“You know I looked into the, er, incident at Badajoz. I will have a written record drawn up and see to it you have a copy, but of course it is unlikely word of Lord Alfred Hartford’s role will be made public.”
“Chadbourn told me he met with an unfortunate accident.”
“Just so. It took me longer to be certain of the outcome of the incident. There was a witness, but I made inquiries about one vital detail. It took several days for a brief message from a, uh, friend in Spain to arrive, sent as it was via carrier pigeon in response to my questions. Details will follow, but it may set your mind at ease to know that the young lady lives. She has taken refuge in the Convento da Madre de Deus in Esparança and the sisters there report that she is well.”
Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, feeling moisture pool in them. He hadn’t realized how much it mattered until that moment.
He held his injured arm to his heart. It wasn’t in vain.I managed one good act.“Who—how?” He opened his eyes, stunned to see the Marquess studying him with something like respect.
“I do not know. Perhaps the men who saw you to the surgeons took her there as well. Your courage does you honor, Lord Alcott. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have pressing business.” With a slight inclination of his head, he left them.
Ethan turned to see both Flora and Will watching him, worry stark in their faces. “Thank you for your concern, but I am well. The memories sit heavily in my mind, but I can bear it. This was welcome news.”
Joy bloomed on Flora’s face, and she reached across to grip his injured arm. “He’s right you, know. You men are coy about the details, but I am sure Glenaire is right. What you did showed immense courage and honor.”
“Glenaire is always right,” Will grumbled. “And this is one of those times I’m thankful for it.”
“Chadbourn,” Ethan said, sounding formal suddenly, “Will you permit a few moments alone with Lady Flora?”
Will peered closely at his sister. He must have seen what he needed there, because he rose and nodded his head. “You have five minutes, Ethan. Use them well.” He nodded at the servants to follow him out.
* * *
Flo stood and watched John and Martha troop out after her brother and waited with heart pounding to hear what Ethan had to say.
He pushed himself up with one hand and circled the table before she could rush to help him. He came so close she inhaled something earthy and male, the scent of wool and sandalwood. Distracted by his nearness, she almost missed his words.
“Did you mean what you said?” he asked.
“About courage? Of course.”
“Flora, I’m not well, nor am I whole.” He raised the mangled arm. “But—”
“I care nothing for your missing hand, Ethan, except as a badge of honor. You must know that.” She placed both hands against his waistcoat and studied his eyes, unsure what she hoped to find there.
“I will recover—the doctors are confident, and I’m stronger every day—but it will take time.”
He sounded as if he were pleading. “What are you trying to tell me?” she demanded.
“When your mourning is over, and I am well, may I call on you?”
She took a step back, arms akimbo and flashed him a stern frown. “Is that all you want to say? ‘Call on me?’ Where is your courage when I need it?”
He came closer to her. “I have no right to say more, but if you can be patient…”
Flo heaved a sigh of exasperation and closed the distance between them, grabbing his shoulders, and meeting his lips with her impatient ones. After a heartbeat he returned the kiss with an achingly tender one, using his damaged arm to pull her close while he feathered his graceful fingers across her cheek.
“Much better,” she sighed against his neck, “But know this. I can wait out my mourning and your illness, but do not ask me to be patient.” She spat each of the last words out one by one. “I am not a patient woman when I know what I want, Ethan Alcott, and I want you.”
He kissed her again, this time deeply, passionately, possessively. When she moaned and pulled him closer, he pulled back, tipping his forehead onto hers. “Your brother believes you deserve a Season. I agree. If you still want this in a year…”
“God save me from men and their honor,” she muttered into his cravat. “I’m not promising an entire year. My time of mourning ends September third. I expect to see you at Chadbourn Park that very day.” She grabbed his lapels and gave him a shake.
“I will court you properly,” he swore.
She rolled her eyes. “If you insist, you may make it a courtship, but Ethan, don’t be too proper.” Then she kissed him again, and he forgot to reply.
EPILOGUE
As it turned out, Emery Wheatly, Duke of Murnane and Flo’s much despised brother-in-law, broke his miserable neck during a drunken ride that fall, plunging them all back into mourning.
Flora, impatient woman, refused to let that stop her. They were married in a simple family ceremony by Christmas.
THE END
