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"How wonderful."

Her words tumbled over one another in her excitement.

"Are you in any pain? Shall I fetch Dr Abraham? Or Laurence? Oh, goodness, perhaps I should ring for Mrs Clapton."

She looked around the room as though uncertain which direction to run first before turning back to him.

"I am terribly sorry," she said with an embarrassed smile, smoothing imaginary creases from her skirts.

"I appear to have forgotten how conversations with a partner are supposed to begin."

"Sit down." The Colonel commanded.

She blinked.

"That wasn't a request." Radnor continued.

She knew he was the one who kept order, but she wasn’t expecting it to be quite so immediate or blunt. Still, who was she to disobey the injured war hero? So Eliza sat and looked at him expectantly.

“You asked who you are and I can tell you. You are the first person since I arrived at Winworth to speak to me as though recovery were worth the effort. You gave a half-dead soldier something to look forward to every three days. So you will stop doubting yourself, hold your head high, and stop crying. That's an order,” he clipped. She had no doubt men trembled at his orders, but to her, it brought a smile to her face.

She straightened her shoulders, “Aye”, she said, as if responding to his command on the battlefield.

"Now," she said, drawing a steadying breath as she rose from the chair, "is there anything else I can fetch you before dinner?"

Colonel Radnor gave a small shake of his head.

"Very well."

She placed the journal carefully back upon the bedside table, smoothing its worn leather cover almost absent-mindedly before offering him a gentle smile.

"I shall return soon."

He inclined his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement.

"Goodnight, Colonel."

She slipped quietly from the room, pulling the door softly closed behind her.

As she made her way downstairs, she found herself mentally preparing for the evening ahead. Vinnie had assured her that Miss Weatherly had not joined the household for dinner since her arrival.

Tonight, she needed only endure a dinner before Laurence departed for London. She repeated the thought to herself like a promise. Smile. Be gracious. Wish Laurence well. Then retire early.

It was a plan she felt certain she could accomplish. Drawing one final breath, she rounded the archway leading into the dining room and her feet faltered.

The carefully rehearsed composure she had spent the past hour assembling threatened to unravel in an instant as four people were already seated at the table.

The Duke of Buckingham.

The Dowager Duchess.

Lord Benedict.

And seated amongst them, Miss Weatherly in Eliza’s seat.

Chapter 39

She was going to be sick.