The woman’s frown sent a shiver of guilt through Flo, but she raised her chin and sailed past toward the front stairs. Flo refused to regret her decision. She could not endure any more of Emery’s ill treatment of his family. She’d been shunted to Emery and Sylvia’s household right after Father’s funeral the previous September. To her shame, she knew she ought to confront her brother about it for Sylvia’s sake, but to do so would be to reveal that she lived alone with a few servants in the earl’s massive townhouse and no companion to give her respectable cover. Besides, Will had been sunk in his own grief and overwhelmed by the duties of his new station.
A half hour later, she lowered herself into hot, lavender-scented water and willed every tense muscle to relax. The errand had been ill advised; she’d put herself in more jeopardy than she expected and accomplished little good. She found the men behind Finnegan’s Pub as she’d been told, but this lot seemed so far gone even bread did not help. Those men broke her heart, even the nasty man who had grabbed her arm.
If her brother had done naught else, his efforts on behalf of returning veterans had woken her up to the plight of men flooding home from the Peninsular War. When she hid in her room and stayed behind, it had been for their sake, or so she told herself. Living on her own at Chadbourn House, she had freedom to do her part—if only she could find truly constructive ways to help.
She believed she could to do more for those poor men who had given so much for the country. But what?She sank back down into the warm water, allowing it to soak the stench of the alley from her body. It couldn’t remove her memories of what she had seen, however.
Images in her mind returned over and over to the one-handed man lying in the corner. When his eyes flew open, the force of his anger almost knocked her on her heels. Those eyes startled her as much as his grip on her wrist. His gaunt sunken cheeks, ashen pallor, and slumped shoulders had not prepared her for the strength of his reaction.
She couldn’t clear his eyes from her memory. She’d been shocked by the profound grief in those rich brown eyes, visible even when mixed with raging fury. The sight stabbed her in the heart.
The last of the tension in her back melted away, and she let her head fall back against the rim of the tub, relaxed and drowsy. One other detail filtered to the surface, his voice. His accents didn’t belong there; they sounded more like those of an educated gentleman, and that puzzled her. She sighed and let the mystery float away. She’d never see him again anyway.
CHAPTER2
Ethan shivered behind the mews to the rear of Chadbourn House, able neither to return to his hiding place nor to approach the earl. He held the stump of his damaged arm against his chest with the other, trying to keep the chill at bay. It had snowed the night before.
Many months had passed since anything as inconvenient as duty had bothered Ethan, and now that it had, he didn’t care for the feeling at all. Belief someone should tell the earl his sister put herself in jeopardy drew him there; old fears held him back. He might have hovered next to the mews until he froze to death and they hauled his unloved carcass to a pauper’s grave—or sold it to the body snatchers—if he hadn’t been spotted.
“You there, looking for a meal? Speak up; I almost missed you in the fog.”
Ethan gaped at the groom who came toward him wiping his hands. He didn’t know if the man meant to accuse him of stealing or offer him bread.
“Y’ve come to the right place; follow me.” The man didn’t wait; he started toward the house. “What regiment?”
Ethan, thoroughly confused, followed him. “Regiment?”
“Aye, where’d you serve, man?”
How can he tell I’m a soldier?
“Veteran, aren’t ye? Why else would you hang outside the earl’s kitchen?” the groom held a door open for him.
Ethan stepped up, and mumbled under his breath, “Light Division,” as he passed.
“Craufurd’s? God love y’!”
Warmth wrapped itself around Ethan as they entered the kitchen. “’Nother ’un Mrs. Miller,” the groom called. “Served in th’ Light Division. Not many o’ them left,” he added mournfully, on his way back out the door.
A plump woman gave Ethan a swift no-nonsense examination before he could speak, and scowled at his appearance then waved a dripping spoon toward a table in the corner. The savory stew she set on the table so overwhelmed him that he almost forgot who he was, much less why he came.
Ethan attacked the stew, shoveling it in as rapidly as he could swallow. “Easy now,” the woman chided. “No point in making yourself sick.” She set a plate of warm bread down next to him. “Craufurd’s was it? My man died at Cuidad Rodrigo.”
Ethan kept eating, more slowly now, his stomach clenching. He hadn’t come to share war stories.Cuidad Rodrigo. The words almost drove him back out the door. “I’ve come to see the earl,” he said, between bites of bread.
“He isn’t here,” she said. “If it’s work you want—”
“It’s not,” he muttered. He knew the ways of the upper ten thousand. No earl was ‘in’ until he knew who asked and what they wanted. “I won’t keep him long. I’ll just say my piece and be gone.” He considered in bitter humor that he ought to have brought his calling card.
The one-eared footman he saw in the alley came in carrying buckets of water. “Another hungry veteran, Mrs. Miller?” he asked. “What’s his regiment?”
“As you see,” the cook responded. “Served with—”
Ethan had enough bad memories. He rose to his feet. “Tell the earl I have a message, and I’ll—”
“He isn’t here,” Mrs. Miller repeated.
“You can see his man of business if you want work, though,” the footman added.
