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‘You looked pale. You sat with an abrupt motion as though off balance. However, you appear too young and healthy to suffer from any malaise. And you do not seem intoxicated. Not that I have a great deal of experience with intoxication, but I saw my brother the worse for drink on one occasion and his speech was slurred and voluble while you have said little but with clear enunciation. Anyway, I wondered if you also found the noise and movement of the dance floor exhausting?’
‘Um...not usually,’ he said after this monologue. Indeed, this was a tame event, too full of debutantes, anxious mothers and warm lemonade to encourage inebriation. He would not have attended except for his sister. ‘I take it you are not enjoying the festivities?’
She pulled a face, but then smiled. He found the change from a serious demeanour to one of mischief intriguing. ‘Not entirely, although having access to Lord Entwhistle’s library is a solace, to be sure. You won’t tell?’
‘I am the soul of discretion.’ Although he doubted that the kindly Lord Entwhistle would care. He glanced at the book which so obviously fascinated her, uncertain what to expect. His sister liked novels and botanical books from which she would copy flowers and ferns with scrupulous attention to detail.
More recently, she had also taken to devouring fashionable journals and often begged their mother for the latest mode.
‘Goodness!’ He gave a spontaneous chuckle as he read the title of the article. ‘“Cowpox”? You are reading about cowpox?’
‘Yes, and smallpox. Neither of which is a subject for amusement,’ she said reprovingly.
He straightened his countenance. ‘No...um... I should not have laughed.’ This rather odd female seemed to have made him abandon a decade of niceties. And he was not exactly inexperienced. He had travelled the Continent and attended any number of balls and dances in London without feeling in any way socially inadequate.
‘You likely found the peculiarity of the subject amusing. My mother says that discussions about such topics will make me an oddity.’
‘She may be correct,’ he said, his lips twitching again.
‘She usually is. Or if not, her conviction of her own infallibility makes everyone believe it must be so.’
‘She sounds rather like my father,’ he said.
He was still angry about a lecture his father had given him on a large sum of money he had lost in a bet. It had started with a card game and ended with a fast gallop across Rotten Row. Fun, but not good for the pocket.
‘Did your father tell you to come here, then?’ she asked.
‘No, that was Mother, actually. She is quite positive that my presence will greatly enhance my sister’s marital chances.’
‘And will it?’
‘Possibly. I decided that if I had to suffer, I would ensure that my friends were similarly afflicted.’
‘Misery loves company.’
‘Indeed.’ Although his best friend, George, did not seem particularly miserable.
Infatuated, more like. What did one feel when one’s best friend suddenly falls head over heels with one’s sister? And George had always been such a sensible fellow. And he’d known Elsie for ever, except now he looked at her as though she was some miraculous creature—as if gowns and ribbons had the power to transform.
‘So, what is the fascination with cowpox?’ he asked, searching for a more pleasant topic.
She did not answer for a moment, again fixing him with her disconcertingly direct gaze. ‘Did you want to know? Or do you merely aim to be polite?’
‘Actually, I find I want to know,’ he said, rather to his own surprise.
‘Very well.’ She spoke with the tone of a schoolmaster. ‘The concept of introducing a pathogen to develop a strength is so interesting. And then there is the controversy. You see, Dr Jenner is thought to have first identified that a person may be less likely to contract smallpox if they have been previously infected with cowpox. But Jesty the farmer may have had the idea first.’
‘Controversial cowpox—even more entertaining.’
She frowned, fixing him with a dubious gaze. ‘Not the adjective I would use, but I surmise you are an individual frequently in search of entertainment.’
She spoke with surprising perspicacity for one so interested in cowpox.
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘My brother is the responsible one. Do you not find that life can become remarkably dull, remarkably quickly?’
‘At times,’ she agreed, nodding her head for emphasis. ‘But you have no excuse for boredom. You can read whatever you want and likely no one cancels your scientific journals.’
‘Er...no,’ he said.
He had never subscribed to a scientific journal in his life. He nodded towards the open book on her lap. ‘I take it yours were? Hence your interest in Lord Entwhistle’s library?’
‘Yes—you see, I would like—’ She stopped abruptly.
‘What would you like?’
‘I believe my aspirations might be considered odd. You will not laugh?’
‘I have managed thus far in our conversation.’
‘To provide medical care.’
The remark was so unexpected and unusual that he could not contain his reaction, which was a mix of both shock and amusement.
‘You mean like a—a—’ He had been about to say midwife, but realised this was hardly appropriate. ‘Like someone who gives out herbs and...and poultices,’ he concluded lamely.
‘Or a doctor, surgeon or even an apothecary.’
‘Good gracious, why on earth would you want to do so?’
She shrugged, the dreadful green ruffles rustling. ‘I’ve always wanted to do so. I cannot explain it. It is somewhat like questioning why one would want to walk or do any number of things which are instinctual to us.’
He was about to say that walking did not involve the removal of body parts with a handsaw, but there was again something in the green intensity of her eyes that made him stop. It was ludicrous, of course, for a lady to wish to be a doctor. It was ludicrous for a gentleman to do so, too, for that matter.
‘I imagine your mother doesn’t endorse that ambition?’
‘My mother’s sole desire is for me to marry someone of a higher social status. She keeps introducing me to titled gentlemen. Anyway, it is not possible. I mean for me to become a doctor. A female cannot enrol in medical college or even apothecary school.’
He laughed at her disgruntled expression. ‘I am certain you will find something more pleasurable to do.’
‘And is that our purpose? To find pleasure?’
‘Generally. At least it is the principle I adhere to—except on those occasions when I must march around a square.’
‘You are in the military?’ she questioned.
‘The lot of the younger son. Although my brother also joined in an excess of patriotism. For me, it was either that or the clergy. I did not find myself well suited to the latter occupation. So, I take it you are currently hiding from your mother?’
‘And the latest gentleman she has procured for me.’
‘She might have found someone young and pleasant.’
The young woman glanced down so that her long lashes lay like fans against her cheeks. Her skin was pale, but touched with just the hint of pink along her cheekbones. ‘Except I will not marry. I am quite decided on it.’
He was struck by the room’s silence. For a moment, time and space seemed distorted, stilling and narrowing so that everything seemed focused on this one moment in this one room.
‘That almost seems a shame,’ he said.
Then she shifted again, her smile widening and transforming her serious demeanour into one of wry humour. Her amusement was contagious and her smile engaging, the more so because it seemed a rare thing. ‘Not at all. Indeed, I believe it would be a goal quite destined for disappointment, given that I resemble a cabbage.’
He looked at her and, while she was quite strikingly different from other young ladies, he would not put her in the category of leafy vegetables. Indeed, she was almost beautiful in a strange, unconventional way. Her eyes widened as hot colour flushed into her cheeks at his scrutiny. He saw her inhalation. Her lips parted.
‘I apologise.’ He stood abruptly. ‘I was rude again. I seem to be making a habit of it. And really, I should return to the dance and doubtless your mother is looking for you.’
‘Indeed. Her brows drew together as she looked to the mantel clock. ‘And I am not even done the article.’
With renewed urgency, her gaze returned to her book, and he had the odd and unusual feeling that he had been dismissed in favour of the more fascinating topic of cowpox.
He strode to the door, but paused, his hand on the handle. ‘What is your name?’
‘Lettuce Barton,’ she said.
Chapter One (#u90f429ed-7cf0-57d6-95da-1c4519e89f15)
August 2nd, 1815
His head hurt. The pain thudded, pounding and stabbing into his temples with every beat of his heart. Tony pulled himself to an upright position, squinting at the obnoxiously bright daylight flickering through the narrow gap of the drawn curtains.
‘Good day, my lord,’ Mason said, crossing the floor and pulling open the curtains with a raucous rattle. Bright sunlight spilled through the glass, filling the bedchamber.
‘Must you make it so infernally bright this early in the morning?’
‘It is past noon, my lord.’
‘Fantastic, time for another drink,’ he muttered. ‘Why are you here anyway? Didn’t ring for you. Sleeping.’
‘Lady Beauchamp is downstairs, my lord.’
‘Actually, not so much “downstairs” any more,’ his sister announced, laughing from the doorway.
‘Elsie!’ he said, keeping his injured hand hidden under the bedclothes. ‘You can’t come barging into a gentleman’s bedchamber, even if I am your brother.’
‘I have visited for three days and I am tired of waiting. You are either out or sleeping or in your cups. Besides, you do not return one’s calls.’
‘And you insist on visiting in the middle of the night. Anyway, what is so damned urgent?’ He spoke too loudly so that he winced at the noise of his own voice.
‘I need to go to the country.’
‘Then go. You do not need my permission.’
‘I wanted to talk to you first. Provided I could catch you in a moment of sobriety.’
He glared. ‘Fine. We will chat, but for goodness sake, wait outside while I make myself decent.’
‘Very well, I will see you in the breakfast room, but do not think you can lope off again.’
With those words, his younger sister gave a decisive nod and, thankfully, left the room, the door shutting firmly behind her.
He again flinched, glaring irritably at the closed door. Truthfully, he had been avoiding her. Her presence reminded him too much of the gaping holes within their family.
As well, there was this peculiar, detached feeling. He knew her to be his sister and knew that he loved her, yet could not seem to find the emotion.
He lay back on the bed, staring between half-closed eyes at a crack in the ceiling. Even the concept of rising felt exhausting.
And his bloody head hurt.
‘My lord?’ Mason said, clearing his throat.
Tony groaned.
‘She will be back.’
He nodded, pulling himself upright. His sister had always been persistent. ‘Stubborn and obstinate as a mule,’ their brother had said.
While George, her husband, had called her ‘steadfast’ and ‘resolute’.
But she was his family. Even though he couldn’t find the emotion, he knew he loved her, or had loved her. He knew he had been best man at her wedding. He could see himself. He could see George. He could see Elsie.
But everything felt distant. As though recalling something he had observed—a wedding that was pretty, charming, happy, but in no way closely connected to himself.
Perhaps that was it. Everything felt distant. Both the wedding and that which had come next: the cannons, the corpses, the smell, the blood...
And Elsie and George and Edgar and his father, the happy and the sad, all seemed intertwined, so that he wanted only to shove them from his mind and lie within the dark, oblivion of this room.
* * *
Shaved and dressed, Tony exited his bedchamber. He still had a headache. As always, movement hurt. It was not excruciating any more, but rather a raw tautening, as his skin and muscles moved where the bullet had lodged within his ribcage.
He was already looking forward to his next drink.
Elsie glanced up as he entered the drawing room. As always, she wore the latest fashion. Of course, she was in deep mourning but even this suited her. George, Edgar, their father. Gone.
He hated black.
Sitting opposite, he stretched his feet towards the hearth, wincing slightly with the movement. ‘So why are you going to the country?’ he asked without preamble. ‘It seems a departure from your usual habits.’
Elsie had a low tolerance for boredom. In their youth, he’d tended to egg her on while Edgar, always responsible, had bailed her out of numerous scrapes until she married George, who had then assumed the role.
Until Waterloo.
