your former life. We cannot allow ourselves to be distracted by-by-“ she foundered at the end of her sentence. “By personal feelings,” she finished weakly.
“So you confess that you have personal feelings for me,” he said.
“Lord Richard, please. I cannot continue this conversation.”
“You cannot run away from it,” he said.
Cressida began to walk away. Behind her, she could hear Lord Richard laughing as if her response amused him. She could hear the noise of his chair as he followed as his own pace, in no hurry, despite the weather, to return inside.
That evening, Cressida met with the Earl and Lady Constance in the library. “I believe that Lord Richard will be walking by Christmas,” she said. “He has made amazing progress in his physical regimen.”
“Walking?” Lady Constance repea
ted.
“Yes. We have begun working on his lower limbs. Rheims has been very useful with daily massages which are helping to restore the blood flow. Lord Richard is experiencing sensations in his feet. It’s what we hoped for. He is willing to work toward the goal; in fact, he is working on his own even when I am not with him. Rheims has been with him to make sure that he comes to no harm and does not fall. He is not yet ready to walk on his own, of course, but I expect that we will now see accelerated progress.”
“Miss Lockwood! This is amazing news, if it truly comes to pass.”
“I believe that it will. That is why I have come to tell you that I will be leaving your employ before Advent begins. You will have, I think, your best Christmas in some time.”
“We must have a celebration!” the Earl said. “We shall invite guests to join us. Perhaps Lady Lenore and her family would like to spend the holidays with us. It will be wonderful for Richard to see her again and to be in full command of his abilities.”
“Yes,” said Lady Constance, her enthusiasm not matching her husband’s.
“Miss Lockwood, how can we ever thank you?” the Earl asked.
“You are paying me for this,” Cressida reminded him. “No other thanks are necessary. I am very glad to provide you with this news. I trust that this will give you a pleasant evening.”
Cressida left the room quickly, before she lost her composure and the tears that had threatened her during the conversation, exposed her as a woman, against her own wisdom, had fallen in love with her patient.
Chapter Nine
As Richard crossed the chamber, he kept sight of Cressida, framed within the soft, frail November light. She had told Rheims to dress him comfortably so that no waistcoat, no boots, no close-fitting trousers could interfere with his mobility. Lord Richard, who had been the ton’s icon of fashion, a young man who rivaled Beau Brummel for his style, now wore a shirt and trousers and soft-soled shoes as he stood up from his chair. But the days of massage and exercise came to his aid. When, for the first time in months, he put one foot down on the floor, then the other, and did not fall, his face showed fear and vulnerability. But Cressida, nodding, drew him forward, her hands clasped in front of her as if she were praying him through each step. His first steps were hesitant and brief as he crossed the room from his wheelchair to the window, but he made them without aid, and however awkward his gait, there was no denying that he was walking.
He almost moved too quickly in his eagerness to reach her, but before he lost his balance, he slowed down, regaining his pace and moved forward steadily. When he reached her, having journeyed twenty steps that constituted a lifetime from what he had been before, he saw that tears were streaming down her face.
“Miss Lockwood,” he said, taking her chin in his fingers and raising her face to view her closely, “do you always cry when your pupils pass their examinations after such a long and arduous course of study?”
She shook her head. Lord Richard bent his head to hers. Her lips were generous and pliant beneath his lips, which delivered the kiss of a man who had experienced the charms of other women, but were seeking something new this time, a physical response which blended purity and passion.
She tried to gently disentangle herself from his embrace, but he wouldn’t let her go. “Miss Lockwood,” he chided. “If you do not hold me, I may fall. It would be on your conscience. You must stop crying or I will begin to believe that I have completely lost my knowledge of how to kiss. Have I?”
She shook her head.
“Just to be sure,” he said, his dark eyes caressing her face, “I must kiss you again. But you must not cry, my love.”
She let him kiss her. It was a way to say goodbye, a way to create a memory that could sustain her when she left him so that he could return to the life of an Earl’s son. When she was back at the hospital, working as a nurse, she would remember this moment when his arms were tight around her and his lips claimed her as a woman worthy of his love.
“Cressida,” he murmured, his lips buried in the wealth of her hair. “I never knew that there could be a woman like you. Why are you silent, my love?”
She laughed shakily. “You seem to be managing quite well without my uttering a word, Lord Richard.”
“Will you not call me by my name as I have used yours?”
She shook her head. To abandon his title, that barrier which reminded her that he was above her station and beyond her reach, would be to invite peril. To let herself believe for even a brief second that Lord Richard’s gratitude for her work meant that he loved her was folly.
“Perhaps not today,” he said firmly. “But you will find that I am not easily dissuaded from my goal. You will call me Richard one day. Don’t fear,” he said, holding up his hand as she began to protest. “It will not be today. I know how to plan my battle strategy.” Taking his handkerchief, he wiped each tear from her face until the trail was gone and her face was dry again. “You see, my love, I have never appeared before a lady in such humble dress,” he told her, looking down at his garb with an expression of disbelief. “You must never tell anyone, my love, that you saw me in my shirtsleeves.”
“It’s a secret that you will have to keep, Lord Richard, when you are once again in the company of your comrades at your club.”
‘My club,” he repeated. “Do you know, in all this time, I have not given a thought to my club? I have only—“ his voice broke off and he grasped the table. “I fear I am not quite ready to stand for long on my own.”
“I’ll get your chair—“
“No!” he said emphatically and sat down on the chair by the window. “I know that I am not ready to go without the chair yet, but just now, do not expect me to return to it. You cannot understand what it means to be dependent upon a chair with wheels because one’s legs have failed. These past months have been hell. I know that I was unreasonable and ungentlemanly to you; I beg your pardon. Without your help, I would still be that bitter and broken man. You have healed more than my limbs, my love. You have healed my heart.”
Cressida took a deep breath. “There is more healing to be done, Lord Richard. You must continue to walk so that your legs are strengthened, because at the end of the week, you must ride El Diablo. Your arms are strong enough to handle the reins. By continuing to work on your lower extremities, you will be able to reassure El Diablo that you are strong enough to master him.”
Lord Richard shook his head. “You are not a rider, my love. El Diablo has no master. He allowed me to ride him; I understand that now. He will again. But I was not, and never will be, his master. I learned something else, something that I tried to explain to my father when he said that a husband must master his household the way a rider rules his horse. But I have learned that it’s the fortunate husband who had a wife that is capable of throwing him should she need to assert her own position.” There was a gentle current of humor in his voice. “I once thought, as my father does, that the husband is by nature intended to be the lord over his family and his possessions. But to have a wife who will not be cowed by her husband is to be a man blessed with a strong woman at his side.”
“Lady Constance is a strong woman,” Cressida commented.
“My mother? She never challenges my father or upbraids him. She is a very docile wife.”
“She is a master strategist in the times when I have seen her, and so effective in her efforts that your father does not recognize how much she steers him.”
“Do you think so? I must pay closer attention. Tonight, perhaps, at supper. I think we shall surprise them; what do you think?”
“I think that surprising them at supper is an excellent idea.”
“I meant that you and I would surprise them together.”
“No,” she said. ‘That would not be fair to your parents. This is the time for you and your family. It was your father, remember, who hired me. And it was your father who purchased the wheelchair even though you originally refused to use it. Let them have this night.�
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“Very well,” he said reluctantly. “They shall come to love you as I do for what you have accomplished.”
The Earl was prepared to render his gratitude to Cressida the next morning when he sent Louis to bring her to the morning room. Lady Constance and her embroidery were present as well, but her hands were empty, not busy as they had generally been. Both the Earl and his wife were smiling.
“Miss Lockwood,” the Earl began, “my son walked into the dining room last night without assistance. That is due to your work. You have been, I am sure, a virtual tyrant on his behalf, but I am no longer a doubter of your ability and I assure you that I shall gladly give a testimonial for you to use when you go to your next patient. I have never known a woman like you.”
“My husband and I will forever be in your debt, Miss Lockwood,” said Lady Constance.
“With all due respect, sir, I must share the credit. Without Rheims, last night would never have taken place. He has devotedly served your son’s needs. Your son also deserves accolades for his efforts. He did not, as you know, welcome my presence. But he met the challenge. He is a man of whom to be proud. By overcoming his physical disability, he has discovered resources of strength within himself that most people never have cause to unearth. I shall never forget him.”
Chapter Ten
As the staff prepared to array the manor in holiday adornment, Cressida was packing in her room. Lady Constance had prevailed upon her husband to alter his plans for a Christmas sojourn from Lady Lenore, and he had agreed that they would open the December festivities with a supper, to which other guests, in addition to the Crittendons, would be invited. If matters went well, as he was confident that they would, the Crittendons would be invited to spend the holidays at Pennington Manor. Lord Richard knew of the supper, although not the guest list, and supported the notion now that he was himself again. He and Rheims were in London, visiting his tailor, but were expected to be back before tomorrow evening, when the supper was scheduled.