Page 36 of A Sense of Fate
‘Feeling better?’ Flora asked, leaning against the door jamb and watching the domestic scene unfold.
‘Much better.’ Melanie smiled up at Flora.
‘You must be exhausted. As soon as Polly has finished with your hair, you had best get to bed.’
Melanie glanced at the bed, which must seem both enormous and the height of luxury. The girls had been obliged to share rooms in the family home, and the beds had not been nearly so comfortable. Even so, Melanie looked uncertain.
‘Can I…I don’t…’
‘Of course. I should have realised.’ She smiled and pinched Melanie’s cheek. ‘Bring Melanie through to my room when she’s ready to retire, Polly. She will be sharing with me tonight.’
Chapter Eight
Archie woke early on the morning after Flora’s visit, grunting as he moved his limbs and waiting for the pain to subside before ringing for Pawson.
‘Morning. The blizzard has blown itself out,’ his man said, proving his point by pulling back the curtains and flooding the room with weak winter sunshine. ‘The snow’s thawing and I have the groundsmen clearing the driveway.’
‘Right.’ Archie winced as he eased himself into a sitting position and waited for his injured side to decide what tricks it would play on him that particular day.
‘I have that new cream Miss Latimer insists will help you,’ Pawson said.
‘It probably won’t.’
‘Even so.’ Pawson pulled back the covers, ignoring Archie’s bad tempered effort to hide his embarrassment and applied the cream to the affected areas. ‘You can tell her you didn’t try it if you like, but personally I wouldn’t dare.’
Archie looked away and allowed Pawson to attend him efficiently without allowing any potential revulsion for the criss-cross of ugly raised scars that decorated Archie’s body to show. Pawson had made himself indispensable, but was still, when all was said and done, a servant. A well paid one, with influence over Archie’s household and a man whom Archie listened to when he needed advice, but a servant nonetheless.
Pawson had come into Archie’s service by fortuitous accident two years after his fall when Archie had been recovering in France. Pawson had been intent upon escaping the clutches of the wife whose family he served. He was a handsome rogue of a man with a perpetually wicked glint in his eye that appealed to the ladies, and his master’s wife wanted more from him than he was prepared to offer her. He subsequently told Archie that he knew better than to begin a dalliance with his employer’s wife, an attractive woman who craved male company and enjoyed invoking her husband’s jealousy.
In retaliation for Pawson’s disinterest she made up stories about him, complaining to her husband that he had overstepped the bounds. The family had been travelling in France at the time and Pawson had beaten a hasty retreat, only to find himself broke and out of employment in a foreign land.
He had come into Archie’s service at a time when Archie wondered if he would ever walk again, and if there was any point in continuing to live if he didn’t. Pawson was a strong man, and he needed to be because he was required to lift Archie. He bullied him into attempting to walk, not showing the slightest signs of sympathy, which made Archie ashamed of the fact that he had fallen into a morass of self-pity.
The two men had become friends, the lines between master and servant increasingly blurred, and now Archie would be lost without him. Pawson knew all the particulars of Archie’s disastrous entanglement with Magda, and was the only person who also knew of the depth of his involvement with Eloise, the French nurse.
Pawson was devoted to Archie, and Archie knew that he was too well trained to show the abhorrence he must feel at the sight of his battered body.
Flora, on the other hand…
Archie pushed that thought away, aware that he could not afford to dwell upon the unattainable. She would be repulsed. He avoided looking at his naked reflection himself, but when he was unable to avoid catching a glimpse of it, he found the sight revolting. He couldn’t abide the thought of a woman he felt such an indefinable connection to pitying him, or forcing herself to touch him.
He had learned to cope with all reactions to his impediments emotionlessly, with the stark exception of pity.
‘Finished?’ he demanded crossly, unwilling to admit that the cream felt cool and soothing.
‘Just about.’ Pawson gave Archie his arm and helped him to his feet. Archie waited for his joints to adjust to being upright and then made his way into his adjoining bathroom, taking his time over his ablutions.
Dressed, Archie made his way downstairs and broke his fast, as was his custom, at the table in front of the window in his library. His secretary had placed the day’s correspondence on his desk, which he would deal with at his leisure. He consumed his breakfast as he gazed out at a world of white. Frost glistened on his lawns and thawing snow dripped from the bare branches, making a wet plopping sound as it hit the gravel outside the window. He could see a small army of gardeners and handymen clearing it from the drive, but he decided that he would not venture out himself that day. If he slipped and fell, it could prove disastrous. This latest reminder of his restrictions, the need to behave like a man forty years his senior, angered Archie. It also reminded him of all the reasons why he should not pursue Flora.
It wouldn’t be fair to land such a vibrant woman with a cripple.
He would have to marry at some point. He had assured his father on his deathbed that he would do his duty in that regard. The continuation of the family line had mattered to his respected father, and Archie would not renege on his promise. There were plenty of suitable candidates with whom he could arrange a marriage of convenience, with no emotional involvement necessary. Matters in the bedroom could be conducted dispassionately, as they so often were, without the lady being required to see his body. That would save his embarrassment—but would not, he knew, satisfy his desire for a soulmate. A desire that had grown steadily since he had become better acquainted with Flora.
Were she to become his marchioness then the clinical execution of their intimacies wouldn’t satisfy his growing desire for her. Nothing other than the physical touch of skin against skin, a mutual exploration with questing hands, would serve. Archie had forfeited a right to that particular form of bliss when he had behaved so rashly during his youth.
Sighing, he pushed his empty plate aside and transferred himself to his desk, reading through the pile of correspondence that his secretary had decided required his personal attention. The usual requests for arbitration in disputes between tenants, petitions for charitable donations and the inevitable invitations, none of which Archie intended to accept. There was however, one note that he had been hoping for a reply to and which he read twice before tapping it against his fingers thoughtfully.
He had just finished dictating letters when Pawson told him a visitor had called whom he might want to receive.
