Page 6 of Managing the Major

When she finished, Richard raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “The major certainly doesn’t venture into society too often, or he would know your reputation as a horsewoman. What a gaffe! I wish I could have been there to see your face, though. You don’t disguise your disdain very well, Scamp.”

She was about to protest, but there was a sudden commotion outside the door. Freya jumped down excitedly to greet Octavia’s niece and nephew, who had broken from their mother’s grasp and were now hurtling across the room. As she hugged them tightly, she wondered if she might meet Major Fairfax again the following evening at Almack’s. It was something she looked forward to, if only to give him the snub he deserved.

Chapter Three

Major Fairfax’s Opinion of the Encounter

Alastair Fairfax set down his cup of tea on the table with a decided click. “I don’t see how asking to speak to her stable manager is the huge faux pas that you think it is, Nerissa.”

“The entire ton considers Octavia Merrick the finest horsewoman in London. Most say she’s better than the gentlemen who make such claims. How could you assume that she doesn’t know as much as the man who runs her stable?”

“Because I have never heard of the woman,” he said as if speaking to a small child.

His sister’s normally calm brown eyes snapped with annoyance. “If you are going to take rides in Hyde Park, Alastair, you should make an effort to know a bit about London society. Especially with Abigail’s future hanging in the balance.”

Alastair regretted relating the story of his encounter with Octavia Merrick in the first place. Not only had the annoying woman he met in the park ruined his afternoon, but now she was ruining his comfortable evening as well. Nerissa continued to stare as if she expected an apology.

When none was forthcoming, she sat on the sofa and picked up her embroidery, ignoring him completely. If it was one thing Alastair disliked, it was an awkward silence.

“Nerissa, what would you have me do? I certainly don’t want to hurt Abigail’s chance to make a good marriage.” He would have liked to pace, if it weren’t so damn awkward with a cane in tow.

Her fingers plied the needle relentlessly.

He cleared his throat. “Perhaps I will encounter Miss Merrick at the ball tomorrow. There might be an opportunity for another conversation to repair any damage I may have caused.”

“That would be a start,” she said as she continued to sew.

“For God’s sake, Nerissa—what do you want from me? To ask her for a dance?”

“There’s no need to raise your voice, Alastair. And of course I understand dancing is out of the question. But you could exert yourself to be a bit more…accessible. I do appreciate that you accompany us to all the necessary social events, but it really doesn’t help that you sit with your arms crossed, scowling at most of them.”

“You know I’m not comfortable attending these things, and you know why.”

“Because you aren’t the perfect soldier anymore? You’re intelligent and attractive and perfectly capable of conversation with a wide range of people. You can be charming; I’ve seen it.”

“I have no desire to subject a woman to my infirmities, if that’s the point of this conversation. Bachelorhood is far preferable.”

She put down the piece of needlework and met his eyes. He hoped he wouldn’t see pity, but her direct gaze held only impatience, tempered by affection.

“Alastair, you are one-and-thirty, far too young to sequester yourself on a country estate. Thank goodness I convinced you to take a house in London for the Season. Even after losing Lucy Danbridge, you were not like this. I see you growing old before your time, and it makes me want to hit you.”

“We will not speak of Lucy, if you please.” Even now, that episode in his life brought nothing but regret. He pushed it aside and pictured his sister, a good foot shorter, standing on tiptoe to reach him. Still, he wouldn’t put it past Nerissa to box his ears if she thought it necessary.

“You must walk with a stick, but what of it, Alastair? You’re still taller and stronger than most men. I understand that your left arm has suffered damage, but your primary one is as strong as ever. Things could be far worse. I am so grateful you came home to us, and so very proud of all you’ve done for England. Your injuries are badges of honor, not shortcomings.”

“I’m not ashamed to be seen, Nerissa. It is simply easier not to deal with the looks that always come my way and the explanations which must follow. I don’t want to be treated any differently than other men, and that’s exactly what happens.”

“Because you are a hero. People admire and look up to you, Alastair, and besides, you are still shockingly handsome. It’s not pity that I notice in the eyes of women around you.”

Heat rose to his cheeks. “Really, Nerissa—you are well aware I have no interest in matrimony. You asked me to sponsor Abigail, and I agreed. It’s cost me a fortune in a new wardrobe and kept me awake far past my usual hours, but she is my niece, and I want to see her settled comfortably.”

“You could see it as an opportunity to build your hospital.”

“What do you mean?”

Last fall, he had put forth a petition suggesting that Parliament establish a facility for the treatment and care of soldiers wounded in battle. To his great disappointment, there was not enough support to raise a vote on the matter.

Scores of former military men suffered life-changing injuries and lacked the means to recover properly. The doctors in local hospitals had little experience treating battlefield wounds and lacked provisions to make useful prosthetics. London sorely needed a hospital for that purpose, and he was determined to see it built.