“I was fortunate,” he told her. “The sword got neither my eyes nor my throat, except for one small slash. I was fortunate too not to be hated by my men. A couple of them grabbed me and dragged me into the center of the square, where I suppose they expected me to bleed out and die while they fought.”
“It is a sort of unwritten rule among officers,” Harry said, a hint of reproach in his voice, “that ladies are given no details of war.”
The lieutenant colonel looked at him and then back at Abigail. “I beg your pardon,” he said stiffly. “I memorized the written rules. I never did learn all the unwritten ones.”
“I did ask,” she said.
He fell silent, perhaps humiliated by Harry’s quiet rebuke, and Abigail was left to wonder again who exactly he was. Not a gentleman, almost surely. There was that village school and that recruiting sergeant. So how had he ended up an officer? A lieutenant colonel, no less.
“I suppose, Harry,” she said, “we know practically nothingof all the horrid things that happened to you during the wars. We knew only of the wounds you could not hide from us.”
He had been sent home once during the war and had arrived unexpectedly at the house in London where Alexander now lived, in such a confused mental state brought on by fever that he had thought it was still his and that he would find Mama and her and Camille there.
“I suppose,” she continued when he merely frowned at her, “that all the letters in which you told us what a jolly lark it all was, being with the armies, were so many lies.”
“Oh, I say, Abby,” he said, “I had to keep Mama’s spirits up somehow. I knew how much she worried. And I was not exactly lying. Itwasa lark much of the time. Was it not, Gil?”
“There were good times,” he said, looking at Abigail. “There was camaraderie. And we saw the best of humanity as well as the worst. There are good people with the armies, women as well as men, despite the fact that Wellington described his soldiers after Waterloo as the scum of the earth. I like to think there was at least some fondness in the description. As well as pride.”
He turned his gaze upon Harry then, and Abigail saw that her brother had fallen asleep, his head against the side cushion next to the window. She frowned across at Lieutenant Colonel Bennington.
“These are healing sleeps,” he said quietly, as he had said during the picnic a week or two ago. “You must not worry. He is vastly better than he was when I found him on my return from St. Helena. His will to live and thrive has strengthened. And he has your cook to feed him.”
She swallowed against a lump in her throat and nodded.
They did not talk again before they arrived at their destination.
Eight
They left the carriage and horses at an inn, where they also reserved a private parlor for the day. After partaking of coffee and glazed buns Harry went with Gil to look over some horses while Miss Westcott walked to a shop that sold needleworking supplies. She seemed to remember from a previous occasion that it was not far away and refused to allow the men to go out of their way to escort her there. She also scorned her brother’s offer to hire a maid from the inn to accompany her.
“I am twenty-four years old,” she reminded him.
Gil had never been much of a horseman, though as an officer he had been forced to ride more frequently than he had done as a boy or when he was in the noncommissioned ranks. He took his time about his choice of a horse now, though he was also aware of the need not to exhaust Harry. That was a needless worry, however, as he soon realized. His friend was every bit as exhilarated by the task at hand as he was.
There were several mounts that would do perfectly well, but Gil wanted to choose just the right one. It was true that his dog had chosen him on the battlefield at Waterloo rather than the other way around, but nevertheless Beauty had taught him the importance of the special bond that could exist between man and beast. Just any dog would no longer do for him. Only Beauty herself. In the same way he wanted the one horse that belonged to him, or to which he belonged.
It did occur to him that it was a good thing Harry and the other men hovering about could not read his thoughts. They would think him daft at the very least. Or else totally unknowledgeable about all he ought to look for when buying a horse—and they would not have been far wrong on that.
He picked a white mare with light brown markings—even his mental description of it demonstrated his ignorance. It was neither the biggest nor the sleekest nor the loveliest of the mounts paraded for his inspection, but when he rode it around the paddock into which it had been led, it snorted and whinnied softly to him and responded just as it ought to his somewhat inexpert handling. After he had put it through its paces, he smoothed a hand over its neck and it whinnied again.
“Yes, girl,” he said. “I understand. You want to belong. It is what we all want.”
“You are quite sure, Gil?” Harry asked after he had dismounted and announced his choice. He sounded a bit dubious. “I thought perhaps the black stallion...”
“An excellent pick,” Gil said. “Just not mine. Why not buy it for yourself?”
“Ha,” Harry said, but the single syllable sounded a bit wistful. “It feels like forever since I was last on a horse’sback. But heisbeautiful and almost certainly a prime goer.”
“He would give you an increased incentive to get fit enough to ride,” Gil said. He kept his eyes upon the white and brown mare, allowing Harry to think for himself, to make his own decision—about his recovery, about riding again. About the stallion.
They both purchased their horses, which were to be delivered to Hinsford within the week. By the time they arrived back at the inn, Miss Westcott was sitting in the private parlor, drinking a glass of lemonade.
“I have not ordered our luncheon,” she told them, “even though it is rather late. I was not sure when you would be back. Were you successful, Lieutenant Colonel Bennington?”
“I was indeed,” he told her. “So was Harry. The horses will be taken to Hinsford.”
“Harry too?” She looked as if she was caught between pleased surprise and concern.
