He lifted his gaze to the doorway.
Patience leaned against the molding. Her hand held a thick fold of papers.
She was a lovely sight, heaving at the threshold from running down and then up the stairs. That dress of dark gray flouncing at her trim ankles should have color. She needed to be free of mourning.
“My frustrations have cast you in shadows again. Wife, you deserve better. Your light needs to shine.”
With Lionel secure in his arms, he moved to her. “Open it. I give you permission.”
Rocking his little soldier, he waited to hear Wellington deny his request to return.
* * *
I needed to savor this picture of Busick and Lionel a little longer. I had a father to love my son, someone strong like my own papa, but the shadows under the duke’s eyes, the flashes of anger in his voice foretold that nothing would last.
This letter would end it all, the peace of this brief marriage. “I don’t want everything to go away by opening this letter.”
Busick glared at me, his mouth tensing. “Go ahead, Patience, read it. News is never meant to wait.”
Didn’t he see the tears in my eyes, the bulge in my throat of my heart lodging there? I lifted the letter to him. “No.”
“Fine. Then let’s delay on opening it entirely. It’s been two weeks since I’ve felt good enough to spend time with this boy, man-to-man. We’ve a bit of negotiating to do in private.”
I shoved the parchment sealed in bloodred wax to him again.
He took it and put it by his side with my letter to Colin, covering them both with the madras plaid blanket I’d made for his chair. “It will keep.”
“Duke, see what Wellington wants.”
One arm holding Lionel, the other propelling his chair, he moved to the window.
“But you’ve been waiting for this. You want another day to pass not knowing if the war has need of you?”
He parted the creamy curtains. “Look at your fields, Lionel. It seems the men have let the snow get thick again. That won’t do. You must take care of details. It is important.”
I came behind them. “I could tell them to plow it.”
“Why haven’t you? Too much laundry?”
“I hadn’t thought about it.”
“You’ve been too busy fretting.”
Had I said something to offend him? “You take the ramblings of a woman drowsy in sleep over one awake?”
“Awake and not talking versus you sleeping in chairs where I can’t at least comfort you from your nightmare. These are difficult choices.”
Was I back to walking on shells because I said something in my sleep? I folded my arms about my middle.
Fear left; rage swept in. “You’re as infuriating to me in a chair as you are standing. Open the letter, let’s face what it says together.”
He rocked my yawning son in his arms. “An order, ma’am?”
I put all my effort into turning the chair so he’d see me. “Yes.”
“If Wellington has granted my request to return to service or denied, it doesn’t matter. Lionel’s nap time takes precedence. It’s something I can do, something I can control from this chair.”
“Didn’t you just tell me to face things just as we are? No disguises, no pretense?”
