“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 you 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.
“There are places you both need to be,” Finn said.
“London would be much more comfortable for you as winter sets in,” Melville suggested.
“Yes,” Finn said absently, knowing the journey would simply be beyond him. It was too far to travel in the state he was in.
Outside, Octavia threw down some piece of greenery she had picked up and turned back to the house. The wind tugged slightly on her skirt and hair as she wasn’t wearing her bonnet.
Melville shifted and crossed his legs. “Forgiving her brash manner at times, she’s quite a sweet girl. I suppose the way she was raised, it’s hardly a wonder she lacks some of the finer sentiments. Her father has always been a bit of a brute, and her brothers have always been... pronounced. The softening influence of their mother dissipated with her death, sadly. So their influence has been predominantly from their father. Stubbornness is a family trait, but they’re not devious.”
“It’s been generous of both of you to see to me through this period. I will not forget, but I understand
