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"Women don't look at duty the way your wife looks at you, and trust me, I know a lot of women." He smiled to himself.

Arthur said nothing.

"Hell..." Laurence chuckled. "I've seen women pretend often enough."

He paused.

"Not usually after they've reached my bedchamber, mind you."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"My point is that woman looks at you as though you personally command the sun to rise each morning and set each evening simply because she wished it."

Arthur's fingers tightened around his glass. He did not answer. Because he knew Laurence was right. And that was precisely what frightened him.

"What was so important," Arthur asked eventually, "that you came barging into my study?"

Laurence recognised the retreat for what it was. He nodded, accepting the change of subject as naturally as one accepted the weather, before tossing the leather dossier onto Arthur's desk.

Arthur watched him for a moment. His friend looked more tired with each passing day. He might have blamed life in the country, deprived of London's endless entertainments and female admirers, had Laurence's expression not betrayed something altogether more serious.

Arthur opened the dossier.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Lady Radnor has petitioned Parliament for a divorce," Laurence answered.

Arthur's head lifted immediately. He had never possessed any affection for Louise Radnor. She had always struck him as bitter long before Giles had gone to war.

"She's already spoken with two Members of Parliament and three peers," Laurence continued quietly. "None of them will move a private bill without my approval."

Arthur understood at once.

"Giles wants me to grant it," Laurence whispered, and silence settled between them. Their friend was scarcely a shadow of the man who had ridden to Belgium. His body would heal in time. Arthur believed that.

His mind was another matter entirely. The Colonel refused to allow Arthur into his room, something that did not offend him in the slightest. Arthur understood the man's pride; he would have felt much the same had their positions been reversed. A fellow soldier was one thing, but to be seen broken by one was another entirely.

As a result, Giles accepted visits only from Laurence—begrudgingly—and Arthur knew his wife occasionally slipped in regardless, sitting by his bedside to babble cheerfully about her day as though he were perfectly capable of answering whilst asleep.

But without the love and patience of a devoted wife, who knew where Giles might find himself a year from now? What if this despair proved temporary? What if, once recovered, he came to resent Laurence for allowing the divorce? And then there was the scandal. For Parliament to dissolve a marriage at a wife's request, Giles's reputation would have to be dragged through the mud and every failing of his laid bare before the nation.

Arthur closed the dossier.

"Dear God."

Laurence let out a humourless laugh.

"If I support it, I may destroy a war hero's reputation when he's hardly in his right mind."

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck.

"If I refuse, I condemn a woman to remain in a marriage she no longer wants."

Arthur said nothing.

Laurence looked at him helplessly. "Tell me which of those makes me the better man."

Arthur said nothing. Yesterday he had taken a man's life. Today he had almost convinced himself that duty was enough to justify giving his wife only half a heart. His own conscience was far too troubled to decide what would make Laurence the better man.