Page 4 of Rake in Disguise (Wicked Widows’ League #33)

Chapter Three

Perhaps this situation will not be so difficult after all. Except, everyone knew that she was here and likely assumed…But not with a sister sharing the tent.

This tent was larger than she had shared with her husband and a smaller version of the tents used by officers, whereas she had slept in a cone tent, supported by one pole at the center. At times cramped but it offered privacy.

Blythe glanced at the rope that ran along the center top of the tent and the curtain pushed against the back wall.

When it was pulled forward, a person could enter the tent and go to one side without seeing the other.

It was clearly so that brother and sister could have privacy, but if others knew about the separator, then having the sister as a chaperone would mean nothing and allowed Orlando to still…

Except, that was not his intention, if Blythe chose to believe him.

She did believe him, but anyone who knew that she was now living here would assume that she was his lover, or mistress, or new wife.

Her stomach tightened at what would be believed of her.

“Is it true then?” Isabella asked.

“My husband auctioned me off and your brother was the highest bidder.”

Isabella tilted her chin while disbelief showed clearly in her grey eyes. “My brother has never done something so, well, rash.”

Dr. Valentine did not respond to his sister’s taunting. In fact, he ignored her. “The two of you will share this tent and I will sleep elsewhere,” he suggested.

“Where?” Isabella asked.

“There are empty cots in the medical tent. I will make use of one of those.”

“You will not get any sleep, not with complaints and moaning and groaning from injuries.”

“I will sleep outside, near the fire. Soldiers do so all the time. Not everyone has a cot or tent to rest their head.”

Oh, she hated that Dr. Valentine was going to be inconvenienced because of her. It did not matter that he had made the choice to purchase her, she was still the cause of the upheaval. “If anyone is going to sleep on the ground it shall be me.”

“No,” he answered instantly.

Blythe folded her arms over her chest. “You will not give me your bed.”

“You certainly are not going to sleep by the fire,” he snorted.

“No. I will make a place on the ground, on the same side of the curtain as Isabella,” she insisted. “That is, if your sister does not mind,” she quickly added.

“I do not,” Isabella responded. “I shared a chamber with three sisters previously so one person is not a difficulty.” Isabella smiled with a mischievous twinkle in her grey eyes.

Four to a chamber must have been crowded.

Blythe had assumed that since Valentine was a physician, able to attend university, that he came from a family with some wealth, but perhaps that was not the case.

Only those of common birth slept so many to a room, and Isabella did follow the drum.

Then again, Blythe had followed her husband, and she was not common.

She really must stop making judgments of people she had only just met.

“I promise that I will not be an inconvenience. I will remain inside and out of your way.”

Isabella frowned. “Inside as you will not be leaving the tent at all?”

“Only when necessary and under the cloak of darkness. I will likely hide here until I can finally return to London?”

“Do you want to return to England?” Dr. Valentine asked. “I could make those arrangements for you.”

Is that what she wanted?

She could leave and never look back but was she ready to return home?

“Why do you want to hide yourself away?” Isabella asked.

“I would rather not face further humiliation. It was bad enough that I was forced to stand on a block because my husband no longer wanted me.” Tears threatened so Blythe stood and walked away, her back to her host and his sister.

“I would like to forget that this ever happened and disappear so others can forget.”

“I do not think that will happen as easily as you hope,” Dr. Valentine offered sympathetically.

“They will if they never see me.”

“Returning to England would put you out of sight,” Isabella acknowledged.

Brother and sister would likely be glad to be rid of her, but Blythe’s stomach tightened at the very idea of having to face her father and tell him what had occurred and why John had not returned with her.

Then there were her brothers… Yes, it had been nice to think of what they would do to John, but the reality of having to face them was a humiliation she did not want to endure.

“No. I cannot go back yet.” Blythe paced as agitation filled her being. “No matter how much I may want to keep it a secret, my father will find out. He has a way of knowing things. I sometimes wonder if he has spies all around to report back on what his children are doing.”

It was a ridiculous notion because if there were such spies she would have discovered them.

“I would simply like to disappear until I am ready.” Ready to what? Face her father and siblings? She might not ever be ready for that reunion.

“Secure a room at one of the inns in Brussels,” Isabella suggested. “There must be one available.”

Oh, to have a chamber to herself where she could simply be alone and gather her thoughts and decide on what she wanted to do next.

Blythe couldn’t remember the last time that she was truly alone.

Even if nobody else was in the tent that she had shared with her husband, there were people just on the other side and she could still hear them.

Except, there may be people at an inn who may know her from before she married John. People she had met during her first and second Season. People who knew that she had a husband.

Brussels had once been a popular destination prior to the war on the Continent, and when Napoleon was sent away to Elba, English Society returned because Brussels was not only more affordable, but more importantly—fashionable.

Did she want to risk encountering someone from her past and then having to explain why her husband was not with her?

There was also no reason why she would need to leave her room if one was found.

“I suppose that it is best for me and you. I will be out of the way and you can continue being a rake disguised as a doctor.”

Isabella snorted and Dr. Valentine glared at his sister.

“If you wait here, I will see about obtaining lodgings for you.”

“I will repay you,” Blythe promised.

“That is not necessary. Besides, I doubt that you have the funds.”

She could understand why Dr. Valentine would believe such so she turned her back and reached into her bodice and withdrew a pearl necklace. It should reimburse him for what he already spent in purchasing her and lodgings.

“Keep your jewelry,” he insisted. “You might need it another time.”

He was then gone before she could argue further. “Your brother does not even know me. Why would he do such a thing?”

“You were alone without anyone to protect you. Any one of my brothers would have done the same.”

“Why?”

“A lesson instilled in them long ago. If someone is in need of protection, they will make certain that they are,” she answered. “Is there anything that you need that I could get for you?” Isabella asked.

Brother and sister, both strangers and both being kind. “No, thank you. Also, please do not let me keep you if there is somewhere you need to be.”

Isabella smiled. “I shan’t be long. I promise.”

Blythe watched her leave the tent then looked down at her bandaged wrists.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had been touched in such a gentle manner, but when Dr. Valentine soothed and cared for her wrists she had nearly wanted to cry.

Had it been so long since she had experienced kindness, the touch of someone who cared?

Blythe tried to shake the thoughts from her head and find something to take her mind off what had occurred, but there was little around until she spied a medical journal.

She knew little about healing, but if it kept her mind occupied, she would be happy to learn and with those thoughts, she settled on the cot and opened the journal and began reading about a doctor named Joseph Carpue who was able to reconstruct a man’s nose after it was injured in battle, which she found quite fascinating.

Then there as an article about a French surgeon named Dominque Jean-Larrey who developed a system to remove the injured from a battlefield and how to prioritize who should be taken so that the more seriously injured could be treated first, as sometimes a person of higher rank was removed when his injuries were not as significant and a man near death was left behind.

There was smudging on this article and the pages showed more wear which made her wonder if Dr. Valentine or any of the other surgeons planned to implement a similar method when the battle began again.

How many noses would need to be reconstructed?

War with Napoleon, again, was inevitable, but she hated that more good men would give up their lives on behalf of King and Country. Brave souls rushing toward danger while her husband hoped to escape it.

She tossed the journal aside with disgust. To think she once had thought John a brave hero when he was nothing but a coward.

* * *

Orlando walked into Brussels and visited the various inns and boarding houses hoping to find a room for rent, but they were not to be found.

One would think that with Napoleon on the march again, the British would have returned to their safe homes in England.

But they remained. The streets were crowded with ladies shopping and he heard discussions of teas, luncheons and balls as if the London Season had come to Brussels.

He’d walked from one end of Brussels to the other and took every street, but the only rooms that could be found were above taverns, which would never do. Mrs. Clay needed to be in a safe inn where there was no fear of her being bothered by unwanted attention.

Except, it did not appear that there were any.

Disappointed, and with darkness approaching, Orlando wondered if tomorrow he might find a boarding house with an available room, but just as he was leaving, he saw a sign at the end of a long lane.

Had he not been looking in that direction, it would have been missed, just as he had not seen it when he first arrived.

He turned down the lane and marched toward Desmit Inn, which appeared to be more of a stately home of three stories. Perhaps it had been a residence at one time, not that it mattered. He just hoped that it was clean, safe and had a room for Mrs. Clay.

After opening the door, he stepped into an entry of dark wood with gleaming white marble floors. To the left was a parlor where guests sat reading or taking tea. There were an equal number of men and women and it appeared to be a fairly safe inn.

“May I help you?”

He turned to find an older man standing beside a podium on which a ledger had been placed.

“Are there any rooms available?”

“Is it for you?” he asked.

“No. Someone else. I am making inquiries.”

The man narrowed his eyes in disapproval. “We only allow couples—married couples—to stay. No bachelors, or their women.”

Bloody hell, if he told this man who the room was for and how Orlando came to possess Mrs. Clay, she would lose the one place that might offer the shelter she wanted.

“I am inquiring for my wife, but I will not always be staying with her.” Orlando was not in the habit of lying, but it was surprisingly easy now that he needed to.

“Why would you want to leave your wife in an inn?”

“I am a surgeon with Wellington’s Army. She followed the drum and now tires of living in a tent. I promised that if I could find her a room at an inn that I would make the arrangements and be with her when I could, but I do have duties to the army.”

The proprietor stepped back and looked Orlando over.

Maybe if he was dressed more formally, he would be believed, but Orlando only wore a full uniform when absolutely necessary. Given his work, and how easily his clothing became stained, he refrained from wearing anything that was not easily cleaned and more costly to replace.

“I am who I say I am,” Orlando insisted. “I can retrieve a letter of introduction from my commanding officer if it is required.”

The older man stared at him a bit longer then shook his head. “It is not necessary,” he finally said. “We have a room for your wife. Mine will serve meals in the morning and evenings in the dining room. If laundry services are needed, that is extra.”

“I understand.”

“The room will get cleaned once a week and the linen changed at that time.”

“That is agreeable.”

He then drew out a ledger. “I need your name.”

“Dr. Orlando Valentine.”

“The name of your wife?”

“Blythe Valentine.”

The man wrote both names down. “How long will your wife be a guest?”

“I am not certain. I am here until we are ordered to march, which could be in a sennight or a month, unless Napoleon meets us here.” He assumed that Wellington already had plans for when he would meet the French on the battlefield but those had not been shared with him.

“Three shillings a day or a pound a week.”

By paying for a week, he saved one shilling.

“I will pay for the night now and discuss the matter with my wife before we return.” It would be more convenient to pay for the week of lodging and meals now, but he also wasn’t going to waste a pound if he was buying her a ticket to sail home the next day.

“It is the last door on the left on the first floor, room twelve.”

Orlando took the key. “Thank you. I will return with her shortly.”

The man said nothing more and Orlando stepped from the inn and hoped that Blythe had no objection to his duplicity. It was either that, or sleeping on the floor in his tent, which he would not allow.