Are you ready?” Mrs. Kirkpatrick asked.
Annalise looked down at her legs, already in position, dangling over the side of the bed. The eager yearning she had felt over the last weeks to finally be rid of the bed, to finally rise and walk, had swerved into something else. An anxious fear that she loathed even though she understood it. It was the same wretched fear she felt all those years ago when she rose from bed after her accident. Each morning she woke and limped—staggered in the beginning—across the small chamber she shared with her mother toward the basin of water.
Even months after her accident she would linger a few moments in bed every morning as dawn seeped through the curtains of her window, praying that today would be the day when she rose and walked like she had before the accident. Sound of body. No limp. No longer a broken girl.
What if I can’t walk at all?
What if the moment her foot touched the ground, she crumpled? A wash of bitter fear coated her mouth.
“Miss Anna?”
She snapped her gaze back to Mrs. Kirkpatrick. The housekeeper watched her expectantly, a hint of impatience lurking in her eyes. A good portion of the woman’s day was now devoted to her. She doubtlessly wanted to see her up and about, too.
Nodding, she pressed her hands against the side of the mattress and gently eased off the bed. Mrs. Kirkpatrick gripped her arm for support.
“There you go now,” she encouraged as Annalise stood, a faint hint of her brogue creeping out.
For several moments she didn’t move, testing her weight on her feet. She offered up a wobbly smile. “Good so far.” She hadn’t toppled to the ground. The only question that remained was if her leg could bear her weight as she walked.
Mrs. Kirkpatrick nodded. “Ready for a step?”
Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she nodded, not convinced she was ready at all, but unable to hide from reality. Now was the moment she learned her fate.
The housekeeper tugged on her arm, nudging her to move forward.
Annalise shook her head and shrugged her arm free. “I’m fine.” If she was to do this, she needed to see if she could do it on her own.
She didn’t breathe as she lifted her right foot and set it down. Now came the true test. She lifted her left leg quickly in a step. And didn’t fall.
A small breathy laugh escaped her. She’d done it without collapsing. She smiled widely and then caught herself. She needed to attempt more than a single step to know for certain that she could still walk. Then she could celebrate.
“There you go. On with you.”
Sucking in a lungful of air, Annalise pressed forward. One step and then another. She staggered a bit, a little unsteady, cautious, fearful of falling. Mrs. Kirkpatrick hovered close.
Gradually, her steps evened out as she walked. Her leg felt weak, but that was natural after being abed for so many weeks. She frowned as she approached the door to the room.
“Is something amiss?” Mrs. Kirkpatrick asked, eyeing her up and down curiously as she hovered close. “Are you in pain?”
At the door, Annalise stopped and turned, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “No.” She walked a little more, feeling her brow furrow in bewilderment at her even, if somewhat tentative, gait. “I’m not in pain.”
“Well. That’s good news.” The housekeeper studied her face before glancing back down to her legs. “Then what is it?”
“I’m not limping.”
“Should you be limping?”
I used to, she almost said, but caught herself. She didn’t want to refer too much to her past as long as she was feigning memory loss.
“I merely thought . . . I feared there could be a limp.” She increased her pace, hope unfurling inside her. She didn’t want to think it could be true, but the evidence was glaringly clear with her every step.
“Well, apparently those Gypsy folk knew what they were doing when it came to setting that leg. Appears you can walk on it just fine now.”
She could walk. Without a limp.
Her heart thundered madly in her chest. She approached the bed, marveling at her smooth albeit slow steps. The hope in her grew, blossoming into full-scale joy.
The first time she broke her leg, Mrs. Danvers had forced her from bed a week after her fall, insisting she would not harbor any lazy layabouts beneath her roof. By then Annalise was helping her mother in the nursery and with other tasks about the house. She was not allowed to be idle—even in order to heal properly.
Apparently this time around, being off her feet had allowed her leg to heal properly. If Mirela was in front of her now, she would have hugged her to within an inch of her life. And she knew she owed her good fortune to Owen, too. If he hadn’t found her and taken her in and given her the opportunity to recuperate, she would still be crippled. If not dead.
“You shouldn’t push yourself too hard,” Mrs. Kirkpatrick said, “but you should walk daily. Lord McDowell said you need to increase your stamina each day.”
“You spoke with Lord McDowell?” She looked sharply at the housekeeper.
The woman nodded. “Aye. Yesterday. He’s the one that told me to get you on your feet today, that it was time for you to start walking.”
So he had not totally forgotten her. After last week’s embarrassing episode in her bedchamber, she had no sight of him. She hadn’t even heard any sounds coming from the room next door. She had started to wonder if he still intended to keep his promise to her.
She glanced toward the door that separated their rooms. “Is he here now?”
Mrs. Kirkpatrick’s lips thinned with disapproval, and Annalise wondered if she thought her interest unseemly. “No.”
Absurd, but disappointment lanced through her. She had hoped he was near, that he would surface to witness her progress. She was no longer the invalid. She could look him in the eyes now instead of from a chair or bed.
She crossed the room again, walking cautiously. Her limp might be gone but she still wasn’t quite in skipping condition.
“Don’t overtax yourself,” Mrs. Kirkpatrick reminded her, standing back now, hovering less.
Her lips curved. “A moment ago you were shoving me off the bed.”
“If you overtax yourself, then you won’t be able to get up from bed at all tomorrow. You’ll be too exhausted.”
“Will his lordship return tonight?”
Mrs. Kirkpatrick’s lips went thin again, and this time Annalise did not think it was just because she disapproved of her improper relationship with the earl. It was something else, something more. “I don’t expect him tonight.”
She stood in place for a moment, noticing that the housekeeper didn’t meet her gaze, instead bent her head and concentrated on smoothing the coverlet of her bed with her hands.
And then Annalise understood. Owen hadn’t been staying here. He was spending the nights somewhere else. Her mind shied away from just where he could be. Another residence? Another woman?
A hot surge of jealousy spread through her chest.
Squaring her shoulders, she looked down at her feet and continued her stroll around the bedchamber, shoving aside feelings of hurt. It was none of her business where he spent his time. Or with whom.
“You don’t have to remain, Mrs. Kirkpatrick. I intend to walk a few more paces around the room at least.”
“I don’t know—”
“It’s as his lordship said. I need to increase my stamina.”
With a shrug, the housekeeper moved for the door. “Ring the bell if you need anything.”
Annalise focused on her steps again. She needed to be strong. Stronger than ever before. When she next saw Owen, he would not confuse her for the invalid he fished from the river. Nor would he mistake her as the woman who had so foolishly offered herself to him. She would not commit that mortifying error again.
He’d see her as a strong, healthy woman, ready for whatever instruction he could give her.
She’d make certain he saw her for who she really was. Or at least who she was determined to become.