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H e had to say something. He had to power through this, didn’t he? No, damn it, he didn’t. They would just have to manage, somehow.

“I will be in my room,” he said, keeping his eyes firmly on the floor in front of him. He strode forward, taking the stairs two at a time.

“My lord, my lord, we’ve put you in the master’s suite,” he could hear the housekeeper calling after him.

He made a sharp left turn and opened the door to what had been his father’s rooms. It made sense to put him in here. He was no longer a child, and it wasn’t as if his father would be coming to visit.

The room was large with two navy blue chairs placed in front of the fire. The counterpane on the enormous tester-bed matched the chairs. It was lacking a canopy, and for that, Christopher was grateful. He’d always felt claustrophobic in an enclosed bed. This one was high and open. He liked it.

There was bumping followed by a thump as his trunk was brought into the adjoining dressing room. A knock on the door was followed by an intrepid footman—well, not overly brave—the man still kept his eyes lowered even as he stepped into the room.

“My lord, can I get you anything? Refreshments? Warm water for bathing?” the man asked.

“Yes. I want a decanter of brandy and…” Could he stomach some food just now? He supposed he should. “A tray of cold meat and bread.”

The footman bowed and started to retreat, but Christopher stopped him.

“I also need a portable desk with ink, pens, and paper. I’m sure there must be one somewhere?” He had no idea what his father had kept in this house or where.

“That would be in the bottom drawer of the shaving table, my lord.” The footman came farther into the room, skirting a wide berth around where Christopher stood, to reach the table in question. He opened the bottom drawer to reveal the lap desk Christopher wanted before retreating quickly to the dressing room door.

“Thank you. I’ll have messages to be delivered within an hour or so,” Christopher told him.

The man bowed slightly in acknowledgement.

“You might as well look,” Christopher said with a sigh. “Look and get used to it.”

The man slowly lifted his gaze to rest on Christopher’s hideous face. He could see the footman swallow hard as he took it in.

“Is it… is it…”

“A war injury. Caught by a saber,” Christopher explained.

The man nodded, now unable to look away. It was the same thing every time. Christopher gritted his teeth. Would he ever get used to this?

“What is your name?” Christopher asked, working hard to keep his voice gentle and not allow his own pain to show through.

“Er… Peter, my lord.”

Christopher nodded. “Peter. I’m going to need help dressing and what-not. I don’t have my own man.”

“Er, shaving, my lord?” Peter asked hesitantly.

“No!” It came out too harshly. Christopher moderated his voice. “No. I shall shave myself, thank you.”

The man looked relieved. “I would be honored, my lord, to assist you.”

“Good. Thank you. That will be all for now,” Christopher said, dismissing the man.

Hopefully, after seeing his face, the fellow wouldn’t forget to bring him his luncheon. God knew he needed a drink.

~*~

It took Christopher a few hours, and three footman running all over London to each of the veteran’s hospitals, to locate his former batman. Finally, word came back in the form of a triumphant Peter that he was at St. Camillus. Christopher recalled his coach immediately.

“May I help you?” a friendly attendant asked the minute Christopher had entered the dilapidated building. If not for the large, hastily painted sign outside the door, he would never have guessed this building could have been occupied, let alone was a hospital.

“Yes,” he said, turning toward her. He paused as she took a step back, her eyes widening in surprise. She quickly pulled herself together; he had to give her that much. “I am looking for a man named Freddie Jones, Sergeant Frederick Jones.”

She nodded. “Let me check to see if he is here. There are a number of—”

“He is. My footman was just here to inquire,” Christopher said, stopping her.

“Oh, yes. Here he is,” she said, scanning through a list she had handy. “Right this way.”

He followed her into the ward, which looked to have once been various rooms combined into one. Pillars stood at odd intervals, probably where there had once been walls or doorways.

She paused at a bed about two-thirds down the room. “Sergeant Jones, you have a visitor.”

Freddie sat up on his elbows. His hair was mussed, and he seemed to be wearing nothing but a shirt. He gave Christopher a big smile. “Major! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

Christopher laughed “Probably a sight that would make your eyes sore, more like.” He reached out a hand and shook Freddie’s. He found a small stool next to the bed and settled himself onto it.

Freddie squinted at him. “Hmm… I don’t seem to have done such a good job sewing you up, did I?” He frowned and shook his head sadly.

“What do you mean? You saved my life,” Christopher protested.

“Might have. But I ruined yer handsome visage in the process.”

“I’m alive thanks to you, and for that, I will be eternally grateful. Now, tell me what trouble you’ve managed to get yourself into.”

Freddie pulled himself up to a sitting position and then eased back against his pillow. Christopher reached out and adjusted it for him. “Thank ye.” He then launched into a tale only Freddie could tell, complete with such embellishments as the coin-sized gold buttons on “them Frenchies’ uniforms” and the shouts in “that strange talk o’ theirs.”

He had Christopher shaking his head and laughing—laughing! He hadn’t laughed in nearly a year.

“Blazes, Freddie, it is so good to be with you again,” he said, looking fondly at his old friend. “But you still haven’t told me how you were wounded.”

“Oh, that. Pfff … Caught a stray bullet in me leg, that’s all. Got lodged in the bone or somethin’ like that. They threatened to lob me leg off, but some kind soul suggested sending me here instead.”

“Thank goodness!” Christopher exclaimed.

“The surgeon here thinks the bullet can be left where it is, and my leg will just heal around it.”

“That’s excellent! I am very happy to hear this,” Christopher said with relief. He’d hate for his friend to be one of so many soldiers who’d lost a limb to this damned war, making it nearly impossible for them to find gainful employment. Not that Freddie would ever want for work, not while Christopher had a say in the matter. “And are they treating you well here? Should I look into having you removed elsewhere? I have to admit, I don’t know which hospital might be best.”

“No, no, Major. They’re very good to me here. Too good, perhaps.”

“I don’t think that could be possible, but I’m glad to hear you’re comfortable.”

“Absolutely,” he said, clearly suppressing a yawn.

Christopher immediately stood up. “I should be going. I’ve tired you out.”

“Oh, no, no,” the man protested weakly.

Christopher just chuckled and said, “I’ll return again in a day or so to see how you’re doing.” He turned away before Freddie could object again and walked straight into a dark-haired woman in the act of pouring something into a glass. He grabbed the glass before she could drop it. “I do beg your pardon.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she said at the same time. She looked up at him. He could feel all of his muscles tense, readying for her gasp of horror, her fearful eyes. Strangely, neither one came. Oh, there was the slight widening of her eyes, but oddly they immediately crinkled into a smile.

A smile! For him!

“How clumsy of me,” she said with a little laugh. “I should know better than to pour medicine and walk at the same time.

“Major, this is Lady Moreton, what’s been so good to me here,” Freddie said from his bed.

“How do you do?” Christopher said, giving her a slight bow.

“Milady, this here’s Lord Major Pennyston,” Freddie finished the introduction.

“I am pleased to meet you,” she said, giving him a slight curtsy. “Sergeant Jones mentioned earlier that he hoped you might find him here. I don’t think he expected you to do so quite so soon. You must have been on the lookout for him for some days.”

“Er, no, actually. I just got into Town today. My men were able to locate Freddie much more quickly than even I anticipated.”

“How wonderful. You must be relieved to know that he’s here safe and sound.”

“Yes. That explains it,” he said half to himself, as he now understood her lack of reaction to his face. “Freddie warned you?”

“Warned me?” she asked with an adorable little tilt of her head.

“About…” He indicated his scar.

“Oh, no! He said nothing, only that he expected you to find him before too long.” She said nothing further, leaving him to wonder how she could not be affected by the sight of him. The only explanation he could come up with was that she volunteered in a hospital for wounded soldiers. She had to be used to gruesome sights by now. Those beautiful pale green eyes of hers had probably seen much more than any lovely, refined young lady should.

“That wouldn’t be laudanum for me, now, would it?” Freddie asked, making Christopher suddenly realize that he’d been staring at this beautiful, incredible woman for too long—and she’d been simply smiling back at him.

She jumped slightly at Freddie’s voice, gave an embarrassed little giggle, and took the glass to Freddie. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it is. I’m just giving you the smallest dose to keep the pain away. Is that all right?”

“Fine with me. Not a big fan of pain, personally,” Freddie said with a wink.

Lady Moreton chuckled and handed him the glass, which he dutifully emptied.

Christopher felt the strangest desire to stay and speak with this ministering angel, but she probably had work to do. He would come back another day.

~April 11~

Stting in her drawing room, Ellen carefully wove her needle through the fine cotton in her hand, but it wasn’t her embroidery that she was seeing. No, it was that face, that smile, those intelligent, sparkling brown eyes; it was Lord Major Pennyston. Never had a man that handsome paid as much attention to her as he did in those few minutes at the hospital. Of course she was smitten!

How silly could she get?

Her heart had been racing and her mind had gone completely blank when she’d bumped into him. How could she have reacted any other way?

How long had it been since a man had looked at her like that? She gave a little snort of laughter—never! Not even Richard had ever looked at her that way, but then she and her husband had been childhood friends. She couldn’t expect someone she’d grown up with to look at her like she’d lit a fire inside of him.

That thought sent a rush of tingles through her. Lord Pennyston had looked at her with heat, hadn’t he? But maybe that was just the way he looked at every woman. Maybe he was a flirt. With looks like his, she wouldn’t be surprised. His intense brown eyes, straight blond hair that slipped down his forehead making her itch to brush it back, a strong chin and aquiline nose—he was like a Greek god come to life. Even with a nasty scar completely distorting the left side of his face, he probably had women hanging off his sleeve. Probably because of the scar. He was most likely a war hero. And there was no doubt that no female eyes would be able to tear themselves away from that man in a uniform. Why—

A commotion in the foyer suddenly jolted Ellen out of her silly daydream.

“What do you mean, you don’t remember me? Where is my brother? Where is Lord Seaford? Lady Seaford? Honestly, is no one here?” a woman’s voice carried throughout the house.

Ellen looked over at her companion, Mrs. Perbury. The lady never said a word or did anything but sew and read. If words ever came from her mouth, it was to comment on the weather. She leant Ellen some respectability, but honestly that was all she did.

Ellen put down her embroidery and went to see what was going on.

“I am sorry, madam, but you cannot simply—no, no!” the harried young butler said, trying to stop a man from carrying an enormous steamer trunk into the house. “You cannot simply march in here demanding—”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I can and cannot do! Who the hell are you, anyway? Where is Seaford?” A woman with bright red hair streaked with silver tried to get past the man as he ineffectively put his arms out in an attempt to stop her. She simply stopped and glared at him until he lowered his arm.

“May I help you?” Ellen said, watching these odd proceedings as she came down the stairs.

“Who the hell… oh wait, you’re not Ellen, are you? Little Ellen who was always hanging about?” the woman asked, coming forward and looking up at her.

“I am Lady Moreton,” Ellen acknowledged. The woman looked vaguely familiar. Her hair… those eyes… They were identical to her husband’s. “Aunt Amelia?”

“Yes! Finally, someone remembers me,” the woman said with some relief. A large smile blossomed on her face. “Thank goodness! But where is Richard? And my brother?” Her smile faltered. “Wait… did you say you were Lady Moreton, Richard’s wife?”