“Dr. Peteson has sent you some things,” she said, seeing him in the bed with a book. He was dressed and his breakfast tray stood on the table nearby. Walking over she drew the curtains back to let in the fairly bright day. The room changed completely with the sunshine, and Lord Fortescue seemed annoyed with the light. “Do you intend on staying in bed all day?”
“I was planning on staying a little longer.”
“You aren’t wearing your brace,” she said, seeing him lying there in a soft cotton shirt. In all, he was rather informally dressed.
“I find it chafing, so I am forgoing it today. For now.”
“You might have to use some padding in places where it hurts.”
“As always, your advice is invaluable,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.
“Tricks from experienced corset wearers.”
“Torture devices.”
“Yes, but one does cut a nice figure.” Octavia blushed, because his eyes did take in her figure with the suggestion.
Putting the book to side, he rose from where he was sitting. There was still an awkward stiffness, as if he was trying to stop himself from moving his spine. But on the other hand, he looked more natural than she had seen him in a long time, as he wasn’t ramrod straight.
“Should you be doing that?” she asked.
“Will you tattle to Dr. Peteson?” he said and smiled. He came over to her and she felt as if this was wrong and dangerous. She didn’t like that he’d forgone his brace. It felt dangerous. Why was he coming over to her?
As he reached her, he took the package out of her hand, the one she’d forgotten she was carrying. He took it over to the table and groaned as he reached for a penknife.
“Let me do that,” she said.
With the knife in hand, he pointed it casually at her. “You should not be in here at all. If your father catches you in here, he will not be pleased.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re an injured man who needs care and assistance.” Granted, the notion didn’t sit as perfectly when he didn’t have his brace on. He seemed less an invalid and more of a man.
Bringing the knife down, he cut the string around the package and tore it open, showing a notion of strength she hadn’t seen in him. By no means did he appear a weak man--she just hadn’t been cognizant of his strength before. Up until now, she’d been so focused on his weakness, she’d forgotten the natural strength underneath.
“More laudanum and cod liver oil. I thought one of the blessings about coming of age was that one could forgo the dreaded oil.”
“Your body needs to heal itself. It is probably a wise gift.”
“Perhaps,” he said absently, and she was surprised he gave up his position so easily. “I think your father might have a notion that we are lovers.”
“What?!” Octavia said sharply. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
What was that supposed to mean?
“You did rush to my side when I was injured and then dragged me home with you.”
“I couldn’t just leave you.” And it had been Eliza’s prodding that had made her go in the first place. “My father knows that. We’re not heartless heathens. Neither is my father, believe it or not.”
“Well, he hasn‘t thrown me out. Do you think that means it would be a match he encourages?” Oh, now the teasing glint was back in his eye. Was this where they were taking their ongoing sparring now?
“Luckily for you, my father isn’t all that interested in the matches we make. He stays out of it entirely.” But was it a match her father approved of? It hadn’t even been something to consider—because there was nothing to consider. A ludicrous notion all around. And a new battleground that she didn’t know what to do with—or what she wanted to do with. It had unlimited potential for teasing, because to him, marrying her was probably a fate worse than death. And for her, marrying him was... just... inconceivable. “I’ll leave you to your laudanum,” she said tartly, knowing he hated how the laudanum made him feel. He'd rather suffer the pain.
There were other things she wanted to say. Primarily how ridiculous his assertions were, and secondly, to put his brace on, because he might be injuring his back further by not wearing it. At the same time, though, the point they had just quarreled about was that it wasn’t for her to nurse him, much less act like a wife. So she left feeling much more disturbed than when she’d entered.
Did her father really think there was tenderness between them? Obviously, he would never assume they were lovers, because he knew her better than that, and she was definitely not the kind of girl to do stupid things with men. She might flirt, perhaps even accept a chaste kiss, but that was all. Truthfully, she’d never really understood why girls did stupid and compromising things. And yes, she’d gone above and beyond the strict bounds of propriety in caring for Fortescue, but her intention had always been with regard to his injuries and clear vulnerability.
This had also highlighted that being the invalid wasn’t all he was, and she had perhaps forgotten that.
For the next hour or so, she wrote letters to her friends, who filled her in on the things she was missing in London. The scandals, happenings and engagements. Many asked about Julius. No one asked her about Lord Fortescue. Then again, she hadn’t told anyone the details about him and how she’d been helping him. It was perhaps a little hard to
