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“T he current Lord Seaford is some sort of distant cousin, but I believe he’s been very good to my sister-in-law,” Amelia told Harry. “What I’m thinking is that since he wasn’t expecting to have that money at all, he might be willing to forgo it. Instead of folding it back into his own coffers, I would like him to give it to my nephew, Richard—Ellen’s husband. He gave up his claim to the title and his own inheritance, so I was thinking he could use that money a great deal more than either me or the current Earl.”

“That’s a very kind thought,” Harry said.

“Well, he needs it, and I don’t know for how much longer Seaford is going to allow Ellen her widow’s portion, considering she isn’t actually a widow. It’s all so confusing for her, poor thing, now that Richard has returned from the dead, so to speak.”

“I can’t even imagine what she must be going through.”

“Me neither. At least she has her volunteer work at the hospital to keep her mind off other more unpleasant matters.”

“Ah yes, speaking of the hospital. I don’t know if you heard, I was thinking of purchasing it and—”

“But that would be wonderful!” Amelia exclaimed, not even letting him finish his thought. “I don’t know what sort of investment it would be for you, though.”

“It wouldn’t. It would be more of a charitable opportunity. I thought I could purchase it and enlist Gwendolyn to put together a committee to raise funds and refurbish the place. Of course, I would make a significant donation to get them started, but it would be Gwendolyn’s to operate and oversee.”

“It sounds like a brilliant idea,” Amelia said. “I am certain Ellen would be happy to aid Gwendolyn in this endeavor. Perhaps she could become the liaison between the committee and the hospital. And of course, she has so many wonderful connections within society, thanks to her membership in the Ladies’ Wagering Whist Society.”

“Indeed! I will tell Gwendolyn that she must rely on Ellen. Happily, she has also become quite entrenched in society with Duchess Bolton acting as her chaperone for the season.”

“Of course! Oh, Harry, this is going to be truly wonderful.”

~*~

Ellen spent the rest of the afternoon alternately lying down on her bed resting, completely overwhelmed by the day, and pacing with worry over Lord Pennyston. She almost didn’t go down for dinner but felt perhaps it would make her feel better.

Aunt Amelia was already in the drawing room when Ellen came in. “How was the panorama?”

“Terrifying,” Ellen admitted.

“My goodness!”

She sat on the sofa across from her aunt. “From start to finish it was a horrible experience.”

“What happened?” Aunt Amelia asked, sitting forward.

“The panorama itself was… overwhelming. You really felt as if you were there, in Malta, looking across the harbor at the city of Valetta. It was all so real! Honestly, Aunt Amelia, if looking at a painting of a foreign place scares me so, how am I ever going to manage actually leaving England?”

“Why was it so frightening?”

Ellen could only shake her head. “I don’t know. I just felt… as if everything that was familiar to me was gone. It was all new and strange and uncomfortable.”

“Well, yes, but that’s the thrill of it. Learning new things, seeing new sights, speaking with new people, and learning about how they live,” Amelia explained.

“But doesn’t it scare you? All that… that strangeness?”

Her aunt shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose, but it’s much too fascinating to worry about being scared.”

Ellen could only shake her head in wonder. “Well, I didn’t like it, not one bit. And then the people in front of us moved, and we were confronted with a battle scene. It was as real as the painting of the city and poor Lord Pennyston…”

“Oh dear! What did he do?”

“He went somewhere—in his mind. I could feel it. He was extremely disturbed. And then a child and a woman next to us began screaming and pointing at him.”

“Oh, no!”

“Yes! He couldn’t handle it. He bolted from the room, and I turned and gave those people what for, I can tell you.”

A smile spread across Aunt Amelia’s face. “Good for you!”

The footman came in just then to announce dinner. They moved to the dining room, and as soon as they were settled, Ellen took up her tale once more. She simply could not rid her mind of the day. “I was so furious with those people,” she told Amelia.

“Naturally! Did you find His Lordship after he ran out?” Amelia asked.

“No. I don’t know where he went. His coachman said he saw him go off. He figured he’d find his way home once he’d calmed down. I just feel… I feel awful.”

“It was not your fault.”

“No, but… well, he took me there so I could get a taste of traveling and then… well, it was not a good experience for either of us.” Ellen could only shake her head. Her mind kept going back to her terror at seeing the strange city of Valetta and the fort. How was she ever going to travel when she couldn’t even manage seeing paintings of foreign places? And what was she going to tell her husband?

Getting an annulment would ruin her reputation. Not getting one would doom her to loneliness for the rest of her life because he was going to be leaving on his travels no matter what she did. She could see no way out of this horrid situation.

And yet beyond all that, she could only worry and fret about Lord Pennyston. She wanted to know where he was and how he was doing. She wanted to scour the city for him, and when she finally found him, she wanted to hold him and tell him it would be all right. She knew it wouldn’t be true, but she wanted to tell him so anyway, for how could it be all right if she couldn’t be with him?

That thought stopped her.

She wanted to be with him. She wanted to be with Christopher Pennyston. Not Richard.

She’d always known that she didn’t love Richard—not in that way. But she was married to him nonetheless, and it was her duty to do all she could to make her marriage work.

Richard wanted to travel—no, he was going to travel with or without her. That was fine except for the fact that, unless she divorced him, it meant she couldn’t be with the man… with Christopher.

The word love whispered in her mind. It was what she’d been thinking—the man she loved. But it was futile to love him—to love anyone. She was about to become a ruined woman—spurned, divorced.

How she wished Richard had never returned. If he’d only stayed dead, it would have been so much easier.

~*~

Christopher peered up through the tiny window toward the ceiling. It had gotten dark outside. It was now nearly pitch black in the basement of his house. The damp, dark space was fine for storing wine, but it wasn't meant for anyone to sit for long periods of time, which is what he'd been doing—sitting in the dark, in the dank room, thinking. Or rather, trying not to think.

He'd snuck into the house—into his own home—because he simply could not face anyone, not even his footman or worse, Freddie. If Freddie had known Christopher had been home, he would have wanted a full accounting of his afternoon with Lady Moreton. Christopher couldn't have given him that, not when he’d first returned. He hadn’t been able to face how he had behaved. He was going to have to, he knew. He simply needed some time.

But it was dark now, certainly past dinner if his stomach was anything to go on. He supposed it was time. He heaved himself up off the floor where he’d been sitting—there wasn't a chair or table in the room—and dusted off the back of his coat and breeches.

There were few people in the kitchen when he came in on his way to the main part of the house. The cook nearly screamed at the sight of him. She pressed a hand to her quickly rising and falling bosom. " Oh, my lord, ye nearly scared me to bits. What are ye doin' coming in the back way like that?"

"I beg your pardon, I, er, is there any dinner? I'm famished," he asked, completely ignoring her question.

"Och, yes, o’ course there is. You go on up, and I'll send Paul up with it to the dining room as is proper-like."

"Thank you." Christopher gave a nod to the cook and the two scullery maids who were keeping their eyes on their work. Smart girls.

"Don't tell me you only just got back from your outing with Lady Moreton?" Freddie asked with a little wink when he found Christopher in the dining room a few minutes later. Word must have reached his batman that he’d returned.

"No, I've, er, I've been out."

“So, how was the panorama? Did ye convince Her Ladyship to leave or stay?”

“I don’t know. Neither, I suppose.” Christopher accepted the glass of wine Freddie poured for him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I left her. I abandoned her right in the middle of… of everything.” Christopher drank down just about the entire glass.

Freddie’s look of concern was almost worse than the ache that had settled into Christopher’s chest. “What happened?”

Christopher shook his head. “I should never have gone. I should never go out… why do I keep doing this to myself? And now I’ve done it to Lady Moreton. I’ve exposed her to the hideousness of not only my face but others’ reaction to it. And then I left her alone, in public. It was not well done.”

“What made ye bolt? I can only assume ye ran and did so for a reason.”

“A woman and a boy began screaming, pointing. There was a painting—a battlefield.” It was all Christopher could remember. His mind had been fuzzy, overwhelmed. He just shook his head. “I can’t explain it. It was too much.”

Freddie knew enough to simply nod and accept what Christopher couldn’t say.

Christopher shook his head again. “I brought her to the panorama… and then just abandoned her.”

“Ye didn’t mean to.”

“No, but I did it. How could I do that? How could I do such a thing to a sweet, wonderful—”

“Well, now, I don’t think you should go overboard thinking about her.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m just sayin’… she is married. You were helping her out. Helpin’ her to be more comfortable leaving to go off with her husband. I think that was above and beyond already.”

“No.” Christopher shook his head. “It was… it was the right thing to do.”

“It was more than any man in his right mind would do—unless, of course, yer happy to see her go with him. But I thought ye liked her.”

“I do like…” Christopher dropped his head in his hands. “No, I don’t like her. I love her, and I want her to be happy, even if it means she’s not with me.” His words came out as hardly more than a whisper, but they rang in his ears as if he’d shouted them.

Freddie just stared at him. Christopher could feel it, even though he hadn’t even lifted his head. He could feel Freddie’s confusion. His shock. Was there disappointment there too? To find out, he’d have to lift his head to look his friend in the eye and he… he couldn’t.

“That is love if I ever heard of such a thing,” Freddie said softly.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Well, it doesn’t much matter now, does it? She’s decided to go with her husband…”

“I don’t know that she has, but after my behavior today, I’m certain she won’t want to see me again.”

“Ye could try apologizin’.”

Christopher sighed. “I don’t know it would do any good. And, as you say, she’s probably going to be leaving with her husband, anyway.”

Christopher had lost his appetite. He stumbled to his feet and headed for bed. Perhaps he would just stay there for a while—a very, very long while.