Page 24 of Managing the Major

“But is it? Today, you almost looked wistful when I came over, and I think—”

Tight bands closed around Alastair’s chest. “I don’t think you quite understand the situation, Miss Merrick,” he interrupted. How he hated speaking of his injuries. “I’ve indeed ridden with one hand while leading the infantry—it’s often necessary. But my left leg is nearly useless on the same side.” That was an exaggeration, true, but he wanted to shut down this line of questioning as quickly as possible. “Balance would be an issue, and communication between horse and rider is paramount.”

She lifted her chin, drawing courage to continue. He wished she wouldn’t. “I think I could school a horse to compensate for that.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to the surge of emotions he experienced. A tremendous rush of hope that it might be true, quickly crushed by doubt, and followed by blistering pain for what he’d lost. Then anger flooded everything.

She took his silence for uncertainty and put a leather-gloved hand on his sleeve. “Let me train one for you.”

“So that I can promenade my infirmities in front of other riders?” Alastair said through clenched teeth. “Put myself on display for all of Rotten Row to see? You mistake me, Miss Merrick; I’m no performing monkey for you to parade around, nor am I your next pet project.”

Her face turned pale, and at once, he saw the hurt his words had inflicted. Unshed tears of anger and mortification glinted in her blue-gray eyes, and he wanted to take back every bloody word.

But he couldn’t.

She snatched the reins from his hands.

“I only wanted it for your sake, you abominable man. Do you think I lack escorts? Any number of men would come with a snap of my fingers. Foolishly, I thought you might enjoy riding again and wanted to help…but don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson!”

There was a fallen log in the grassy area by the path, and she led Lucifer beside it, mounting without help, then wheeled the horse around.

“Good day, Major Fairfax.”

Alastair watched her trot away, dumbfounded. What on earth had just happened? One moment he was himself, having a perfectly normal conversation, then he lashed out at Octavia Merrick like some cornered animal. It had been a reaction of blind panic.

But he never lost his head, not even in times of acute danger. When Alastair exited the park, his driver waited. Should he go to Merrick House and apologize? But he hadn’t a clue what to say to her. No, best to go home and strategize. Ready to kick himself in frustration, he climbed into the carriage and headed back to Ovington Square.

That afternoon, Rafe suggested visiting The School of Arms rather than going to Hyde Park. Alastair agreed with a sense of relief. The last thing he wanted was to run into Octavia so soon after their falling-out.

On the way to Soho, he recounted the incident to Rafe, frank about his sudden change in mood and subsequent harsh words. “I’m not sure a simple apology will be enough. Miss Merrick took great offense, and I can hardly blame her.”

“I agree you owe more than an apology. It sounds like she genuinely wanted to help, but your reaction—though perhaps not the force of it—was understandable, if not justified. We are different men after facing war, and our responses don’t always make sense. Do you want to ride again, Alastair?”

“Absolutely.” It had taken some soul-searching to realize how much he missed being on a horse and the independence riding would give him. What it would take, physically and mentally, was something he needed to consider. And would he want Octavia to see him go through that?

“Perhaps you’d feel more comfortable attempting this at home, in Fairfax, away from prying eyes?”

His country manor in Lewisham provided a surfeit of riding space, but its privacy appealed the most. “Of course. That’s an excellent idea, Rafe. But do you think as an unmarried woman, Miss Merrick would agree? Making it a house party is out of the question; the fewer people around, the better.”

“Miss Merrick is no debutante, but a grown woman and not under such grave scrutiny. Perhaps suggest she bring a family member or friend to serve as a chaperone. That should keep everyone’s reputation intact.”

Hosting Octavia at Fairfax presented a reasonable solution to his dilemma if she would only consent. He would compose a letter of apology and extend the invitation as soon as he got home.

Once they reached the fencing studio, Alastair found Henry Angelo doing accounts in his office.

“Good day, Major Fairfax. Is there something on your mind?”

“Henry, do you believe some rehabilitation is possible for my left side? The leg has improved a bit since I’ve been using my stick less often.”

“I do, Major. You’re still a young man, strong, athletic, and otherwise very healthy. The tendons and muscles can become stronger with exercise and training, though to what degree they’ll regenerate, I can’t say. Any nerve damage could well be permanent. But the body learns to compensate, even if that’s the case.”

Alastair tempered a rush of hope; after all, he had promised no guarantee of success. “Henry, if you agree to help me, I’ll work hard and follow your smallest instructions. Any increase in mobility would be welcome, even the slightest.”

“Of course I will, Major. Since you returned, even limited movement and the most basic fencing have brought some improvement. I’m guessing once you’ve put your mind to something, you succeed.”

He rose to indicate some diagrams pinned to the wall. “To start, there is a system of pulleys and weights in my gymnasium that would be beneficial three times weekly. I’ll also prescribe exercises that you can do with hand-held weights here or at home. We can begin today if you have time.”

By the time several hours had passed, Alastair was exhausted and drenched in sweat. Henry had given him a series of movements to repeat in succession eight times. Even the slightest effort proved tiring, and he had needed frequent breaks of rest.