“Well, considering,” Eliza said. Teresa took a seat without being invited to. The lack of proper etiquette wasn’t alarming, but noticeable. Eliza didn’t seem to mind in the least. There was an utter familiarity between the women. “Tea?”
“I would love some,” Teresa said and reached to serve herself. Again, it wasn’t something Octavia found distressing, but she couldn’t help but to note the transgressions.
“How is the business faring?” Octavia asked.
“It is faring sufficiently well, but we have a problem. Vermin have eaten through one of the grates and have transgressed.” This clearly was not an acceptable topic of conversation for a ladies’ tea, but Octavia was learning to expect all manner of unexpected things when it came to Teresa Broadman.
“Those grates are made of steel.”
“Well, we might have to consider something thicker and made of iron. There had been something nibbling on our wares.”
“We can’t have that,” Eliza said. “I’ll have to write to Lord Fortescue to see what he can recommend. This is his responsibility.” It was jarring having him brought up in the conversation—again. Octavia tended to forget he was actively the landlord for the warehouse Eliza housed her business in.
“Oh, and we got a letter from the Shelling Commission,” Teresa brought up.
“What do they want now?” Eliza said, less than impressed.
The discussion continued back and forth for a moment. Octavia just observed it. It was entirely unlike the discussions she had when people came calling. This must be more like how men were with each other. Utter plain speaking. It was interesting to observe, and it reminded her that there was a whole different side to Eliza that she didn’t always see. The businesswoman. Unfortunately, Octavia had nothing to add to the conversation.
Chapter 16
THERE WAS A SURPRISING amount to do on an estate if one searched for it. The weather was turning colder and the rain didn’t seem to stop. The fields were bedded down for the winter, but now was the time to do everything else—mend fences, fix equipment, maintain the buildings. The tasks were endless once Finn had started.
The invitations kept coming, many having been redirected to find him. It was true that he should head back to London to participate, but he just couldn’t bear it. Still, a wife was not to be found out here.
News had reached him that a tree had fallen across the northern track, which was causing a lot of problems for the cottages up that part of the estate. It was only passable on horse, he understood. Something had to be done, so he headed out to see. The best thing to do was to saw it into pieces and then chop it up, but it would take time, being a substantial tree, apparently.
Dark skies told of more rain to come. It hadn’t stopped for days, which was hampering a few of the tasks he wanted to finish. His oiled coat was good at keeping him dry, for the most part.
Riding along the road, he reached a bend where there was typically a nice view, but the weather lessened visibility. Suddenly, his horse got jittery and he reined her in, before being distracted by a crack that sounded disturbingly unnatural. His mind told him something was wrong before his body had a chance to respond, and then the rumbling started.
Kicking his horse, he urged her to sprint, and she needed no telling, but rocks were tumbling around them, terrifying the horse who stopped in frozen panic. Finn kicked it into action again, along with the more severe rumbling behind them. The hillside was giving above them and coming away. There was real risk of being swept away with it.
Water, rocks and earth poured over the bank ahead, but the worst was behind him. It was all happening too fast to look, and looking at it wasn’t the priority. Getting out of its way was all that mattered, and so far they were managing.
The rush seemed endless, but the horse sprinted toward the crest of the road to where it was safer than in the gully. Then the horse whinnied in panic, and a moment later, Finn felt himself fall. Then blackness. This might be it, he conceded somewhere in his mind.
*
He woke into darkness, and he immediately knew something was very wrong, but he couldn’t remember what. His head pounded. He had to escape.
“Don’t move, my lord,” a voice said. A familiar voice. Mr. Fuller. Finn instantly relaxed. “You’ve taken a bit of a tumble.”
“Best to move as little as possible,” another man said and Finn paid attention again. “You likely have a concussion, so you may feel sick if you move. More importantly, if you move, you’ll do more damage.” Damage? What damage? “Try not to move at all. Not a bit, do you understand?”
Finn nodded. If he actually moved his head, he wasn’t sure, but it flared with sickly pain. Made worse when someone lifted his head up, but the cool water that trickled into his mouth was merciful on his throat.
“You’ve broken your back, my lord,” the man said, “but there is still some response.”
The words sunk in and Finn immediately focused, opening his eyes. Even in the darkness, what light there was hurt his head. “Broken?” What did that mean? Was he to never walk again?
“It’s imperative you do not move. Your legs could yet be saved, provided you don’t move.”
The message was starting to get repetitive. “Fine,” he said, his voice barely more than a croak.
“Some laudanum will help with the discomfort and will help you sleep. The best thing you can do for your body now is to sleep and to not distress.”
Finn was never one to distress, he thought,
