“I am Lady Warwick’s landlord.”
“Ah, the warehouse in Lambeth.”
“Yes.”
“I’m surprised my cousin hasn’t bought it from you. He has the funds to.”
“It hasn’t been discussed.”
“But then I think his take on it is that she will soon become too busy for such endeavors. I believe she is with child.”
“So I understand.”
“There is some business partner or other,” Melville stated.
“Mrs. Broadman,” Finn filled in. He also knew that over time, he would be dealing more and more with Mrs. Broadman. She was a direct woman without much charm. His understanding was that she didn’t particularly like him, but he got the feeling it wasn’t personal. Miss Octavia, however, was a different kettle of fish entirely.
Speaking of this devil and she returned. “Our rooms are being prepared. I’m not sure when supper will be ready. You cannot come down, of course.”
“No,” Finn said, recalling all the meals where he’d had to be spoon-fed. At least he wasn’t still so unable, but truthfully, it was still a messy affair, even as he managed some of it by his own hand. “You will have to dine without me.” An audience was still something he insisted on doing without. “And after, I will rest.”
Having visitors had taken it out of him, even as he’d reticently liked having them here. It was better than staring at the ceiling of this entirely silently house—even if it was Octavia Hennington. The truth was that he hadn’t been bored since she’d arrived, but the company was taking a toll. As soon as he ate, he would fall asleep, and he probably needed to.
“We’ll leave you,” she said. “Come, Melville. Let's find those rooms. Rest well.”
A moment later, he was there alone in still silence once more. He slumbered until he was woken by Mr. Fuller with the arrival of the evening stew. It was the simplest food, the vegetables all cooked until they barely held their consistency. It was invalid food, and he hadn’t minded until now when he had guests to feed. This food was not to the standard someone like Miss Hennington expected, but he was too tired to care.
*
Finn woke when Mr. Fuller entered his room, followed by Dr. Peteson. Normally he woke as soon as the sun rose, even before, but today he had slept longer. It had to be the trial of having guests that caused him to sleep more than normal.
“It’s arrived,” the doctor said, holding up a contraption of brass and straps. “It’s the brace.”
“Right,” Finn said, feeling skeptical about it.
“Shall we try it on, then?”
This time, the doctor carried more than his typical black bag, and lay a cloth bundle on the table and rolled it out. “It will need some adjustment to ensure it fits properly. Ideally, you would sleep with it too, if it’s comfortable enough.”
Finn couldn’t imagine that being at all comfortable. The metal was cold as Dr. Peteson brought it to his body. It was partially a corset with brass extensions that stretched up his back and front. Carefully, he had to roll to his side to get it in place, and then roll back, each time worried he would feel that twinge of pain in his back that said his healing just undid itself. Slowly they moved him around, and his back felt as though it strained in places, but not the sharp pain he feared. It did up along his sides with ties, and Finn felt exhausted once it was finally in place.
The doctor tweaked, bringing over various tools from the table, making the contraption even tighter. He felt he could barely breathe within it.
“Alright, shall we try to sit up?” he said. It was curious how people said ‘we’ when they actually meant him. He tried, but his muscles felt weak and the contraption didn’t allow him to get leverage.
“How can I sit up with a straight back?”
“You might have to roll to the side. It’s awkward, I admit.”
Even rolling was hard. The contraption had no give whatsoever. He was like a plank trying to roll. Both the doctor and Mr. Fuller had to help maneuver him until he awkwardly sat, leaning back against the pillows. It was certainly not comfortable, the brace keeping him locked ramrod straight. But if it saved his back, it was worth it.
“Perhaps we should try to rise,” the doctor suggested, and they grabbed him around the arms and pulled him to sitting at the edge of the bed. His leg muscles were weak as he stood, but he did stand. It felt nice to be upright. Unfortunately, getting there had exhausted him.
“Good,” he said, remaining standing, partially afraid he would collapse if he moved. “I might sit down again.” It felt a little like defeat, but this was a good step in the right direction. His back was immobilized, but the exhaustion from the injury was something else entirely. Luckily, the concussion was healing somewhat, so he didn’t feel like throwing up every time he moved. “But this is good.”
Carefully, he lay down again, just as awkwardly as he’d sat up. He was even too tired to worry about the discomfort of the contraption.
“It has been suggested,” Mr. Fuller said, “that his lordship’s bedchamber be temporarily relocated to the music room downstairs.” Finn wondered whose suggestion that was—he felt he had some idea.
“Well, that is something to consider. Do you feel up to tackling the stairs?” the doctor asked. “Obviously, if you go down, you will have to make your way up again. Moving downstairs may be a good idea while you recover. It’s quite a distance, and the stairs will be hard to tackle at first.”
Finn didn’t say anything. The last thing he wanted was to move downstairs like an invalid, but the truth was that he was exactly that. His body was weak, and these injuries would take longer to get over than he’d like. It was the simple truth of it. So either he hide up here in his bedroom, or he move downstairs. “I will rest now.”
“Are the guests up?” Finn asked.
“Not as of yet, my lord. Mr. Torville made an effort to drain some of your wine reserves last night.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“You have guests?” Dr. Peteson asked. “That is marvelous.” It wasn’t the reaction Finn had expected.
“Why don’t you stay for lunch, Dr. Peteson?”
“Well, I...,” he said, checking his watch. “I really do have some visits I must conduct.”
“Then come visit for supper. I...” He was about to say he would try to make it downstairs, but he wasn’t sure he could guarantee that. “If nothing else, you would have my gratitude for entertaining my guests for me.”
“It would be an honor,” the doctor said brightly. Normally, it wouldn’t occur to Finn to invite people for supper. Such social activities hadn’t been of interest to him. It had always been his father’s domain to deal with the local dignitaries. But he should perhaps include the doctor after everything the man had done.
Chapter 21
SURPRISINGLY, OCTAVIA FOUND Lord Fortescue sitting by the window when she sought him at midday. His bed had been empty, so she’d been confused for a moment, before noticing the chair facing the window. “You’re up and about,” she said, walking closer.
It struck her how pale he was. “Barely,” he said. “But it is nice to see something other than the ceiling.”
“I can imagine.”
No one else was in the room, which wasn’t strictly appropriate, but he was essentially an invalid, so no one could complain too loudly. Grabbing one of the chairs, she pulled it over and joined him. “Would you like some tea?”
“No,” he said.
Crossing her arms, she sat quietly and the awkwardness grew. They had so little to talk about, especially as Octavia could carry a conversation with just about everyone. With him, though, it seemed as if everything was awkward and uncomfortable. But the fact that he hadn’t thrown her out of the house showed he was rather desperate for some company—if not care, and she wasn’t convinced in that regard. His staff were remiss in the simplest things.
“I understand the gamesman has brought some venison,” she said. “You do like venison?”
“I’m not particular.”
“Good. Well, there is venison tonight.”
“I’m not sure I will be able to attend. The doctor is coming for supper.”
“Oh, right. The more the merrier. Have you given any thought to moving downstairs?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Well, I’m assuming as you gain strength, you can do more and more.”
“Like sit in the salon?” he said with a snort.
“Like go outside on the veranda. Fresh air and sun are better than doctors, my grandmother always said.”
Octavia wondered if he was struck a little with melancholia. It would hardly be surprising with such a debilitating injury.
“I think if you were to move, it might be best that they carry you down, bed and all.”
“There’s a bolster for my pride,” he said with a smile.
“It’s not the time for pride. This is something one must simply endure, and try to get through it as best as possible.”
“What have you ever had to endure?”
“That is an unfair question,” she stated. People had a habit of looking at her and assuming her life was a bed of roses. Well, rose beds came with their compliment of thorns.
“I’m sorry,” he conceded, which was something she hadn’t expected him to say. “I’m touchy at the moment. Getting here from the bed was onerous. I don’t like being like this.”
“I don’t think anyone would like it.”
“On second thought, I could use a whiskey.”
“Absolutely not. You’ll have to try to beseech my cousin for such vices, but I will not budge, and right now, he’s not here. I think I saw some rosehip tea down in the pantry. It would do you wonders.”
“Have you been prowling my pantry?”
“Just making sure things aren’t falling apart. When was the last time you had a look in your larder?”
“I can resoundingly say never.”
“You don’t say. But I will inform you that it’s not sufficiently stocked for you to spend the winter here. These country houses are marvelous in the summer and spring for being self-sufficient. Everything grows in marvelous quantities, but winter must be prepared for, and you haven’t prepared.”
“I’m sure we can purchase whatever we need.”
“Well, I don’t think you should strip the nearby village of their supplies. You will need to send a cart to the nearest town. You’ll need at least four sacks of flour, a hefty jar of baking soda, a good ten pounds of butter, and that will probably not see you through winter. Yeast too, of course. Salt, sugar, jams.”
“I’m not a fan of jams.”
“No, but you are also not the only person here, and people need their summer fruits. Tea, coffee.”
“Fine, you have made your point.”
“I can prepare a list for you. And you might want to send word to the nearby farmers that you haven’t prepared for winter. They might be able to supplement you, but it would be wise to give them notice.”
“I’m not feeding an army.”
“In a way, you are. Luckily, as this house is so thinly managed, it is a very small army.”
“Thank you for your analysis of my domestic management skills.”
“If it makes you feel better, they are no better than my brothers’,” she said with a smile. “More distressingly, I’m sure, your stocks of tipple will eventually run out.”
“Can’t have that. What will I do here during the long, grueling winter?”
“It might actually be better to take yourself off to London when you’re well enough to travel.”
“I’m sure that won’t be for quite a while.”
“No, I dare say you’re right.” In fact, it was quite worrying him being here on his own all winter. Not that she distressed over the fact, but as one human being to another, there was some basic concern that he be able to take care of himself. “As I said, you should come downstairs and enjoy the company while you have some. If not for yourself, I don’t think your man can handle the stairs for so much longer. Why are you still employing him?”
“What am I supposed to do?” Finn asked. “Mr. Fuller doesn’t have any clue what to do with himself if he doesn’t care for the family. I have suggested retirement, but he won’t hear of it. My intention was that he largely retire here while I went to London, but it didn’t work out that way. Now I lean on him more than ever.”
Octavia saw his point now. “The work is too much for him in caring for you.”
“I realize. I just find it difficult to demote him, which I would if I brought someone younger in to do most of the tasks that he sees as his.”
“I take it he has no family.”
“None that he wants to see.” It was quite a dilemma. Servants were tricky things. They weren’t family, but in a sense they were, and one owed them loyalty after all the loyalty they had shown. She could well imagine it would break Mr. Fuller’s heart to have to give up his post after a lifetime. Many servants were even born onto the estates they worked on. How could one say they had no right to the place where they lived and worked? It was a tricky thing, and she didn’t have an answer. She understood Fortescue’s reticence to act. Shifting himself to London had been a way of working around it, but that wasn’t an option right now.
“Anyway, I’m sure Melville will be quite happy to organize your wine cellar for you. He is quite an expert.”
Fortescue smiled, and it might have been the first time she’d seen him smile since she’d gotten here. Probably since before that. “I will move downstairs,” he conceded. In light of their discussion about Mr. Fuller, it was the kind thing to do, because a man like Mr. Fuller would hide his pain, even as his knees were giving out.
“Excellent. Then I’ll organize some burly men to carry you. I am sure some will be found in the village, or nearby farms. And maybe Melville with come up here and delight you with the planning for your wine cellar.”
“I look forward to it.”
He sounded tired and Octavia felt bad, because she expected this conversation had stolen all of his energy. By the look of him, he was paler and his eyes slower in movement, even as he sat ramrod straight. It seemed so unnatural, but the brace did allow him to move and to sit. It didn’t give him strength, however.
“You should eat more often. It will give you strength. I will see if I can find some nibbles. We might have to ply you with chocolate and candied morsels.”
“A further blow to my pride. Besides, I doubt you will find either in this house.”
“Another thing to add to the list.”
With a smile and a nod, she left, but she didn’t feel at ease. Yes, she could restock his larder, but that didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t staffed sufficiently well to be cared for properly, and he, understandably, struggled to retire Mr. Fuller—which was something he needed to do. Perhaps when he gained more strength, the stark inadequacy wouldn’t be so glaring, but as it was, he and this house were not in an acceptable state to leave him in. they simply weren’t.
Chapter 22
AS THE DAYS PASSED, FINN did gain more strength, but the brace was much too uncomfortable to sleep in. Mr. Fuller had to help him out of it each night and then into it in the morning. It was a risk, but sleeping with it on was just impossible.
During the day, he managed to get up and sit. Anything more than that was just beyond him at this point. But he felt better being able to sit rather than lie in bed endlessly.
His guests diligently stayed. At the same time, he wished not to inconvenience them, but he was grateful for the company, feeling that having something to participate in was helping him with his recovery rather than simply existing in an empty house. Mr. Fuller, for being a saint for putting up with this, was not a great conversationalist.
Of late, he became grateful for small victories, and even tiny pleasures. Slowly, he was healing, but he was worried about the strain on his most trusted retainer.
“There y
ou are,” Mr. Torville said, appearing in the salon. “You look much better.”
“I feel better.” At least he didn’t feel at risk of passing out anymore. He might not have the strength to do much more than sit, however. It was still a good step.
Outside the window, Finn could see Miss Octavia walking. The weather was cold and gray, but the rain had stopped for a moment. Perhaps she was finding the house tedious and stifling too. In fact, she was missing much of the activities in London, and by the looks of it, she thrived on the social scene. There was also some new man she had an interest in, apparently, and she was forgoing all that to be here for him.
It was touching, and the most anyone had ever done for him. “I am grateful for your company,” he said to Melville.
“It’s a difficult time for you, and even as you were a complete stranger when I came here, I’d like to think of us as friends.” They’d even managed a game of cards after supper the last two evenings. Granted, supper was held at six and he was in bed and asleep by seven-thirty. “It’s good to see you getting stronger.” There was a tone that suggested that Melville was starting to think about returning to his life.
“You have been very kind and considerate, and thanks to you, I’m accumulating a wine cellar many would be envious of.”
“Well, it was a pleasure to sample our way to perfection.” The sampling had been one of the main pastimes. They’d debated which they’d liked and then ordered more of them. A curious amount of alcohol had been delivered to the house, and sacks of flour.
“I feel like I have waylaid you too long,” Finn offered.
“Nonsense. What are friends for?”
“Sometimes friends need to encourage their friends to not escape their own lives for too long.”
Melville smiled. “Julius is returning soon.” His eyes were on Octavia, who leisurely walked across the lawn. She seemed to have no particular destination.
Miss Octavia Insists (The Henningtons Book 2) Page 11