Page 5 of Jaxon (Gentlemen of War #4)

Jaxon

Rolling over in bed, I discovered an unremitting light shining through my burgundy-colored drapes and knew midafternoon had arrived from the angle of the sun. I groaned to the effort it took to sit up. My body had yet to recover from the restraints I endured for weeks on end as an unwilling captive, and though most of the superficial wounds were no longer visible, the vertical slash at my throat, the scars on my wrists, and the one on my arm remained along with the internal turmoil that most assuredly accompanied them. That, and the fact that I had stayed up until dawn mapping my plans.

For the most part, I had grown accustomed to the pain, it was the nightmares that seemed to prolong my suffering. My natural conscious state struggled to discern whether my nightly hallucinations disclosed a true memory or a fantastical one and for well over a year, I didn’t know my true self.

Sometime in March of 1814, brothers Claude and Henri Dupont found me near death outside of their village of Mailly-le-Camp, France. They brought me home to their mother who had served as a nurse during the revolution and restored my health to a blessed balance. Completely at a loss as to who I was or where I came from, I woke up and responded in French, none of us even realizing I was British. I learned much from this family that cared for me and as my strength grew I labored on their farm, tended to their animals, and became a willing member of their family. It wasn’t until Zachary discovered me at a field hospital near Waterloo in June of 1815 that my true memory began to emerge, albeit most painfully.

I will forever be indebted to the Dupont family. If it weren’t for their mother’s sweet soul and determined efforts, I would not be alive today. She called me André and, since that first day two years ago, I still turn when I hear the name.

With ties to both sides of the channel, my heart is physically torn. I certainly miss Claude and Henri and their incomparable friendship and laissez-faire acceptance. I spent many nights in their company, but now as I look back to when I innocently joined them in the fight under Napoleon’s resurgence, a tightness builds in my chest at the memory of how I unknowingly fought against Britain… my Britain.

I groaned and stood up. Jesse, my ever-devoted valet, entered the room. “Forgive me, my lord. Your mother is requesting your presence.”

“Yes.” I ran my hands down my face and turned to find him staring. He had been my valet when the only scars upon my body were from my youthful antics with my mates, and he had not quite become accustomed to the dreadful appearance of the more recent ones. He shook himself from the stupor and strode to my wardrobe. “Do you have a preference, my lord?”

“Blue. My mother loves the color blue.” And though I did not utter it out loud, after last night’s disgracing debacle and Father’s demand I quit London, I couldn’t bear to see her sadness. Since my return only nine months ago, and most of that time in continued recovery, we spent more time apart than together. She and my younger sisters, Lucy and Hannah, will be most heartbroken with my news of departure.

However, as painful as it seemed now, I could not risk endangering them.

I once again reflected on the strange occurrences that followed since the memory of my abduction in France, and after, the reasons for my captivity emerged. Recollections of beatings returned as faces and images surfaced. Though I remembered planning an escape from my captors, few details transpired of my presumed success before waking up weeks later in the Dupont home. Yet, it wasn’t until my return to society that the horrors really began taking shape… especially the alarming reality that my captors were not French after all.

“No, Jesse…” I halted his dutiful efforts. “Forgive me, please prepare my riding clothes instead. I feel like a vigorous ride would do me some good today.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And Jesse, thank you for letting me sleep.”

“I presumed you could use it, sir.”

I observed my faithful man as he worked diligently. He had followed me to the continent to serve at my side but was forced to return home a month after my disappearance. I did not blame him or my parents. I was believed dead, though no body had been found. Only recently, Jesse confessed his insistence on staying in France to keep searching, but my father obliged his return. It wasn’t that my father didn’t care, he only believed that their efforts were best utilized through different means and personal channels. Ultimately, it was my closest mates—Hunter, Lucas, and Zachary—who pursued my whereabouts when all seemed lost.

When I entered the dining room, mother quickly set the newsprint she was reading down and slid her hand not so subtly over it. Smiling in my direction, her charming dimples deepened as she greeted me, “Good morning, Jaxon, please come and favor me with your company. How did you sleep?”

I arched an eyebrow but did not pursue whatever it was she intended to hide. She was a saint, continuously protecting her children from some erroneous claim or another. Both my older brother and two younger sisters could attest to this, though I doubted any of them brought as much angst into her life as I had. My younger years at Eton and Oxford brought with it the joys of exploration and curiosity while safeguarded behind the title of being a privileged younger son of a duke. Thank goodness there were stories I believed she remained ignorant about.

As I took my seat beside her, Father entered the room and strode directly over to his wife, kissing her on the cheek. I respected him for never fearing the opinion of others when it came to affection for our mother. Theirs was truly a love match… one in a thousand.

“Good afternoon, Jaxon.” He pointedly emphasized the word afternoon . Although Father tread unchartered waters with me since my return, he bore the idealistic belief that all problems could be resolved with determination and sound effort. I truly wished that were true.

“What do your scandal sheets disclose today, my dear?” Father had meant it in a playful tone referring to the broadsheets of The Female Tatler as she read it daily in her routine, but the manner in which her eyes darted to me revealed a great deal in that one look. This could no longer be ignored.

“Mother,” I spoke gently and carefully. “What do they say?”

“It is of no consequence.” She waved her hand as if it truly were inconsequential. But it was something. As a duchess, try as she might, she could not keep idle gossip from affecting her.

“Do not try to hide it from me.” I sighed. “It’s regarding the ball last night, isn’t it?” I flicked my fingers in an effort to get her to hand it over.

She attempted to look away, but Father now seemed as interested as me as he stopped mid-step toward the sideboard and now faced her. She was outnumbered.

“Oh, Jaxon, it is nothing more than a cranky upstart who has nothing agreeable to say about anyone. It means nothing.”

“Yet, you still read it,” I pointed out. “And are now trying to keep it from me.”

“And me,” Father added, taking the necessary steps to bring him closer to the table.

She let out a huff and slid the parchment over to me.

I skimmed over it until I came to the small article that spoke of the Byrne’s ball.

What might Lord J. have been thinking when he abandoned Miss G. on the ballroom floor? Though Lord T. came to her immediate rescue, the whole event was simply humiliating for the young miss who has vowed never to accept a dance from Lord J. again. While we are proud of our men in uniform, did they lose their gentlemanly manners in their fight against the French? Have they become heathens from the wilds of the continent? What must His Grace think of his younger son’s most appalling behavior?

My hand gripped the paper simultaneously to the clench of my jaw. “Damn gossipmongers.”

“Watch your tongue,” Father demanded.

I peered up to see mother’s astonished face. I had never cursed in front of her before.

“Forgive me, Mother.” I stood up and ran a hand through my hair. Pressure built in my chest, and I needed to release it. I knew there would be recourse from my subterfuge, I only regretted that my family must suffer needlessly. “Forgive me,” I repeated, then I stepped out of the room and practically ran for the mews. Chesapeake would see to my needs. He was a thoroughbred after all. I mounted him in seconds, having sent word ahead through Jesse to have him prepared for my arrival.

I yearned to breathe freely today.