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C amellia read aloud from her book of poems, Lyrical Ballads, continuing even after Neville fell asleep in his new chair.

He’d said he liked the sun on his face. Camellia imagined the warmth would be pleasant, but she still shaded her own face with her bonnet to preserve her complexion as she had been taught.

From time to time, she glanced around at the lush, well-tended flowers. There were two other men on the terrace, also dozing in the sun. It was a peaceful spot. Dull and peaceful.

Glancing up once again, she was startled to see Major Taverston coming toward them with a brisk stride and a stern expression.

She had thought, after embarrassing herself at the bookshop, that she didn’t want to encounter him again; yet she had looked for him each day and had been disappointed when he didn’t come calling.

He was in uniform and appeared quite dashing.

She watched him take note of the three sleeping veterans, then slow his pace.

He didn’t call out a greeting and neither did she.

Upon reaching her, he murmured with no preliminaries, “Will you step over toward the roses with me? So we can talk without waking anyone?”

“All right.” She rose and set down her book. He glanced at it, then gestured for her to come along, but did not offer his arm. So this was not to be a pleasant stroll about the terrace.

As they walked toward the far edge, he nodded back toward the seats and recited, “‘I heard a thousand blended notes, while in a grove I sate reclined.’”

She finished the stanza. “‘In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.’”

A flicker of a smile crossed his face. “Is Wordsworth your favorite poet? Or Coleridge?”

“I don’t believe I have a favorite. But I do admire them both.” He didn’t press for a better answer, so she asked, “Who is yours?”

“Currently?” He cocked his head to one side. “I’d have to say Donne. Old-fashioned, I know, but he’s very clever.”

“You must mean his religious themes.” Donne’s love poetry was shocking.

He seemed to freeze for a moment, then slid a sidelong glance at her. Assessing. She made an exaggeratedly prim little moue. His eyes lit. “Those, too.”

She laughed softly as they reached the railing, but his countenance abruptly changed from friendly back to stern. “Miss Harrington, I have some disturbing news. Can you keep a confidence?”

What a horrible thing to ask. “Better than you can, evidently.”

His lips twitched. “Ah. Touché.” Then he frowned again. “There is pox in the hospital. You should remove your brother at once.”

“Pox?” Breath left her chest, and she caught the railing for support. “What do you mean? How do you know?”

“You understand it serves no purpose to terrify men who have no means of fleeing. The physicians will do their best to contain the disease, but it is likely to spread.”

She pressed her hand to her mouth, holding back a scream or an oath. Through her fingers, she whispered, “I can’t move him. Not without Mr. Cooper’s help. And he won’t leave London. Not just now.”

Neville had said Cooper didn’t trust the bounder not to run off. It seemed to Camellia that being forced to wed a man so untrustworthy was as terrible a fate as the alternative.

Of course, she couldn’t explain this to Major Taverston.

She wasn’t supposed to know about such indelicate things at all , let alone as much as she now did.

She’d told the story to Marianne, who’d gasped, “Good gracious! The silly girl should have taken precautions!” When Camellia had asked what she meant, Marianne gave her a graphic description of how to prevent pregnancy with a vinegar douche.

And then, she’d lent her that book…Camellia hadn’t even known how a lady got with child, not in precise detail, but now she knew both how to and how not to.

At least, in theory. She wasn’t sure if she was pleased or saddened she’d never know in actuality.

Though if she had a husband now, she and Neville wouldn’t be in such a precarious place.

Major Taverston tapped his fingers against the railing, brow furrowed as if deep in thought. “I cannot offer my brother’s house. There is a slight chance, you understand, that the colonel has already been exposed. And there are children—”

“Of course you can’t take Neville in! We would never ask it.” Frustration gripped her. “I cannot ask the Stirlings either.”

“So,” he went on, “we must take him to Tonbridge. At once.”

“We?”

“Miss Harrington, unless you have another solution, I think you should accept mine. I can borrow one of my brother’s carriages. If we leave quickly, we can be there before dark.”

She stared at him. She could not believe what he was offering. “Why would you do this?”

He didn’t answer right away. He frowned and directed his gaze toward the roses before he uttered, “He was my commander.”

That hardly seemed reason enough. “I should refuse.” She bit her lip. Could she trust him? “Major, it is too generous of you.”

“No, it is the very least I can do.” He gripped the railing so tightly his knuckles whitened.

“I must leave all these unfortunate men to their fates, knowing it is kinder not to warn them when I can do nothing for them.” His voice shook.

“The war is over, yet there is no end to death.” He turned to face her, his expression a bit frantic.

“Removing the colonel to safety is the one thing I can do. Please don’t deny me this. ”

She stared at him a moment longer. Those white knuckles. The wild eyes. The theatrics.

She sniffed. “You are doing it far too brown.”

His head jerked back, and he blinked.

“Major, you can’t expect me to believe that escorting us to Tonbridge is a favor I am doing for you .”

“I—”

“Is there even any contagion?”

“I wouldn’t lie about that!”

“What are you lying about?”

She saw a small twitch at the corner of his eye before he set his jaw.

Then he looked past her, clearly thinking.

She wondered if he was reexamining his words.

She felt sure of it when he said, “Nothing I said was untrue.” His eyes met hers.

“Only my manner was false. I worried you would resist my help. As you did the other night—”

“Major! The crisis at issue then was that I’d stayed too long at a bookshop. This is contagion! I’m not a ninny.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping men, then back at her. He lowered his voice. “I apologize. Of course, you’ll accept my help.”

She felt peeved he was getting his way regardless. “I haven’t a choice. Though I would like an honest answer why you’re so eager to put yourself out.”

“I haven’t anything better to do. That is the truth. If you like, we can argue more later. But now, I have a horse out front. I can be back with a carriage in less than an hour. Does the colonel have much in his room?”

“A few clothes and his shaving kit. And the chair he’s in. It’s his.” His, but the wheels did not turn smoothly, and it was difficult to maneuver. It was the best she could do for fifteen pounds.

“Good. That will make it easier. We can collect his things, then go to the Stirlings’ for yours. Will it take you long to pack?”

“Not very. And I can send for anything I forget.”

“Could you send for all of it? We can be on our way quicker if we don’t stop at the Stirlings’.”

“Good Lord, no! I have to say goodbye to Marianne.” A wave of heat rolled up her neck. She’d told her friend about meeting Major Taverston at the hospital, but not about the encounter at the Temple of the Muses. She could imagine Marianne’s astonishment, seeing her ride off with him into the night.

Major Taverston nodded. “Very good. I’ll fetch a carriage. If you can, wait here on the terrace until I return.”

*

Camellia could not have said what she expected, but it certainly was not the carriage Major Taverston brought around to the side door of the hospital.

She had never ridden in anything so grand.

The wood was painted a glossy black. The handles and metal attachments gleamed so, it wouldn’t surprise her to learn they were plated with gold.

Four matching black Norfolk Trotters were in the traces.

And Major Taverston had also borrowed a driver in livery.

The Major lifted Neville into the carriage and climbed up after him to see him settled. Then he vaulted down and handed Camellia up. The inside was well cushioned and upholstered in a rich brocade. She tried not to gawp, but who lived like this?

“There are sandwiches in that basket and tea in the bottle. I’m sorry but the tea won’t be hot. And there are blankets under the red cushion if you need them.”

“Thank you, Major,” Neville said. His teeth were clenched. “Camellia, I need my laudanum.” As she fished the bottle and spoon from her reticule, Major Taverston turned away, frowning. She wondered what worried him now.

To her relief, he wasn’t going to ride in the carriage with them. He would ride alongside on a gorgeous chestnut Thoroughbred that must have been at least sixteen hands tall. She felt she had stepped straight into a fairy tale. Handsome prince included.

Neville fell asleep in the short time it took to reach the Stirlings’. Major Taverston opened the carriage door and helped her down.

“I’ll wait here with the colonel.” He cast an anxious look at the sky. “I think we are in for some rain.”

“I’ll hurry.”

Marianne met her at the door. Fluttering. “What on earth? Whose carriage is that?”

“Major Taverston’s.” She gave the quickest explanation she could, emphasizing the major’s determination to help Neville. Her friend merely stared, open-mouthed, until the story was told.

“My word, Camellia, I don’t know what to think. Are you sure he isn’t abducting you?”

Why on earth would he? “Don’t think, Marianne. Just help me pack.”

Less than half an hour later, Major Taverston was handing her back into the carriage. Just before closing the door, he startled her by pressing a brown-paper-wrapped parcel into her hands.

“If the colonel is sleeping and you’re bored…at least as long as there is light enough.”

She peeled open the paper of Major Taverston’s gift a little warily.

The last book slipped to her had been the one from Marianne, a “secret” novel that Philip had given her as a wedding gift, The School of Venus: or, The Ladies Delight, reduced into Rules of Practice.

A rather eye-opening instruction manual.

She’d read it then gave it right back. Her hands had felt scorched.

But this! Sense and Sensibility . Her vision blurred. She’d never met anyone so thoughtful.

Yet as the carriage began moving, her mind shifted to the practical. No one was that thoughtful. She didn’t believe the major had nothing better to do than to jaunt to Tonbridge. And he had to have bought this book with the intention of gifting it to her. What was he doing? And why?

*

Camellia read until it was too dark to see the words on the page.

Then she drifted off to sleep despite the jolting of the carriage.

She woke to a flash of lightning and a deafening boom of thunder.

Rain spattered against the roof and windows.

She pulled back the curtains but could see nothing but a wet blur.

Inside, everything was shadowy. Neville coughed.

“You’re awake?” she asked.

He grunted. “I’ve been awake for a while.”

“Major Taverston is out there.” She let the curtain fall closed. “Should we signal the driver to stop?”

“Stop? Why?”

“So that the major can come into the carriage.”

Neville didn’t say anything, but she felt his scrutiny.

“Neville, he is being so generous, and he’ll catch his death—”

“He’s a soldier. He has ridden in rain before.”

His uncaring tone shocked her. “We are not on campaign. He—”

“Camellia, let me tell you two things about Major Taverston. Two things you need to remember.”

She couldn’t make out the expression on his face, but he sounded so dour, she quieted, fidgeting uncomfortably with the blanket on her lap. “What are they?”

“First, he is married to the army. He’s on half-pay now, but he’ll go back. Mark my words. He is a soldier to the marrow.”

She understood what “married to the army” meant.

Before Neville returned to London injured, she had seen her brother just three times in her life.

She knew him only through correspondence.

She’d written to him religiously, and he’d responded, but she could have passed him on the street and not known him.

So Major Taverston was cut from the same cloth. The war with France was over, but there was still India, Ireland, America, the West Indies… Neville was trying to protect her.

“What is the second thing?”

“He is a rake.” He shot the words like a bullet into her heart.

“A rake ?”

“If there was a brothel within ten miles of his billet, he would sniff it out and be first in line.”

“Neville!” Her throat closed and she felt hot with shame. “That’s indecent! You shouldn’t speak of—”

“You aren’t a child, Camellia. And the world is indecent. I don’t believe in keeping ladies in ignorance. Ignorance is dangerous.” He grunted. “I am not concerned about Major Taverston. He will behave as a gentleman toward you . But that does not change the fact that he is a rake at his core.”

He didn’t fit Camellia’s image of a rake. But then, she had never met one before. She felt a twinge of disquiet. Or curiosity. She couldn’t tell which.

“I need my laudanum again, damn it. Camellia, give me another dose.”