At last, she came to the solar where Camden rested, easing open the heavy door with care. Still as stone, Camden rested upon a worn settee, though Rebecca could see the slow rise and fall of his chest, catching the faintest hint of a snore carried in the musty air.
“Captain Beauchamp,” she called softly. Camden stirred then, blinking awake as if rising from a dream. He turned his head toward the sound of her voice, surprise flitting across his features for a moment before he came fully alert.
“Must we be so formal?” he rasped, voice gravelly from sleep. “I would rather like to hear my name on your lips.”
“Very well.” Rebecca smiled warmly, lifting the basket in her hands. “I’ve come to tend to your wound, Camden.”
His eyes dropped to the fresh bandages peeking from her basket, and he nodded. “Your kindness knows no bounds.”
“Rest easy,” Rebecca replied gently. “I will not cause you unnecessary discomfort.”
She moved to his side, laying out her supplies as she prepared to dress his injury once more. With delicate care, she unwound the old bandages, inspecting the healing gash upon the back of his hand, her touch soothing as a balm. Camden watched her silently, struck by the compassion in her eyes. The early sparks of love that had blossomed deep within him grew more profound.
Rebecca worked methodically yet gently as she cleaned the wound, her ministrations both practical and comforting. She studied her face, appreciating the furrow of concentration upon her brow, the purse of her lips as she focused on her task.
“Does it pain you still?” Rebecca asked, glancing up to meet his gaze.
Camden flexed his fingers slowly. “The ache has dulled, thanks to your excellent care. I’m in your debt, Rebecca.”
A pretty blush colored her cheeks at his words. She busied herself unwinding a fresh bandage, though a small smile played at her lips.
“I’m happy to be of service,” she replied. “For it is I who am in your debt.”
Camden nodded, touched by her selflessness. They sat in companionable silence for a moment as Rebecca wrapped the clean cloth around his palm. Her nearness was soothing, her touch kindling a warmth within him.
When she had finished, Rebecca met his eyes once more. “There. Good as new.”
“Good as new,” Camden echoed with a smile. He flexed his hand experimentally. “Thank you for your kindness.”
Rebecca’s gaze was tender. “Seeing you properly cared for is thanks enough. After what you did for my family... Well, I cannot very well allow your wound to turn putrid. You have earned my loyalty.”
Rebecca’s words hung in the air between them, both affected by the intimacy of the moment.
Camden cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t keep you. I’m sure you have other things to attend to.”
“None so pressing as this,” Rebecca replied gently. She hesitated, then asked, “If I may...what led you to become a soldier?”
Camden tensed, old grief rising along with the fear of pushing her away. But Rebecca’s expression held only compassion. Perhaps she was ready to look past his profession. Slowly, haltingly, he spoke of why he purchased a commission and of the bloodshed he had witnessed, the friends lost, the horrors of war that haunted his dreams.
Rebecca sat beside him and listened in silence, her hand coming to rest lightly atop his uninjured one. The warmth of her touch kept Camden grounded as he unburdened his soul. By the time his words trailed off, he felt strangely cleansed, as if lancing a wound to let it drain.
Rebecca gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “You have endured much,” she said softly. “But you are home now and the war is at an end. The past cannot hurt you here.”
Camden turned his hand beneath hers, lacing their fingers together. “You give me hope,” he admitted.
“Despite my obvious aversion to soldiers and all things military?” Rebecca’s lips curved. “I am quite certain I have been unfair to you.”
They smiled at one another, hands entwined, as the shadows retreated and light filled the room once more.
Rebecca let the moment linger, taking comfort in the connection between them. There would be time later to consider what it meant. For now, she was simply grateful to provide Camden with a measure of peace.
“I should go.” Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand. “Do accept my apologies for my early treatment of you. It is not you personally that I disliked. It is the soldier aspect. The war took my brother’s life. I have seen the lasting devastation wrought on Lady Daphne and my nephew—on my entire family.” She stood, then added, “I am certain you do not care to hear my reasons.”
“I’m interested in anything you wish to share,” Camden said sincerely. “I value the time we spend together and find myself longing to hear a story.”
Rebecca studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly. She retook her seat next to him. “Very well. I’ll tell you of my brother Roland, and the mischief Phoebe, Roland, and I got up to as children.”
Settling back in her chair, she began spinning tales of her childhood, bringing the memories vividly to life. Camden listened, enraptured by her voice and the sparkle in her eyes, as she recounted their adventures. For the first time since leaving the battlefield, he felt a lightness in his spirit that had nothing to do with physical healing.
