Page 35 of Managing the Major

She recalled her conversation with Richard and realized he meant that Alastair’s wounds might run deeper than just what was obvious. It should have made her cautious, but she wanted to embrace him, to smooth all his scars and show him how desirable he was despite them.

Genevieve set aside her plate with a sigh. “I could eat far more than one of those lovely croissants, but I won’t. So, what is next on our agenda?”

Alastair rose, and Octavia noticed for the first time that he carried no walking stick. Although his movements were careful, there was no sign of favoring his injured leg.

“Would you care to retire to your chambers for a bit and rest, or are you game for a tour of Fairfax?”

“A tour,” they said in unison.

“I’ll send Thomas to call for the carriage; that way, we can cover most of the property.”

His housekeeper had emerged to clear the table, accompanied by a younger woman. Both wore black dresses with white aprons and muslin caps. The major might have a limited staff, but they were pleasant and capable. This impressed her, as well as the stately, yet inviting residence.

“This is Mrs. Carter. Her husband has been my valet for many years. And here is Annie, who will attend to your needs.”

Annie bobbed a curtsy. “If you wish, I can unpack both your bags and bring a pitcher of water and some fresh towels to your chambers.”

“That would be excellent. Thank you, Annie.” Octavia turned to the housekeeper. “The meal was delicious, Mrs. Carter. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted such wonderful croissants.”

“I thought roast chicken might do for dinner later, if your ladyships agree. There’s a fine garden here at Fairfax, and we’ve harvested a few spring vegetables already.”

“Perfect. I fear you spoil us with your hospitality, Major Alastair. Genevieve and I might easily overstay our welcome.”

“That would be impossible,” he smiled. “Please, make yourselves comfortable in the drawing room while I see to the carriage.”

*

Alastair caught Thomas on the way back from the stables and ordered the barouche brought down. It was older than his customary Brougham, but serviceable and open for sightseeing.

The night before, he had hardly slept, alternating between anticipation for Octavia’s arrival and wondering if he’d make a fool of himself. Was it a mistake to let her come? He worried Fairfax might disappoint her when compared to the palatial estates she called home. But all had fallen into place. The weather was temperate with no rain in sight, and even the hawthorns around his house had cooperated by blooming early.

Frowning, he wondered why in perdition Lucy had spoken to Octavia the other night. And why had she approached him, for that matter? Surely, she didn’t hope for a reconciliation after jilting him for another man. Though her sudden reappearance had been a shock and quite disconcerting, he had long ago put aside the pain of that betrayal.

The question was, what should he tell Octavia about Lucy? Explaining the situation wouldn’t be easy, and perhaps the past was better left buried. As far as he was concerned, Lucy Danbridge—or Lady Crawford as she was now—no longer had a place in his life.

When he reached the house, Freya waited outside the door, wagging her tail in welcome, and followed him inside. Genevieve sat on the leather Chesterfield sofa, lazily fanning herself, and Octavia stood at the far wall studying a series of horse prints.

She turned, and his pulse jumped. The urge to kiss her had consumed his fantasies since Monday, when he had come close to doing just that in the middle of Hyde Park. Surrounded by a halo of sun streaming in the window, the buttercup yellow of her fitted dress shimmered with motes of light. She wore her chestnut hair loosely piled in a collection of ribbons and curls, which emphasized her slender neck. He wanted to take out every pin and watch the abundant waves fall free.

She indicated the drawings. “Are these your racehorses? And the collection of trophies on the table?”

Octavia looked so right standing there in his drawing room. The moment she first stepped onto the property, it was as if she belonged at Fairfax. How on earth was he to keep his hands from her for the next two days? “Racing was my father’s passion. He didn’t breed horses but had a fine eye for a two-year-old and an excellent trainer who brought them along.”

She fingered one of the blue satin ribbons. “These are from Newmarket.”

“Yes. He had several that ran there successfully. Unfortunately, I was too busy with my career to continue his pastime. The only horses here now are for work or riding.”

“Doesn’t the earl have a horse racing this year?” Genevieve asked her. “Lord Hope is in ecstasy over the colt.”

“Richard loves the sport and usually has several prospects in training, but this is the first year he’s bred his own to race. He plans to enter Firefox at Newmarket in a few weeks. But enough about horses for today…we shall bore Genevieve to tears. I’m eager to see your property, Major Alastair.”

“As a matter of fact, I think the barouche just pulled up.”

Several pleasant hours passed as Thomas guided them through the streams, fields, and apple orchards that comprised Fairfax’s forty-odd acres. Spring was ripening since April began, and the hills and pastures were verdant and dotted with wildflowers.

They passed by his impressive stone stables and surrounding paddocks, which Alastair assured Octavia she could explore in the morning. He was very conscious of her sitting across from him, her skirts spilling across the seat, and the elegant boots peeping out underneath. She wore a broad-brimmed bonnet festooned with yellow and white daisies, and Freya sat at her side, the dog’s eyes half closed in the warm sun. Lady Hope’s ensemble was sky blue, and the bright color that surrounded him in the carriage rivaled the blooms of the field.

That, and the lively conversation between Octavia and Genevieve, entertained and delighted him more than any day he could remember at Fairfax since childhood.