Chapter 25 Ninth Day of Wooing a Wife
Chapter twenty-five
Ninth Day of Wooing a Wife
Aubrey
Aubrey woke to find Eleanor gone from his bed—returned to her own room sometime in the early morning hours, he supposed. But the indent of her head remained on the pillow beside him, and the faint scent of lavender lingered on the sheets.
He pressed his face into her pillow like a besotted fool and smiled.
"My lord," Morrison's pained voice came from the doorway. "Dr Fielding has arrived for your examination. Might I suggest you attempt to look less like a man who has been—" He stopped, his expression scandalised. "Less dishevelled?"
"No need for euphemisms, Morrison." Aubrey sat up, wincing at the pull in his hip. He swung his legs carefully over the side of the bed. "Send him in. I need to discuss something important with both of you."
Morrison's eyebrows rose, but he simply nodded and withdrew.
Dr Fielding entered moments later with his usual cheerful energy, medical bag in hand. "Good morning, Lord Madeley! How are we feeling today? Any pain? Swelling? Unusual symptoms?"
"I'm feeling excellent," Aubrey said. "And I need to stand today. Properly stand. For the orphans' luncheon this afternoon."
Dr Fielding's smile faltered. "My lord, while your recovery has been remarkable, standing for any extended period may aggravate the symptoms."
"Not extended. Briefly to greet the children. To show unity with my wife and appear as her husband properly." Aubrey met the doctor's eyes directly. "And in two days, I need to walk. With a cane, yes. But I need to be able to take my wife to a ball."
"A ball?" Dr Fielding blinked. "My lord, I don't think you understand the consequence of what you’re asking for."
"I understand perfectly." Aubrey's voice was firm.
"I've been bedridden for nearly three weeks.
I've spent that time watching my wife manage everything alone while I lay useless in this bed. It’s given me ample time to reflect on my past actions, and presenting her to the ton is the first step in making amends.
Even if I have to sit most of the time and cannot dance.
I need to get there on my own two feet."
Dr Fielding studied him with new interest. "This is about Lady Madeley."
"Everything is about Lady Madeley," Aubrey said simply. "So tell me what I need to do. What's possible. Because I will do whatever it takes."
The doctor was quiet for a long moment. Then he began his examination, prodding Aubrey's hip, testing his range of motion, assessing the healing wounds with practiced efficiency.
"The hip joint itself seems stable. No signs of infection or complications," Dr Fielding murmured as he straightened. "You're in remarkably good physical condition, my lord. Better than most men your age, certainly. That's worked in your favour."
"So it's possible?" Aubrey tried to keep the eagerness from his voice and failed. "I can stand today? Walk in two days?"
"It's pushing it considerably." Dr Fielding's expression was stern. "But given your excellent recovery and your apparent determination, yes. With conditions."
Aubrey sat forward. "What conditions?"
"Two canes. Not one. Two. For proper balance and weight distribution.
" Dr Fielding held up a hand when Aubrey started to protest. "Non-negotiable.
You need support on both sides to avoid putting too much weight on the injured hip.
And you sit frequently. Every ten minutes at minimum.
No prolonged standing. No stairs unless absolutely necessary.
And certainly no dancing beyond perhaps swaying in place. "
"I can work with that." Aubrey's mind was already racing ahead, planning. "Two canes. Frequent sitting. Minimal movement."
"And if you feel any sharp pain—not discomfort, but actual pain—you stop immediately." Dr Fielding's voice was grave. "Promise me, Lord Madeley. No amount of romantic gesture is worth crippling yourself."
"I promise." Aubrey met his eyes. "I won't be foolish. Not after coming this far."
Dr Fielding turned to Morrison, who had been standing silently by the door. "Fetch two walking canes. And prepare to assist his lordship with standing exercises. We'll start slowly and build up his endurance over the course of the day."
Morrison bowed and disappeared, returning minutes later with two elegant canes; dark wood with silver handles, clearly retrieved from somewhere in the house's depths.
"Excellent." Dr Fielding positioned himself on Aubrey's left side. "Morrison, take his right. We'll help him stand, let him get his bearings, and then see how much weight he can bear on each leg. Ready, my lord?"
Aubrey gripped both canes, his heart hammering with a mixture of anticipation and fear. "Ready."
"On three. One... two... three."
They lifted him carefully, and Aubrey found himself standing for the first time in three weeks. The world tilted alarmingly for a moment, his left leg screaming in protest, but he gripped the canes and held steady.
"How does it feel?" Dr Fielding asked.
"Like my hip is on fire," Aubrey admitted through gritted teeth. "But bearable."
"Good. Now try putting more weight on the canes. Let them support you rather than forcing your legs to bear it all."
Aubrey adjusted his grip, leaning more heavily on the canes. The burning sensation in his hip lessened slightly.
"Better," he managed.
"Excellent. Now, very carefully, try taking a step with your right foot. Just one step. Use the canes for balance."
Aubrey slid his right foot forward, keeping most of his weight on the canes. It was clumsy, awkward, nothing like his usual confident stride. But it was movement.
"Good! Very good. Now rest for a moment before we try the left."
They practiced for the next half an hour. Standing. Resting. Taking small, careful steps with the canes bearing most of his weight. By the end, Aubrey could manage perhaps ten steps before the pain became too intense, but it was progress.
Remarkable progress.
"This should suffice for standing during the luncheon," Dr Fielding said, helping Aubrey back to bed.
"And by Christmas, you should be able to manage short distances.
But remember—frequent rests. No heroics.
And Morrison—" He turned to the valet. "You're responsible for ensuring he doesn't overdo it. If he collapses, it's on your head."
Morrison's expression suggested he considered this deeply unfair. "I shall do my best, sir. Though my master has proven remarkably resistant to common sense where Lady Madeley is concerned."
"So things are going well with Lady Madeley then?" Dr Fielding asked with barely concealed amusement as he packed his medical bag.
Morrison's pained expression deepened. "Going well is perhaps an understatement, sir. My master has become sickeningly sweet. It's quite alarming, really."
Aubrey glared at his valet. "Sweet? I am not—"
"You asked me to procure her mother’s pearls, fresh flowers for her breakfast table, string quartet for Christmas dinner," Morrison interrupted, ticking items off on his fingers with the precision of a man cataloguing disasters.
"You've been sighing. My lord, you've been sighing. Like a character in a Gothic novel."
"I have not been sighing."
"This morning, I found you smelling Lady Madeley's pillow."
Dr Fielding choked on what might have been a laugh.
Aubrey's face heated.
"It sounds like love," Dr Fielding said, his eyes twinkling. "Quite a severe case, I'm afraid. Possibly terminal."
"Don't encourage him," Morrison said darkly. "He's already impossible to manage."
Dr Fielding was openly laughing now. "I must say, Lord Madeley, I've treated many patients recovering from injury, but I've never seen one quite so... motivated by romance."
"My wife said she’d be leaving the day after Christmas," Aubrey said, his voice turning serious.
"I am uncertain if she still plans to, but I am not taking any chances.
So yes, I'm doing everything in my power to show her that I see her.
That I will spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of her. "
The room fell silent.
"Well," Morrison said finally, his prim expression softening almost imperceptibly. "When you put it that way, I suppose your obsession is somewhat more understandable."
"Somewhat?" Aubrey raised an eyebrow.
"I suppose your heart is in the right place."
"High praise indeed, coming from you, Morrison." Aubrey hesitated, then cleared his throat before addressing Dr Fielding. "Doctor, there's something else I must ask. Is it still your opinion that I may not be able to father children?"
Dr Fielding’s brow creased thoughtfully.
"Father children? I recall expressing concern immediately after your injury, yes.
At the time, the extent of trauma to your groin was uncertain.
Severe contusions to one testicle can occasionally impair fertility, especially if blood flow is compromised or tissue is destroyed. "
Aubrey gripped the edge of the table. "But now?"
"Now that the hematoma has resolved, and there is no evidence of lasting damage—no infection, atrophy, or pain—I see no reason to assume permanent harm.
You have two testicles, Lord Madeley. Even were one to lose some function, the other is typically sufficient for fathering children.
Your overall fertility might be minimally reduced, but you are by no means rendered sterile. "
Relief crashed through Aubrey with such force he nearly sagged with it, only just managing to keep his composure.
"Though I must say," Dr Fielding added with a wry smile as he gathered his instruments, "no number of healthy testicles will matter if you're refused by your wife.
I suggest you focus your efforts there." He laughed as he headed for the door.
"Good luck, Lord Madeley. Something tells me you'll need it. "
After the doctor left, Morrison began laying out Aubrey's clothes with his usual meticulous attention to detail.