She was a comfort to what he had experienced since he first became a surgeon in Wellington’s army. Other than Isabella, and even when they were not fighting battles, he was surrounded by illness and injuries. Men everywhere, except for the camp followers.
Blythe was sweet and gentle and smelled of the lilacs that bloomed in his aunt’s garden.
She was an escape and one could almost forget that there were hundreds of soldiers only a few miles away ready to go into battle while he was sitting in this quiet, clean chamber.
Perhaps he had been with the army too long.
Maybe he should have gone home when Napoleon first abdicated. But, if he had, he would not have been here to rescue Blythe.
But the years had also taken their toll.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts. “Were you thinking about ghosts?”
He looked into her blue eyes and though he sensed that she was teasing, it wasn’t her full intention but also searching.
He wasn’t thinking about ghosts then, but he had often.
“You do not believe in them?” Orlando asked quietly.
“I am not certain.” Blythe shrugged. “There is enough unexplained or not understood in this world that perhaps there is a possibility. Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Perhaps,” he answered. Maybe what he had seen was a trick of light or his imagination, but he did not believe so. “Sometimes in the smoke and fog following a battle, or when I am surrounded by the wounded, I will see someone walking but when I approach, they are gone…vanished. I have often wondered if they were soldiers who had not yet realized they were dead or if being transported to heaven or hell was not always immediate.” He shook his head and pushed his fingers through his hair. “Or maybe they were not a ghost but a person who had simply wandered off and I did not see where they went.”
Blythe stared into his eyes. “But you do not believe that is it.”
“No. I think they were spirits of the dead shocked to realize they were killed.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed.
“Yes, well, we will never know.” He did not want to spend the rest of the evening discussing such a depressing topic. “Tell me about another sibling.”
“No.” Blythe stood. “I will tell you nothing more until you have told me something.”
“I have little to tell.” Which was a blatant lie but he would never know her well enough to share his deepest secrets.
“Then you will hear nothing else from me.”
Orlando chuckled then relented and told her about Isabella, the second born of his sisters, and who had followed him to the Continent and that his youngest brother, Bertram, was not far away, a foot soldier in Wellington’s Army.
He worried about Betram more than his sister, because soon his brother would be fighting the French, and Orlando could only pray that he survived unscathed.
Chapter Nine
Orlando continued to visit Blythe every evening. He would bring her books to read during the day and she taught him how to play cribbage at night. And as a sennight turned into a fortnight and then into nearly a month they shared stories from their childhood and siblings. Blythe told him about some embarrassing moments during her two seasons and he regaled her with tales from when he attended medical school in Scotland.
There were agreements and disagreements, but he never discounted her opinion, nor thought she should not have one because she happened to be female. She appreciated that more than he would ever know.
They grew closer and Blythe experienced excited anticipation each day as it neared the time he would appear. They were very careful in that they always remained apart and never touched, other than when she placed her hand on his sleeve, but she longed for so much more, no matter how wrong.
She wanted to be held and ached for something so simple.
That was not all, either. In her hours spent with Orlando, she discovered what it was like to be happy, to laugh, and not to have to guard her words. She could tease without fear of retribution, and he admitted to his own failings.
Many of those haunted him and he blamed himself for lives that were lost and the fear that he had made a mistake and vowed to do better and save as many people as he could.
With each truthful conversation, admission of weakness, and revealed vulnerability, Blythe’s respect for Orlando grew.
It was more than simple respect. She was coming to love him but kept telling herself that it was because he was a man she respected and a dear, trusted friend.
