Chapter Five
July 3, 1817
“Must we do this every day?” A groan escaped him when Rodgers extended Finn’s leg and then folded it against his chest. He hated the exercise sessions. Lying so ignobly on the floor was embarrassing. Not to mention Wellington thought it all a great game, for she’d taken to pouncing on his chest from her position beneath any close piece of furniture.
No matter the challenges, it was conducive to thinking. Already, the next scene in his novel had come to him as he let the valet do what he must, and his fingers itched to write it down. Of course, that might also have much to do with the fact that he couldn’t evict a certain petite marvel from his mind.
“You know we do, yet you grouse about it every morning.” There was no mockery in the valet’s voice nor pity; only understanding. “We must keep your muscles pliant and healthy.”
“What the devil for? It’s not as if I’ll ever walk again.” Except, since the day at the book shop, he’d continued to have feeling in various portions of his right leg every so often. When he’d awoke this morning, it had been to a curious tingling through the limb.
The man never paused in his task. He switched to the other leg, first massaging the hardened knots of muscles, and then moving the leg and stretching said muscles. “You don’t know that.” When Wellington took a swat at him, he gently batted her away.
Finn sucked in a breath when a tweak of pain made itself known. Never had he experienced that before. “I suppose I should tell you of a change in my right leg.”
Rodgers met his gaze with a raised eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
Even Wellington stopped teasing the valet and stared at him with a soft meow.
“I’m not certain yet.” Briefly, he explained about the falling book. “It’s occurred a few times since then, but never in the same place, and right now, I can feel the knots in the muscle you massaged, feel the pressure of your fingers.” He watched the valet’s face carefully for any sign of his thoughts. “What do you think it means?”
“Perhaps your original surgeon was wrong.” The valet shrugged. “Is it possible to regain the use of your legs?”
“I’m too frightened to think of what might happen.” Could he truly be restored to his former self before that Waterloo incident had changed his life? “Besides, it’s only the one.”
“Let’s try an experiment.” Rodgers took hold of Finn’s right foot. “Can you wriggle your toes?”
No matter that he had the thought, told his brain he wanted to move his toes, nothing happened to said phalanges. Streaks of cold disappointment moved through his chest. “It’s useless. No doubt these random patches are merely aberrations.”
Wellington climbed onto his bare chest. Her purring soothed the worst of his emotions, and she hunched down, her front paws stretched out to his chin, her blue eyes never leaving his face.
“It’s more than you had in the last two years, and I’ve chosen not to give up hope.”
Finn blew out a frustrated breath. He stroked a hand down the cat’s sleek back. “Then you’re a fool, Rodgers.” So had he been for one shining moment in that book shop.
“Perhaps I am, but so are you if you believe not having the use of your legs means the end of your life.”
The sound that left his throat was a mix of a strangled sigh and a scoff. “Not you too.” When his cat meowed and moved her face closer to his, he scratched her behind an ear.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, sir.” Rodgers continued to exercise Finn’s muscles while he regarded him with speculation in his eyes.
“You’re exactly like Lady Jane and her perpetual sunny attitude that solves nothing.” It had been two days since their meeting at the book shop and subsequent tea at the chocolate house. Two days since she’d given him a brief history of her life and the subject matter that had made her cry. Two days since he’d decided that perhaps having her around as a friend or a companion wouldn’t be such an annoyance after all. Never in his life had he known a woman more open and trusting than her. When tears had made an appearance, he could finally understand her in that grief.
Rodgers’ eyebrows lifted into his hairline. “I wasn’t aware you have a lady in your life at the moment.” Shock reflected in his hazel eyes and he paused the exercises. “How did you meet? For that matter, where? I’ve been with you for the duration.”
Heat crept up the back of Finn’s neck. He fixed his gaze to the ceiling, uncommonly aware both the valet and the cat stared at him. “You have, except when I went to the book seller.” He lifted his arms above his head, stretching, and then rested them on the floor.
“Ah, that was my day off.” Rodgers nodded. “Try to push your leg into my hand.”
“She and I met by accident, I suppose.” Try as he might, Finn couldn’t make his leg or foot obey his brain’s command to fight against the valet’s hold. Had he imagined those random pockets of feeling? He shook his head. Obviously, the nerves were permanently damaged. Perhaps they were dodgier than he’d thought, which had resulted in the bits of sensitivity. “I met her at the Nattingly rout nearly a week ago.” When all his aggravation—and his interest—had begun.
“Oh? Did you get on with her?”
“Not at first, but she’s a rather tenacious individual.” And she had the most adorable splash of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. “I met her again a couple of days ago at the book shop. She was as managing then as she was at the rout.” He frowned at the towel wrapped around his private parts like a damned baby’s nappie. It circumvented embarrassment while out in public.
Just another reason he could never be with a woman.
Wellington, ever observant to his change of mood, stood and licked the tip of his nose. She stared at him, whiskers quivering, until he lifted her up and set her on the floor beside him.