"What is ugly, can be, is that which you cannot see. Nor can you predict."
"I don't understand."
"You might not ever."
"What?"
"I'm—” He tapped a hand to his head. "Not right."
"You look fine to me."
"I hope so. Hope I do to one and all. But I have minutes, hours when I am not."
"Tell me more." She wanted to understand, help him if she could.
"When they found me in the field, I did not speak. They said they were surprised I was taken up as wounded, because I did not wake for days. And when I did, my eyes were open but I did not speak. Not at all, except to say your name."
Her heart turned over. Tears scalded her eyes. "Oh, Alastair."
"I did not speak for weeks. Scavengers, thieves who prey upon fallen soldiers, had stolen by uniform. I had no idea who I was. I did not know my regiment or where I was. Nor did I know my name. Only yours."
Gratifying as that was, she rued the rest of it. Anger that he'd been so badly used, saddened that he'd lost his memory, horrified that he might have died untended alone, all of that set her to her feet so that she could wrap her arms around him.
But he put her to arm's length. "Only lately have I remembered my name and regiment. Even my letters! I could not read, Bee. Were it not for compassionate fellows in hospital with me, I would be a blithering fool to this day."
"Then we must find them, thank them and do compassionate services for them."
"Oh, Bee!" He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly to speak into her hair. "I want you, my darling. As I did before I left. But you have to know I am an odd duck. Walking the floor at night. Sometimes, with as blank a mind as when I first came off the field."
She stepped backward. "Alastair, you've suffered so much. I would take it from you if I could."
He clutched her arms. "Think if you can live with my injuries, Bee. I want you to see me this week here. Watch me. Note how I am. And be careful to consider my condition. I may not be the man I was or ever will be again."
"You think I am afraid of what you are?" With one finger, she tapped his chest. "Never. You are a hero. Home. Wounded from the war. Promoted. Now to take over your family estate."
"Not simply that."
"What then?"
"I do not wish to be celebrated, Bee. I fought. As many did. The horrors of war are not to be held up as noble things."
She inclined her head toward those in the Red Salon. "I doubt you can persuade the multitude of that."
"Then I will persuade them by other means." He approached her. "I'll persuade them with the tools they use. Prestige. Wealth. Position."
"You...you wish to stand for Parliament? Become a politician?"
"No."
Was this stubbornness, this fantasy the symptom of his injury to his head?
"Darling, I am the Duke of Kingston. Due to the Lords soon to proclaim my rights. I am a leading peer of the realm."
Her head thrummed. Yes, she'd heard her aunt speak of the old duke who'd passed away a few weeks ago. How the man had lost his grandson in the autumn and so the title, ancient and storied, without William or Alastair, had no heirs. It would go into abeyance until they found a lesser cousin to appear and take the reins. Her sight of Alastair tonight had not resurrected that particular fact.
"Oh Alastair, I am so delighted for you. The dukedom. Land and home and title and riches. What a welcome for you."
"Bee. Bee." He took both her hands in his. "My darling, listen to me. I love you."
