Lifting his body by balancing his hands on the armrests of the chair, he scooted himself to the edge of the seat. This time when he leaned forward and reached over the nightstand, his fingertips brushed the bottle. “Almost have it.” If he strained a bit more, he could grasp it.
With a firm meow, Wellington leaped from the bed to land hard on his shoulder. The added weight of the cat destroyed his delicate balancing act.
“Damn it.” He tipped out of his chair, falling, but on the way down, his temple cracked against the corner of the nightstand. Brilliant white stars erupted behind his eyes as pain exploded through his head. As he hit the floor, darkness closed in on him and the voices of depression laughed even as he lost consciousness.
Failed again.
*
July 15, 1817
Finn came awaketo the sound of rain drumming against his windows. His head ached like the devil and when he lifted a hand to examine it, a length of cloth bandage was wrapped about it, covering most of his forehead and left temple. The insistent sound of purring came from the direction of the foot of his bed, and when he slightly moved his head and glanced there, Wellington lay curled in a tight ball with her nose tucked beneath her tail, asleep. Beyond her, his Bath chair awaited.
When he turned his head back, the sight of his writing notebook on his nightstand brought memories rushing through his mind. A groan escaped him. His hastily scrawled note as well as the laudanum bottle were conspicuously missing, but a look across the room showed them resting on the bureau top.
Immediately, fabric rustled at the open doorway. His mother swept in, a bright splash of royal blue color in the gloomy room. She bustled over and sat in the straight-backed wooden chair someone had put close to his bed. “I’m glad to see you awake and alert.”
Finn pulled himself up into a sitting position. He propped a few pillows behind his back. The scrape of the sheet over his bare chest gave him pause, and he frowned. “Why am I naked?” Well, naked as much as still having the towel wrapped about his privates would allow. His throat was scratchy from disuse. “How long have I been out?”
“Almost three days. When we found you, you were covered in blood from your head wound. That necessitated changing your clothing,” his mother said in a soft voice as she swept her gaze over his person.
“How did you know I was in peril?” A growl from his stomach betrayed his need for food.
“Wellington kept making an awful racket until Rodgers came in.” She shrugged. “He found you on the floor, lying on your stomach. Your cat was sitting, paws tucked beneath her, squarely on your back, as calm as you please, no doubt telling him it was about time he answered her calls.” She dabbed at the corner of her eye with a lace-edged handkerchief. “Yesterday evening, you woke briefly.”
Finn glanced at his cat, who remained asleep. “I dreamed Drew was here.”
“That must have been when you woke, disoriented. You’d sat up, glanced at your brother—who had just arrived—and then went promptly back to sleep. Rodgers laid you down and tucked you in.”
Cold sweat formed on his back. “Why is Drew here?”
“He’s the head of the family. I wrote to him the morning after Rodgers found you because I needed him to take things in hand.” She eyed him as if he’d suddenly vanish into thin air. “After we found your note.”
“Ah.”
“How could you, Phineas?” Tears welled in his mother’s eyes. “Do you think we’re such monsters that we don’t want you here or that we don’t love you still?”
Hot guilt crashed into his chest. “Drew doesn’t.” The fact his older brother was even beneath the same roof as him brough out gooseflesh.
“If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have come.”
I highly doubt that.He snorted. “Did you, ah, inform Lady Jane of my injury?” Shame twisted through his chest. Now that he’d failed at the suicide attempt, he felt… relief. Did that mean he hadn’t wished to end it all to begin with?
“I sent a brief note the same time I sent word to Andrew. I also sent notification to your surgeon. He came immediately and looked at your wound. Said it wasn’t deep and that head injuries always bled profusely. No doubt it’s already scabbing over.”
“Oh, God.” If Doctor Marsden knew he’d attempted to kill himself, he’d never approve of a courtship. He caught his breath. Did he wish for such? More to the point, did Jane want to wash her hands of him now?
Speculation lit his mother’s eyes. “Is Lady Jane important to you?”
Yes, she’s as vital to me as breathing, as sunshine.“She’s a friend, which is why I wanted her to care for Wellington.” He ignored the heat creeping up the back of his neck. His stomach growled again. “Might I have tea?”
“Of course.” His mother rose. “We shall talk later, but I trust you’ll not frighten me like that again?”
“I hope not to.” Once she’d left, he looked at his cat, nudged her with a toe until she awoke. She slowly lifted her head. “Thank you, old girl. You saved me from making a horrible mistake.”
She meowed and went back to sleep.
A scratching on the door frame preceded the butler’s arrival. “A parcel has arrived for you, Major Storme.” He brought a small box into the room. Wrapped in brown paper and tied with a length of twine, it gave off a mysterious air.