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The ton had welcomed the Colonel's return as though a conquering hero had come home. News of his wounds had spread quickly through London, but it was the scandal surrounding his forthcoming divorce that had captured society's imagination. Rumour insisted his wife intended to abandon a decorated soldier simply because he now walked with a cane. Whether true or embellished, it had earned Radnor the sympathy of almost every drawing room in England.

Arthur had visited him almost daily whilst he lay unconscious. After he woke...

The visits had become fewer. Not because Arthur cared less, but because he knew precisely how he himself would have felt had their positions been reversed. Neither of them possessed much patience for pity.

Giles Radnor and Laurence could scarcely have been more different. Where Laurence softened every room with wit and charm, Radnor commanded one through sheer presence alone. He viewed the world in absolutes and rarely spoke a word he did not mean.

It was, Arthur often suspected, why they understood one another so well.

"I thought," Arthur admitted, "that you would rather I waited until you had recovered."

"Do not insult me with half-truths." Radnor snorted.

Arthur's expression remained unmoved.

“You crossed half of Europe,” Radnor continued quietly, “travelling day and night for nearly a fortnight to drag me from a battlefield. You stood beside me while surgeons debated whether I should keep my leg, and when they had finished with me, you carried me home.”

“My life will never again be precisely what it was. I shall improve, certainly, but there are things I may never do as I once did.” His gaze settled firmly upon Arthur. “Is that why you can scarcely look me in the eye?”

For a brief moment, silence settled between them. Then Radnor’s mouth twitched.

“Or have you simply been too occupied entertaining a former flame?” He tilted his head in Sophia’s direction. “And feared I might be the one man still willing to tell you when you have become an utter fool?”

“It is good to see you,” Arthur said, unable to prevent the corner of his mouth from lifting. “Truly, my dear friend.”

“Well then, stop looking at me as though I am about to expire. If I had intended to die, I should have had the decency to do it in Belgium.”

Arthur offered no reply.

"What are you doing, Buck?" Radnor asked quietly.

"I'm protecting her." Arthur offered.

"Protect her?" A humourless laugh escaped the Colonel.

His hand tightened around the head of his cane.

"I left my leg in Belgium so that men like you could come home to the women they love. Do not dare waste it."

Arthur remained silent.

"Every third day," Giles continued, his voice softening only slightly, "your wife sat beside my bed and talked. About Winworth. About the servants. About the estate. About books. About flowers. About you."

That sounded exactly like his wife.

"I confess I understood perhaps half of what she said," he muttered.

"But one thing was abundantly clear." Radnor’s expression hardened once more. "She loves you. Entirely. Without reservation."

He stepped a fraction closer.

“And the only conclusion I have reached as to why you stopped visiting me when I was conscious is that you love her too, and fear I would command you to reason with your senses.”

Arthur's eyes searched the crowd for Eliza as Radnor spoke.

"I am not afraid." Arthur objected.

"No?" Radnor challenged.