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Every night Theodore dreamt it was the same, and he knew that morning would be no different.

Upon waking with a start, he laid there, shivering from the dampness of his sweat-soaked sheets.

He desperately fought the lingering panic that clung to him in a suffocating embrace.

Kicking futilely at the tangled sheets, Theodore growled in frustration.

He had fought hard to survive the many battles he had experienced while in the regulars.

Few people ever saw the scars that crisscrossed his hardened body, and even fewer knew of the scars that were etched deep in his psyche.

His nights were often spent in a fight against his own mind.

Staring at the ceiling above him, Theodore attempted to catch his breath and ground himself in reality.

He was in London, in his brother's home, not a smoky battlefield full of the moans of the dying.

His hair was matted with sweat, making it sticky and uncomfortable against his scalp.

He ignored it and scrubbed at his face in frustration.

Forcing himself to sit up, he threw the damp sheets back from his body.

He would start the day as he always did to regain some of his equanimity.

Going to the table by his bed, Theodore poured some water from the ewer to the basin before leaning over to splash his face.

He cleaned up and dressed to go out. Looking in the mirror, he noted that despite his best efforts, he couldn't hide the redness in his eyes.

He left his room while still fiddling with his cravat.

It had been over a year since he had served, but he was still trying to adjust to a different wardrobe.

Heading downstairs, he went in search of something to sustain him for the exercise that he desperately needed.

He knew that Mrs. Goodwin would have put out coffee for him.

The cook at Matlock House had always found little ways to support and pamper him.

With her way of seeing to the fact that he was always served his favorites, was it any wonder that he preferred her nature to the housekeeper?

Knowing he was an early riser; she brewed a fresh pot of coffee for him to start his day.

As a child, he had thought she must be some sort of witch, for she always seemed to know what he was up to.

Hiding spots and plots, foibles and fears, she knew about them all.

Her discovery of his morning coffee dependence intrigued him and made him wonder what other new secrets she had uncovered.

He did not even bother to sit to drink his cup of coffee.

Gulping it down so quickly that he almost burnt his mouth, he headed out the door.

The bitter taste on his tongue helped him orient himself to the day ahead as he made his way to Hyde Park.

The sun was rising as he arrived, and he savored the tranquility of the early hour, undisturbed by the hustle and bustle of the day.

Choosing his direction, he took off at a brisk pace. Scenes from his past stalked him night and day. He was not, however, a willing or obliging victim. He kept himself busy, for movement was an ally in the silent war he fought within himself.

The sun was fully risen by the time he walked down the street to return home.

He normally stayed across the square at his cousin Darcy's home, which was usually the epitome of comfort, but with so many debutantes filling the space, Theodore opted for Matlock House instead.

Between Georgiana, Mary, Catherine, and Lydia, there were too many young unmarried women at Darcy House, and he could not stay there with the eager gossips in London for the season.

They were like a plague, spreading their toxic tales and destroying reputations.

And so here he was, gazing at the imposing building that was his own family's home in London, trying to muster the desire to go in.

Walking up the steps, Theodore bit back a curse as his leg tried to give out on him in protest of his earlier exercise.

He grabbed the railing and waited until his leg decided to obey.

He could handle pain; it was the intermittent weakness that frustrated Theodore more than anything.

Finally able to stand, he went in with his shoulders back, ready for whatever the day might bring.

If he had his druthers, he would be anywhere else doing anything else.

His choice would not be to be in London, having to deal with his family and the more annoying people from society.

Entering the morning room, he spotted his mother sitting at the end of the table with a cup of tea and toast. His brother was not in the room yet, and Theodore nearly turned around and walked out.

He had spent little time at all with his mother.

She rarely visited him in the schoolroom and then after that he was at Eton, Cambridge, and away with an active unit of the regulars.

Since returning from the continent, he had realized that they had little in common.

She was quite fond of the status quo, but it was something he never bothered to give a second thought to.

He had met soldiers from noble families that were utter cowards, liars, and cheats.

On the other hand, he knew men from the lowest of families that had more integrity and compassion than their king.

Status quo would never truly sway him, and so he stood in the doorway watching his mother pick at her food.

Somehow, even as a battle-hardened ex-soldier, he did not want to face his mother alone.

“You went in public wearing that , I see,” she said with a sigh.

“I can only imagine what they will say. I do not know how I was cursed with two so unnatural sons. Your father, if he was alive, would be so disappointed in you both.” Lady Matlock quickly followed her complaint with a theatrical sob into her handkerchief.

Aside from looking down at his clothing in confusion, he ignored her insults out of habit.

She had, for the most part, ignored him, and he was too worn to try to engage in her ploy for attention.

Besides, he could not figure out what she meant about what he was wearing.

He had only been going to the park. So what if he was not dressed to the nines?

Going to the sideboard, he pushed his confusion aside as he contemplated the eggs and scones. Should he get sausage or bacon? Both?

Meanwhile, his mother's emotional outburst showed no signs of abating.

Exaggerated sniffles and peeking at him from behind her handkerchief were only part of her morning routine.

From the corner of his vision, he observed her, wondering if she truly believed her behavior could sway him.

And if so, what did she expect him to change about himself?

Moving to the table, he put his plate down before returning to the sideboard to get a cup of tea.

He wished for more coffee, but his mother had declared it gauche and refused to have it served when she was present.

“Mother, it is too early for your theatrics. Your life is not the Cheltenham tragedy you make it out to be. If you want to conduct yourself in such a manner, please do so in the confines of your room,” a familiar voice said from the doorway.

“Otherwise, we would be happy to enjoy a pleasant morning with you.”

Turning to greet his brother, Theodore smiled, “Good morning, Cedric.” It was a welcome relief to have him there.

Theodore’s military training, which involved barking commands at people who were misbehaving, was not useful when communicating with his mother.

The last time he had tried to cut off one of her diatribes had been futile.

Her screaming and recriminations had only continued, seemingly on end.

Comparatively, his brother, with his experience in parliament, was more adept at managing her theatrical displays.

Cedric had honed his people skills, making it easier to influence their mother with no outward resistance.

Despite his aversion to using his brother as a buffer, his exhaustion from yet another restless night rendered him incapable of responding to her adequately.

His mother stopped mid sob and narrowed her eyes before straightening to stir her tea.

Clearing her throat, she tried what appeared to be another tactic.

“I expect that you both are anticipating the ball this evening.

Lady Lavinia will be in attendance. She will be reserving two dances for you, Cedric.

Such a lovely girl. If I am not mistaken, she will be this season's most notable diamond due to her demure and lovely demeanor.”

Cedric had gotten himself a cup of tea before sitting down at the head of the table opposite his mother.

Just as his teacup was almost to his mouth, Lady Lavinia's name was mentioned, causing him to halt.

Putting his teacup down, he briefly pinched the bridge of his nose before responding.

“I wish you would not encourage girls to expect my favor. I shall not show her preference any more than I did Miss Julia last year, or Lady Helena from the year before. We have had this discussion. I will not marry one of your proteges.”

“You've had your fun, Cedric, but you are in your thirties, for goodness’ sake,” their mother admonished.

“It is beyond the time you should have set up your nursery. Start thinking about your future family. You are the Earl of Matlock. The responsibility of carrying on the family name and legacy falls on you, and it is important that you choose a suitable wife and beget heirs.” Glancing at Theodore, Lady Matlock wrinkled her nose, as if detecting a faint, unpleasant scent.

“Heaven forbid it falls to your soldier brother. He has not trained to take over the role as you have. Should you pass away without an heir, it would be a catastrophe .”