“If you wait here, I will see about obtaining lodgings for you.”
“I will repay you,” Blythe promised.
“That is not necessary. Besides, I doubt that you have the funds.”
She could understand why Dr. Valentine would believe such so she turned her back and reached into her bodice and withdrew a pearl necklace. It should reimburse him for what he already spent in purchasing her and lodgings.
“Keep your jewelry,” he insisted. “You might need it another time.”
He was then gone before she could argue further. “Your brother does not even know me. Why would he do such a thing?”
“You were alone without anyone to protect you. Any one of my brothers would have done the same.”
“Why?”
“A lesson instilled in them long ago. If someone is in need of protection, they will make certain that they are,” she answered. “Is there anything that you need that I could get for you?” Isabella asked.
Brother and sister, both strangers and both being kind. “No, thank you. Also, please do not let me keep you if there is somewhere you need to be.”
Isabella smiled. “I shan’t be long. I promise.”
Blythe watched her leave the tent then looked down at her bandaged wrists. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been touched in such a gentle manner, but when Dr. Valentine soothed and cared for her wrists she had nearly wanted to cry. Had it been so long since she had experienced kindness, the touch of someone who cared?
Blythe tried to shake the thoughts from her head and find something to take her mind off what had occurred, but there was little around until she spied a medical journal.
She knew little about healing, but if it kept her mind occupied, she would be happy to learn and with those thoughts, she settled on the cot and opened the journal and began reading about a doctor named Joseph Carpue who was able to reconstruct a man’s nose after it was injured in battle, which she found quite fascinating. Then there as an article about a French surgeon named Dominque Jean-Larrey who developed a system to remove the injured from a battlefield and how to prioritize who should be taken so that the more seriously injured could be treated first, as sometimes a person of higher rank was removed when his injuries were not as significant and a man near death was left behind.
There was smudging on this article and the pages showed more wear which made her wonder if Dr. Valentine or any of the other surgeons planned to implement a similar method when the battle began again.
How many noses would need to be reconstructed?
War with Napoleon, again, was inevitable, but she hated that more good men would give up their lives on behalf of King and Country. Brave souls rushing toward danger while her husband hoped to escape it.
She tossed the journal aside with disgust. To think she once had thought John a brave hero when he was nothing but a coward.
Orlando walked into Brussels and visited the various inns and boarding houses hoping to find a room for rent, but they were not to be found. One would think that with Napoleon on the march again, the British would have returned to their safe homes in England. But they remained. The streets were crowded with ladies shopping and he heard discussions of teas, luncheons and balls as if the London Season had come to Brussels.
He’d walked from one end of Brussels to the other and took every street, but the only rooms that could be found were above taverns, which would never do. Mrs. Clay needed to be in a safe inn where there was no fear of her being bothered by unwanted attention.
Except, it did not appear that there were any.
Disappointed, and with darkness approaching, Orlando wondered if tomorrow he might find a boarding house with an available room, but just as he was leaving, he saw a sign at the end of a long lane. Had he not been looking in that direction, it would have been missed, just as he had not seen it when he first arrived.
He turned down the lane and marched toward Desmit Inn, which appeared to be more of a stately home of three stories. Perhaps it had been a residence at one time, not that it mattered. He just hoped that it was clean, safe and had a room for Mrs. Clay.
After opening the door, he stepped into an entry of dark wood with gleaming white marble floors. To the left was a parlor where guests sat reading or taking tea. There were an equal number of men and women and it appeared to be a fairly safe inn.
“May I help you?”
He turned to find an older man standing beside a podium on which a ledger had been placed.
“Are there any rooms available?”
“Is it for you?” he asked.
“No. Someone else. I am making inquiries.”
The man narrowed his eyes in disapproval. “We only allow couples—married couples—to stay. No bachelors, or their women.”
