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“D id you only work with Lord Pennyston or were there other gentlemen before him?” she asked as casually as she could.

“I worked for another fella for a little while, but I was very happy to have been moved over to the major when he transferred into our regiment. He’s a fine man.”

“How long ago was that?”

“’Bout two, no, three years. Yes. He transferred over from some cushy post, I think. I remember ’im askin’ about how much action we saw.”

“What? He wanted to engage in battle?” she asked, shocked.

“Oh, absolutely. Quite keen on it. He’s the type what likes fightin’. Likes traveling, too, and meeting people. He’s just an outgoin’ sort, you know?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t.”

“Oh, yeah. Very outgoing. And liked, goodness! Everyone liked ’im.”

“That’s wonderful. You two must have made quite the pair—both of you so handsome and friendly.”

The man chuckled, turning slightly pink. “Aww, now, that’s kind o’ ye, but I kept to my place. Enjoyed servin’ such a good man, though.”

“Indeed. And I assume he was a kind superior to you?”

“The best. Never asked too much of me, although naturally ‘e expected me to take care of ‘is things as was my job. But the other fella I worked for, ‘e had me procuring—ah… well, he had me doin’ all sorts of jobs that weren’t strictly in my purview, if you catch my meaning?”

“But Lord Pennyston was respectful of you and your position?” she asked.

“Absolutely. After he got wounded, I worked for another gentleman, but I have to say, I did miss the major awfully,” the sergeant said, reminiscing.

“Why is that?”

“Ach, just because he was so good ta me, don’t you know? Never raised ‘is voice, never made demands on me that ‘e wouldn’t do ’imself,” he said.

“I know he has a younger brother. I don’t suppose he got a lot of correspondence from him, but did he from friends?” she asked. How did one find out more about a gentleman? This was so much more difficult than she’d imagined.

Sergeant Jones shrugged. “He didn’t receive much. A few letters here and there.”

“But he was friendly with the other commissioned officers,” she said.

“As I say, the major was friendly with everyone. Quite the popular one, he was…” his voice trailed off, and he narrowed his eyes at her. “You aren’t trying to find out more about the gentleman for personal reasons, now, are ye?”

Ellen’s mouth dropped open a touch. She’d been discovered! But before she could even deny it, the sergeant burst out with a huge smile. “Oh, well now, that’s different. I can tell you, my lady, the major is the most thoughtful, kindest gentleman you’re ever to meet. You couldn’t go wrong spendin’ more time with ’im. You do so, and you’ll find yerself as charmed as everyone the gentleman’s ever met. I can tell ye.” He nodded with surety, and his broad smile didn’t falter for even a moment.

Ellen knew her cheeks were flushed, so she kept her gaze on her hands and in her lap. “Yes, I have already found him to be quite charming,” she admitted.

“Yep, he had all the ladies in the camp giggling and half in love with him all the time,” the sergeant said.

“Ladies in the camp? There were—”

“There are a good number of women attached to a unit to do laundry and other chores or wives of some of the men who followed along wherever we went, and o’ course there were the women of, er, looser morals, one might say,” he said, his own face turning slightly pink.

“Oh! Yes, I suppose so. I hadn’t thought of that.” And honestly, didn’t care to. So, dear, charming Lord Pennyston charmed those women, too, did he? She stifled a laugh. Well, he was a man after all—a very handsome man.

“He didn’t pay them too much mind. He’s an upright sort of gentleman, I can tell ye,” the man said quickly.

“It’s all right, sergeant, I understand.”

“Yes, well, you just forget I told you about that.” He paused and then smiled at her again. “He’s a very good man, Lady Moreton. You should spend more time with ’im. ‘E needs a proper lady carin’ for him and someone for ’im to care for as well.”

Ellen nodded. She’d already gone much too far in her prying than she should have. She stood up. “I am certain you are correct. Thank you, sergeant.”

He nodded as she walked slowly away, looking at the other patients to see where she might be of some help. She had a lot to think about, but one thing was certainly cemented in her mind. Lord Pennyston was a good man who she definitely wanted to spend more with.

~*~

Ellen was drying her hands after washing up at the end of her shift when Lord Pennyston entered the ward. He stopped when he saw her, a smile coming to his sadly tortured face.

“Lady Moreton, how lovely to see you here,” he said, approaching her.

She returned his smile, determined not to flush as she remembered the last time they met under the pear tree in the Emmerton’s garden. “Good afternoon, Lord Pennyston. Are you here to see Sergeant Jones?”

“Indeed. How is my favorite patient doing?”

“Quite well, I’m very happy to report.” She turned to look down the ward toward Sergeant Jones’s bed.

“Excellent!”

“I know he looks forward to your frequent visits,” she said, turning back to the gentleman.

“I’m happy to help in his recovery any way I can.”

“And what of you?”

He blinked. “Me?”

“How is your recovery going?”

He shook his head in confusion.

“Are you not working on returning to society?” she asked.

He just looked at her with a slightly confused look in his eyes. “I am not, actually.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought that was one of the reasons why you had come back to London. I must be mistaken,” she said, feeling horribly embarrassed. Why had she thought he was trying to build up the courage to return to society? Maybe it had been what she wanted for him, and she was getting confused.

“No. I came to see Freddie, that’s all.”

“Ah. And here I had Lady Ayres invite you to her party this coming Saturday, certain it would be an easier sort of gathering for you to attend. There are going to be relatively few people—mainly the Ladies’ Wagering Whist Society and our close friends.”

“The Ladies’ Wagering Whist Society?” he asked, looking confused.

Ellen laughed, and this time was certain her cheeks were turning red. “We’re just a group of eight women who get together to play whist every week.”

“Oh, I see. And there’s to be a party of you and your friends? I did get the invitation, but I thought it odd because I don’t know Lady Ayres,” he told her. “But it’s actually from you?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, I should have put in a note or something. That was thoughtless. But I do hope you’ll consider coming. As I say, it’s going to be quite a small gathering—no more than fifty people or so,” she explained.

“I thought you said it would be the eight ladies…”

“And our friends, yes. Well, we’ve got quite a few friends,” she said with a little laugh. “We’re going to be celebrating the marriages of Lady Blakemore’s twin nieces, Lady Margaret Bronley, the Duke of Warwick’s sister, and Lady St. Vincent to Duchess Bolton’s son, Mr. Charles Aldridge. The duchess is a member of the Whist Society. Oh, and of course the duchess herself who was remarried over this past winter.” Ellen ticked off the weddings on her fingers to make sure she had them all, then gave another laugh. “There were so many weddings last year it’s sometimes hard to keep track.”

“It sounds like a lot of weddings.”

“Last year was particularly busy what with the twins and, well, just so many wonderful happenings. Naturally, we need to celebrate them all!”

“I suppose you do, but since I don’t know any of these people except for Colburne and Warwick, I’m not certain I need to join in the celebration,” he said gently.

“I thought it might be a nice way for you to get out and meet people.” She looked up at him hopefully.

“Thank you, but I’m afraid I’m not interested in meeting new people. Not any longer.”

“I know it can be difficult. I have always had a hard time with it, but…”

“Before I was injured, I had no problems whatsoever meeting people. In fact, I was quite good at it and enjoyed it, but since then I’m afraid I’ve lost the… desire to do so. You will have to excuse me from your little gathering.”

His words told her one thing, but his eyes told her how much he was hurting at having to speak the words. Surely, for a gentleman who was once so charming and outgoing—at least according to Sergeant Jones—it must be painful to have to put that part of his life aside. To Ellen it seemed unnecessary, as if he were punishing himself for something that was not of his own making.

“Well, then, perhaps you can help me? I believe I told you that I am trying to be more outgoing. While I will know a good number of the people present at the party, there will be some who I will be meeting for the first time. Perhaps you could show me how it’s done—the right way without the stuttering and awkward silences.” It was, perhaps, an exaggeration, but it got her point across.

He just smiled and shook his head, as if he were getting ready to deny her once again. She jumped in before he could do so. “And you did say that you wanted to thank me for nursing Sergeant Jones. This would be an excellent way to do so.” She smiled sweetly and hopefully up at him. She might have even batted her eyelashes once or twice. If she had a fan, she would have waved it ever so slowly in front of her face while peering over the top.

He laughed. “You seem to know your cards well, Lady Moreton. It must be all that playing of whist.”

She laughed. “Indeed. I’ve gotten quite adept. Say you will join us, my lord?”

“I will do my best, how is that?” he answered finally.

“Will you truly? Honestly, you must try very, very hard. I will be waiting and watching for you.”

He sighed and shook his head. “You are an excellent negotiator as well, my lady. I will be there.”

“Excellent! I’ll see you Saturday evening, then.” She gave him a quick little curtsy and then walked out into the sunshine full of happy anticipation.

~April 23~

Christopher questioned himself every step of the dressing process. He shaved himself slowly and carefully, asking himself whether he was really going to go through with this?

He pulled out his evening clothes—the black breeches, pale blue brocade waistcoat with its double row of gold buttons, and the navy coat his mother had insisted he have made before he’d left for London. Made by the local tailor in the village near his parent’s home, the clothes were clearly not worthy of Bond Street nor a real London society party. They would have to do, however, it was all he had—he’d left his dress uniform in the country.

As he lifted his chin for Peter to tie his neckcloth, he wondered just how much of a fool he was for going to all this trouble.

“Too much,” he mumbled to himself.

“I beg your pardon, my lord?” the footman turned valet asked.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. As he lowered his chin to set the creases just right, he said, “Has it ever occurred to you how much we do to please women?”

Peter gave a little laugh. “Entirely too much, my lord, but they make it worthwhile, don’t they?”

He caught the man’s eyes in the mirror. “I suppose they do,” he admitted. He pulled his shirt points higher up his cheek but couldn’t really scrunch his chin down as he usually did without ruining the fine job Peter had just done with his cravat.

He noticed the man standing behind him with his coat, waiting to assist Christopher into it. It wasn’t so tight that he actually needed help. For a properly fitting coat, Christopher would, indeed, have to go to Bond Street. Well, perhaps he should, he thought to himself, especially seeing as how Lady Moreton was so very good at twisting him around to do exactly as she wished.

“Write to Weston, Peter, and inform him that I will be coming ‘round tomorrow to order a few coats, breeches and perhaps a waistcoat or two.”

“Yes, my lord. Happily,” Peter said, giving him a broad smile. “I wasn’t going to say anything, my lord, but these…”

“Are awful. I know. It was all I had time to get before I came to Town. I’ll get some proper evening clothes soon.” If he actually ever wore them it would, indeed, be a coup for the lady. He’d purchase them all the same. It couldn’t hurt.

His carriage conveyed him to Lady Ayres’ home, and he even managed to descend and see the vehicle move off, but that was where he stopped.

He could see so many guests through the windows. So many beautiful people—the ton at their finest. His own image came to his mind’s eye for a moment. His vision reflected the man he’d been. So handsome, women would sometimes literally throw themselves at him. His mother had always called him her ‘beautiful boy’ when he was growing up. Now the words were unfailingly accompanied by a sob of despair. Her boy was no longer beautiful. Now his face was a horrid mockery of what a man should look like.

He turned away. He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t.

Why had Lady Moreton insisted that he come to this party, anyway?

Her words came back to him. She thought he was working up the courage to re-enter society, to rejoin its ranks of beautiful people. But he was no longer beautiful. He’d lost his place among them. But the lady had wanted to help him.

Yes, that’s what it was. He was like any of her patients with their pussing wounds and missing limbs. She wanted to nurse him back to health just as she’d done Freddie. But his wound would not heal. It was a permanent fixture on his face and would be for the rest of his life. There was nothing she could do to fix that. Going to parties, facing society wasn’t going to change that—it would only terrify those already there.

No—

“Going in?” a friendly voice asked.