“Probably,” he agreed. “You see, I had been so looking forward to the company. I needed someone other than myself to think of. I was eager to show my beloved Highlands to—”
“Your beloved,” Beatrice finished softly as she withdrew her hands from his. She would do well to remember her place, and that it was never and would never be that of any Violet held. Even if she had thrown it away. Though Lord Hughes could not see now, no doubt he remembered Violet’s blonde curls, her full lips, her clear blue eyes.
If he could see me...He wouldn’t be likely to look twice. Brown hair, brown eyes, and a plain face did not attract a man. The only thing he might have noticed was the odd angle at which her arm hung—never entirely straight and the bend not quite natural either. It was her one remarkable feature—and not one she enjoyed receiving remarks upon.
“Iwaseager to share this place with Violet.” Lord Hughes cleared his throat. “But she has not come—has found greener pastures, shall we say.”
Beatrice stifled a laugh. “She is not a cow.” Though the idea that he had nearly called Violet one made her heart light once more.
“A wild pony, then,” the earl suggested. “Not wishing to be tied down to the likes of me.”
“That is a rather good comparison,” Beatrice agreed. “I am sorry to say.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “That is in the past. I do not wish to speak of Violet any longer. I have spent the last week pursuing her whereabouts through various means, andnothing I have learned is encouraging. So let us move past all of that.”
“All right,” Beatrice said hesitantly. What did he mean exactly? Perhaps he intended to invite her to join him for dinner tonight, where they would speak of things other than his missing fiancée. She tried not to get her hopes up, but an evening spent in his company—just a few pleasant hours—would be a memory she might cherish in the future.
“I am wondering if—would you consider staying on as myhouseguest, instead of a housemaid?”
“As your guest?” she asked, certain she misunderstood. “Beyond tomorrow?”
He nodded vigorously. “Say, for the next few months. You came here expecting a summer in the Highlands, did you not?”
“Yes, but—”
“Wonderful. It is settled, then.” He wheeled his chair backward, away from her. “Shall we go in? It will be time to change for dinner soon.”
“I have no other clothes to change into,” Beatrice reminded him. “And as for staying the summer...” Oh, how she wanted to say yes. But how could she? It had been one thing to come here with Violet as a chaperone. With the two of them and Lord Hughes’ current injuries, it had beenalmostpermissible. Or so Aunt Margaret had somehow convinced herself when she had sent them off, sans an older traveling companion. Even Violet’s maid had not come, as Lord Hughes had assured Aunt Margaret that he would provide one for Violet upon her arrival. Beatrice had half suspected she would be asked to serve as Violet’s maid, though that would have made Violet’s position—without a chaperone—that much more tenuous and suspect.
But then Lord Hughes and Violet were to be married atsummer’s end. Perhaps, since they were already betrothed, there had been more allowance for this excursion.Had been.There certainly was not any sort of allowance for one now. To stay...would mean certain ruin. And while she ought not to care—society already thought so ill of her—she had to, for her uncle’s sake if nothing else.For Lord Hughes’ sake as well.Though, society never judged men in quite the same manner as they did women.
“I am flattered by your offer, but I cannot accept. Though I am quite past marriageable age, I am not so old that society would not judge me harshly for such actions. I am sorry for that, for I think I might have enjoyed your beloved Highlands and our time together greatly.” Eyes stinging with regret, Beatrice slid past him and started down the spiraling path. Lord Hughes rolled his chair after her, not saying anything more.
What was there to say? Her brief summer had come to an end.
THEODORE TOOK DINNER alone in his room, as he had taken to doing most of the time lately. Eating had become both tedious and embarrassing. It was amazing how much one’s sight was necessary for such an activity. It was as Miss Worthington had said this afternoon. He had not appreciated the ability to complete simple tasks until that had been taken from him.
When his sloppy mealtime was complete, Theodore wheeled his chair to the opposite side of the large room where a divan, writing desk, and cushioned chair used to reside. Taking their place were two long, parallel bars, braced on poles that had been anchored to the floor. Before dinner, Logan and Ian, who had been recently hired as his valet, had helped him become familiar with the bars, and now it was time to try them.
Feeling his way with his hands, Theodore positioned his chair between the two, then clasped his hands on either side and pulled himself up to a standing position. He hovered there a minute, most of his weight still being supported by his arms. The doctor had warned him to take it slow, to try standing a little at a time each day before attempting to walk. But Theodore had no use for that advice. Life was passing him by while he sat blind and lame in a chair each day.No more.He was going to walk again if it killed him.
Gradually, he lessened the pressure on his arms and settled more onto his legs and feet. His right leg was stronger than the left, having sustained less injury. His left leg, he was fortunate to still be in possession of. He’d glimpsed it only once before passing out, and the gaping mass of tissue, blood, and bone had been utterly horrifying. He’d hoped for death in those seconds of agony. Later, he had awoken to find himself in a great deal of pain but still in possession of both life and leg—and utterly alone on the abandoned battlefield, his leg having been bound by some unknown soul. Theodore had cursed the man, whoever he was. Death had been beckoning, and the bound leg had no doubt slowed the process. He’d tried to undo the Good Samaritan’s work but had fainted again with the searing pain and loss of blood.
All through the long, dark night the scene repeated. He’d awoken alone to excruciating pain and then sank into brief reprieves of unconsciousness. He wasn’t certain how long he’d lain alone on that field, if it was hours or days.
His next memory was of blinding light—an explosion that simultaneously shook him awake and blinded him. He wasn’t alone anymore but jostling along on a cart. The screams and cries of men surrounded him. His own joined them, a howl of pain and confusion.
Then, a miracle. A nurse leaned over him, whispering words of comfort.
“I can’t see,” he’d told her, clasping her hand as if it were a lifeline.
It was. He hadn’t realized how much until later when news of Miss Nightingale’s heroism and good works became more widely known.
“The leg’s infected. It will have to be amputated,” a male voice said.
“No!” Theodore struggled to sit up.
Miss Nightingale’s hand squeezed his reassuringly. Her voice was firm when she turned away from him and spoke again.
