And, yes, he needed help into the accursed chair. Help, he bloody well was not going to ask for from his friend’s butler.
Theo braced himself against a tidal wave of pain as he rose from the squab on his good leg and grappled for purchase on the frozen edge of the open doorway. He ducked his head as a gust of bitter wind threatened to rip the bandages from his face and expose the gashes bullets had left behind.
He could do this. Even if lowering himself into that chair sapped the last bit of strength from his ravaged body, Theo would do it on his own.
Pain shot through his hip and side as he landed far too hard on the chair’s leather surface. His swollen knee screamed with renewed pain as it jarred into place. The edges of Theo’s vision blurred and went gray as he tried to block his body’s panicked reaction and focus only on slowing his galloping heart.
He had done it. He was still capable. He was going to get better.
“What shall we call you?” The letter was back in the Butler’s hands. “My master’s instructions only refer to you as ‘T.’”
“I…” Theo was concentrating too hard on masking his pain to dream up an appropriate pseudonym. “I don’t need a name.”
“Very well.” Swinton gestured toward a footman. “Please see Mr. T to the guest chamber.”
But the moment the footmen navigated the chair off the snow-packed lawn and inside the entryway, Theo held up a hand to still them. “I can follow from here.”
Wheeling himself about had not been one of the many skills Theo had painstakingly prepared for before going off to war, but he had quickly learned its finer points. His arms had never been in better shape, and no longer tired from the effort.
It was the rest of his body that could not wait for the endless jostling and jarring to finally cease.
“This way.” Swinton strode down the corridor at a pace Theo very much appreciated. Brisk. Normal.
As if Theo was not a bandaged husk crumpled at all angles inside a wheeled chair, but a capable and healthy man.
The guest chamber was large and comfortably equipped, boasting several windows with a view of the snow-covered lane leading up to the picturesque castle perched atop the mountain. This would do.
As soon as the rooms had been sufficiently aired, Theo would seal the curtains at once. Until he was completely healed, he could not be recognized. Not like this.
That was why he was so far from home. Why he had avoided inns and other such public meeting-houses. As far as the beau monde knew, he was still at war, leading his troops, doing his part.
“Shall I help you into the bed?” his valet asked with obvious hesitation.
Despite the wounds and bandages covering much of his face, Theo’s infamous leveling glare had no trouble setting the lad aquiver.
“No,” Theo growled. He tossed the lad a small pouch filled with coins. “Have Swinton divide this amongst the staff for their trouble. Then go have a rest. You deserve it.”
When his valet quit the room, Theo glanced down at his twitching limbs and sighed. He was exhausted, but it would be some time before his brain and body were calm enough to sleep.
He had been prescribed laudanum but was loath to use it. For too many men, that way lay addiction. Theo would not allow himself to rely on anything but his own power.
His hands curled into fists. How he resented being plucked from the battlefield before the war was over. So many had been counting on him. His troops, his peers, the citizens whose rights he had been fighting for. As soon as Theo was better…
He reached into his inner pocket to retrieve a very different letter. This one had been addressed to him. Written by none other than Theo’s soon-to-be betrothed, Lady Beatrice Munroe.
He wondered if his father had put her up to it.
Theo was but eight years old when Lady Beatrice had been born. That same day, their fathers determined that a mix of their bloodlines and associated political connections would be advantageous for all parties. Children were tools. This was how they could best be used.
The expectation to join two powerful families in marriage had been communicated to Theo at once, and to Lady Beatrice as soon as she was old enough to grasp her required role.
Until this winter, that had been the end of it. Theo had seen Lady Beatrice on occasion over the years, but they had not formed any particular attachment.
An attachment wasn’t necessary.
Theo wasn’t expected to enjoy Lady Beatrice’s company. He was expected to marry her. Beget the requisite heir and a spare. Enhance the family’s power and reach. Keep their sterling reputation polished.
To that end, one could not ask for a better match than Lady Beatrice. Good breeding, good blood, good looks. Educated in all the proper things a Society wife was meant to master.
