Chapter Thirteen
July 20, 1817
Finn gently moved Wellington’s back feet from his notebook as he scribbled line after line in his story. The cat sat on one side of the small secretary where he sat to catch the afternoon light, but progress was slow, for the feline thought the whole of his attention should be on her.
“Truly, Wellington, why are you striving for over-the-top annoying today?” He sighed as she flicked her tail, much like a gray-blue snake, over his paper and ran the risk of collecting drops of undried ink on her fur. “I must advance this story or else I’ll lose the momentum.”
It had been two days since Jane’s visit, and since then, his muse had returned with renewed vigor that had him hard-pressed to keep up with. Wellington, of course, didn’t like that. He’d thrown himself into the book to stay busy and make certain his mind was occupied, for he’d enjoyed his time with Jane on the terrace more than he’d probably should.
Neither of them had discussed future plans or physical intimacy, but it didn’t matter. Having her in his life at all was a boon he was loathe to let go. Though he’d wanted nothing more than to kiss her, hold her, tell her how grateful he was she hadn’t shunned him, he’d hesitated. Yes, she’d confessed her feelings for him, but he didn’t want to harm their friendship—or budding romance—by rushing his fences or embarrassing himself again.
If the connection binding them was strong, the next progression would happen naturally without interference from him. At least, that’s what he’d chosen to believe, for anything else was terrifying to contemplate.
He sat back in his Bath chair and contemplated his cat. “Wellington, I think I might be falling in love with the lady. And I said might. Such a thing hasn’t happened to me before, so I have no way of knowing.” Why he’d said it aloud, he didn’t know, let alone spill the secret to his feline companion. “But it’s folly of the first order.”
Wellington meowed. She blinked but her light blue eyes remained fixed on his face.
“Why?” He set his pen into its holder and then stroked a hand along the cat’s sleek side. “As much as I adore her, I don’t want to consign her to a life with me that’s not whole.”
The cat bumped his hand with her head.
“I can’t give her everything a man should. Hell, I don’t even know what I want for my own life at the moment.” For years, he assumed he would take up the reins of running Hadleigh Hall in Derbyshire, but now he wanted a more fulfilling role for himself. After being at the Marsden clinic, seeing the real need of men like him, he rather thought his mission in life was to give of himself in order to help others through their own darkness. Too damn bad such a position wouldn’t come with enough coin to keep a household running, if at all. To say nothing of the fact that Jane was an earl’s daughter and used to a certain way of life, a position in society. His chest tightened. “No, try as I might, I don’t see any of it ending well.”
The honorable thing to do was tell her he wished to keep their relationship a friendship. If he were a true gentleman, he’d encourage her to accept Ballantrae’s suit, wish her well and happy even if such a development would shred his heart.
He snorted, and Wellington meowed. “I rather think I’m not one-hundred percent a gentleman, girl.” For if he were truly honest with himself, he wanted Jane in every facet life would give. That invisible connection that bound them together hadn’t lessened. In fact, it had doubled in strength, and even now he felt that tug to his heart. “But that’s selfish, isn’t it? She deserves everything good in life, and some of that she’ll never find with me.” At least he’d spoken it and could now process it and eventually accept it.
The cat flipped over onto her back, paws in the air with a come hither look in her eyes.
“Oh, no. I’m not such a nodcock to try and stroke your belly again. You bite me every time I fall for it.” Instead, he shook one of her front paws and then patted her head. “Back to work. At least on paper, my characters can have the happy ending that I can’t.”
Wellington wriggled until she laid over his notebook. She flipped her tail and meowed.
“You think a man like me can defy the odds?”
She leveled her blue eyes on him as if daring him and telling him to believe in himself.
Finn sighed. He scratched the cat behind her ears. “What lies between her and me and a glorious ending is a handful of mountains, and I don’t have the use of my legs. How can I assume to climb them?”
This time, her meow was more forceful… and then she bit his finger.
“Fine. I’ll try, but you needn’t be mean about it.” Though, in that attempt, if his heart were shattered, would he be able to survive the inevitable sucking darkness a second time knowing Jane wouldn’t be there to catch him?
Gooseflesh raced over his skin. It was both terrifying and exhilarating to contemplate.
A knock on the open door wrenched Finn from his musings. He glanced over. “Rodgers, what’s amiss?”
“Nothing I can tell. However, Lady Jane has arrived. She wishes to take you riding.”
“I beg your pardon?” His lower jaw dropped slightly open. “Riding, in my condition?”
The valet shrugged. His lips twitched with the same amusement lining his expression. “That is what she said, sir.” He plucked a piece of lint from his immaculate brown jacket. “What shall I tell her?”
“Where is she?” Despite the shock of her request, excitement gripped him. He hadn’t been riding since the middle of his career in the military.
“The downstairs parlor. I intercepted her while the butler is running an errand and figured there’d be no need to bring her up to the drawing room if you wanted to categorically refuse her offer.”
Finn snorted. “Which is a polite way of saying it’s rather a bother to convey me between floors.” There was no bitterness attached to his statement, only truth.